#imagine just confessing all of your vulnerabilities and hopes and dreams like that in one song aaaaaaaaaaah

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

this is perhaps uncouth but give you my wild give you a child still makes me feral btw

[moonreader1010]

How your FS will act after your first night together 💋

-by Valerie 🧿

Please pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. ^

Note:- 1. Pick the pile that calls you.

2. This is an 18+ reading. Mdni

3. The pictures used don't belong to me. All rights go to the original owners.

4. Have fun 💋

Pile 1

The Eternal Dream

The morning after your first night together feels like stepping into a romantic dream they never want to end. They wake up before you, lying still, watching the rise and fall of your breath. Their heart swells as they take in the sight of you—hair tousled, your skin glowing in the golden morning light. It’s not just lust or infatuation; it’s something deeper. They reach out to softly brush a strand of hair from your face, their fingers lingering just a moment longer as if savoring your presence.

When you wake up, they greet you with a gentle, almost shy smile, their eyes holding a new softness you hadn’t seen before. “Good morning,” they murmur, their voice lower than usual, and it sends a warm shiver through you. They can’t help but pull you closer, their lips grazing your forehead. They whisper something vulnerable, like, “You’re more beautiful than I even imagined.” The intimacy feels different now—deeper, more magnetic.

As the morning progresses, they’re utterly attentive. They insist on making breakfast, but only after stealing kisses along the way. There’s a playfulness in their actions, but beneath it, a raw sincerity. Over coffee, they speak of the future in subtle ways, mentioning how they’d love to wake up like this every day or teasingly asking, “How would you feel about dogs running around the house?” Their mind races with images of shared moments—lazy mornings, cozy nights, and everything in between.

But when you least expect it, their passion flares. They lean in mid-conversation, pinning you with their gaze, and kiss you again, this time slower, deeper. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” they confess, their voice thick with emotion. They aren’t just falling—they’ve fallen, and they’ll spend the rest of the day showing you just how much.

Pile 2.

The Passionate Realist

They wake up with a fire in their chest, the events of the night before replaying vividly in their mind. For a moment, they lie still, their hand resting on your waist, feeling the warmth of your body against theirs. It’s a grounding moment, as if they’re telling themselves, This is real. This is mine. When you stir, their lips curve into a slow, devilish smile. “Good morning,” they say, their voice husky with lingering desire.

They’re not shy about their admiration. Their gaze is bold, their touch purposeful as they trail their fingers along your skin. “You’re stunning,” they murmur, their words dripping with sincerity. They kiss you again, their lips hungry yet tender, as if trying to communicate what words can’t. There’s an intensity in the air—an undeniable chemistry that leaves you both breathless.

As you pull yourself out of bed, they watch you with a smirk, leaning back on the pillows like they’re the luckiest person in the world. “Don’t get too far,” they tease, their tone light but their eyes holding a spark of mischief. Their energy is contagious.

But as the day unfolds, their deeper side emerges. They’ll sit with you, their voice steady as they speak of their dreams, their fears, and their hopes for the future. They’ll share things they haven’t told anyone before, their walls crumbling because of the trust you’ve built together. By the end of the day, they’re more certain than ever: you’re not just someone they desire. You’re someone they’re willing to build their life around.

Pile 3.

The Protective Lover

They wake up as if guarding a sacred treasure, their arms wrapped protectively around you. Their first thought is simple: I need to keep them safe. I need to make them happy. The sight of you beside them is almost too much to take in—your bare skin glowing softly in the pale light, your warmth still lingering in their embrace. They kiss the top of your head gently, as if not to wake you, their lips brushing against your hair in a gesture of quiet reverence.

When you stir, their eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. “Hey, gorgeous,” they whisper, their voice thick with emotion. They trace patterns along your shoulder, their touch slow and deliberate. They’re not just admiring you—they’re memorizing you, engraving every detail of this moment into their mind. You notice something different in their gaze, a blend of adoration and something deeper, like unspoken promises and unshakable devotion.

As the morning unfolds, they show their affection in practical yet endearing ways. They make sure you’re comfortable, fetching whatever you need before you even realize you want it. They’ll bring up little memories, like the first time they noticed your laugh or the exact moment they fell for you, weaving a thread of nostalgia into the morning. But beneath their gentle exterior lies a hint of insecurity, a fear they keep hidden. They might hesitate before speaking, their voice soft as they say, “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

Later, they’ll tease you playfully, their eyes sparkling as they suggest spending the day together doing something spontaneous, just the two of you. But as they hold you close, their touch lingers longer than usual, and you feel their need to protect this connection. They won’t say it outright, but you’ve broken down their walls, and they’re utterly, irrevocably yours.

---------

DM for paid readings 💋💋

[killerpancakeburger]

Imagine: Ghost giving you the shovel talk after Soap and you made your relationship official

It's the evening, you two are smoking outside in companionable silence, taking in the star-spangled sky. Suddenly his voice pulls you out of your daydreaming.

"So... you n' Johnny, eh?”

You feel an ominous shiver run down your spine - you do not like the turn this conversation is taking. His tone is steady, like it usually is, but it means nothing when that specter is involved. He could be slicing a throat and his voice wouldn't waver a iota.

If there was anything you learned about The infamous Ghost, in the absence of his identity and the face beneath the mask, it was that the names he used for the people he considered his family were anything but random. Soap was the most common way he refered to his Sergeant, but a Johnny could slip here and there. "Johnny" was personal; intimate; vulnerable; and possessive all at once. Not in the way an insecure lover would act - although...? Maybe...? -, but in the way a pack member would bare his fangs at a newcomer to protect his mates.

There was something animalistic buried within him that would resurface from time to time, when the risk was too great, when the survival of the 141 or of any of its members was jeopardized. Something you would not risk to vex. Simon was extremely protective behind closed doors, it wasn’t a scoop, but you thought yourself safe from his fangs... or at least you did until now.

"Yeah?"

How you hate the interrogation in your voice. As if you were seeking his permission. Like a child knowing they're asking for too much but doing it anyway.

You busy yourself with your cigarette, trying to look unfazed.

"He may sound like a fuckin' playboy most of the times, but he's actually a sensible kinda fella. Doesn't go around givin' his heart to just anyone, y'know?"

You gulp. Take a deep breath. The only way out is through. Might as well be done with it.

"So, is this the part where you swear that no one will ever find my body if I hurt him?"

You're proud of how casual you managed to sound.

He actually chuckles at that. A relaxed, raspy, unbothered kind of sound. Maybe you will walk away with your life tonight after all.

"Got it all figured out, don't ya? But that's good. Saves us some time."

He tosses his cigarette and, for the first time since you’ve been outside, he turns to you and look you in the eye. His stare is as intense as ever.

"We're in agreement, then? Ya'll treat mah boy well?"

"Wouldn't dream of anything else."

"Good lass."

A pause, then:

"This works both way, y'know that, right?"

"Hmm?"

Too busy celebrating your escape from the valley of the shadow of death, you haven't been completely paying attention.

"If he gives ya trouble, I'll knock some sense into that thick head of his."

You look at him again, your face beaming and your chest tingling with a newfound joy.

"Thank you."

You smile, unable to stop the motion of your lips. Your gratefulness is not for the threat he proclaimed, but for the friendship he extends to you.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

Suddenly a burly arm wraps around your neck.

"What were ya guys talkin' about!? You’ve been there for ages." Pouts Soap.

Glancing over at Ghost, you can see that Johnny has tried to grab him by the neck too, with a lukewarm success, considering the height difference between the two of them.

"Nothin' ye need to concern yerself with", retorts Simon, lying as easily as he breathes.

As Johnny turns to you in hopes of finding an easier target that will confess everything, you nearly miss the conspiratorial wink Ghost sends your way. The action is so far removed from his usual character, you understand that the discrepancy is made to amuse you. So you giggle.

Tonight the sky is full of stars, and your heart full of bliss, the way you feel like your chest might burst with happiness at any moment, with those two men at your side.

A/N: Platonic!Reader x Ghost my beloved 😫 🖤 Tried to make Ghost the less OOC as possible, as usual >_< but man its not a walk in the fookin park.

Trouple potential tho? 👀 sorry not sorry, I can't help it, I love the ambiguity...

[thepixelelf]

ah! love - 3

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, a little... angst? but we know it ends up okay (best friends to lovers) relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings: none notes: joshua centric!! also they live somewhere where it gets cold sometimes. I know that Joshua's had a little less time in the a!l spotlight, so I hope this satisfies the shushus[?] out there! this is the first >1k bday fic I've written in a while idk what came over me lol

ah! love masterlist

Joshua saves the day...wait, the night?

Joshua loves his kids. More than anything, though that thought sometimes scares him if he thinks too hard about it. The point is, he loves his sticky little mischievous imps, no matter how many times they throw up in the middle of the night, or run around with food half-chewed in their mouths because they've yet to develop a fear of choking like he and the rest of his partners have, or the half a million other things they don't warn you about parenthood. He loves his sons, end of sentence. Period.

But that's not to say they were his idea. Like a lot of the current life he feels overwhelmingly lucky to live, none of this was his idea. He hadn't even dreamed of it -- even his sleeping consciousness couldn't have been so creative as to spin the love story that led to his present. He hadn't fathomed marrying you and his other two best friends.

The marriage was Seungcheol's idea. But apparently you and Jeonghan were already thinking about it, too.

Joshua had been entirely caught off guard.

He was thinking too rigidly, he realized. Their marriage isn't legally recognized in any sense, and it was for that reason that he'd never even considered it in the first place... but it's still his marriage, whether penned and signed or not. There are three rings on his finger to prove it.

The kids were Jeonghan's idea. Well. The kid was sort of his, Seungcheol's and your idea. Jeonghan had said he'd always dreamed of having two kids -- a boy and a girl, like him and his little sister. You'd had your own fears about children, as did Seungcheol. You were scared you wouldn't know how to parent, wouldn't be able to raise a child in the way they deserved. Seungcheol worried how a child raised in their unconventional family would be treated by their peers. They'd all chosen the life they would live together, society's judging eyes be damned, but the child wouldn't have a choice, least of all an informed one.

Over the breakfast that was long forgotten after Jeonghan made his casual suggestion and vulnerable confession, you and Seungcheol eventually needled him down to one kid. Maybe.

As for Joshua, he didn't say a word. He was too lost in his own head, imagining a swaddled baby in your arms, and you in his. A shimmering mirage of his lips pressed upon your forehead, before he bent slightly to kiss the baby's tiny hands.

One kid may have been Jeonghan's, Seungcheol's, and your idea, but with Joshua, and circumstances as they were, you came home with three.

So perhaps some of this was his idea.

Not this, though.

"Papa...?"

Joshua blinks himself awake. His room is mostly dark, but warm light filters in from the hallway. The culprit? A little boy with one hand on the doorknob and the other wiping the corner of his bleary eye. Joshua can't tell who it is by looks alone, since the boy is all but a silhouette in the doorway, but he knows from the sound of his voice that it's Vernon.

Slowly, he removes his arm from around your waist. It's unlucky, maybe, that tonight you chose to sleep in Joshua's room, and then Vernon decided this was the place to be, too. He scoots away from you, then tries to lightly step across the room to kneel in front of Vernon. "Hey, bud," he whispers, trying desperately not to wake you up after a long day. "Can't sleep?"

"Bad dream," Vernon mutters.

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Bad dream?" Joshua sat up from the couch he was sleeping on just a minute ago, and he watched you whip around like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

But you only had a glass of water in your hand, and you winced as you turned off the tap. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."

"You didn't." Not really, anyway. The couch wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep on in the first place, which was why he offered you his room to sleep in while you needed a place to stay for the night. Actually, both Jeonghan and Seungcheol had offered their beds too, and it became a bit of a squabble, but you'd settled things by just picking the room offered to you first.

"Liar," you said, and even though the only light in the room came from the moon through the balcony windows, he could hear the smile the word came through. Still, there was a certain tiredness in your voice.

"Seriously. What's wrong?"

A sigh left you.

"Come, sit," he insisted. "Talk to me. You know I'll annoy it out of you eventually."

Another sigh came from you, but this one of reluctant, amused acceptance. You walked across the combined kitchen slash living space in in their three-room apartment, set your water on the coffee table, and sat on the other end of the couch from him. Too far for his liking.

"What's your mood like tonight?" you asked him as you relaxed into the cushions, your head resting so that you stared at the ceiling.

"On what scale?"

"Hm... holiday rom coms?"

He thought hard for a second. "The Princess Switch 2: Switched Again."

You snorted, rubbing your hands over your face. "Not good then?"

"Well, you did have to abandon your apartment because the heat turned off and your dumb landlord is completely MIA." He shifted his body to face you, one arm propped up on the back of the couch to lean his head on. "But you showed up here wearing a comedic amount of layers, so the day had its funny moments."

A laugh bubbled from your throat, and Joshua found himself smiling in the dark. "I guess you're right. How's your mood in terms of..." You let your head flop to the side to look at him. "...a hug?"

He had to wonder sometimes if you had absolutely no idea what he would do for you if you asked. A hug wouldn't be on that list-- it was so easy that it didn't even constitute consideration.

But his heart warmed, because even though he knew he'd never refuse to give you something so simple as a hug, you knew he wasn't constantly the physical affection kind of guy. You wanted to ask him. You wanted his comfort, but only if he was willing.

God, was he willing.

"All yours." He opened up his arms, and you all but sank into him.

You both stayed like that for a while, silent, but warm. He was satisfied with you in his arms, but he could tell your mind was still stewing.

"You gonna tell me what's got you up so late?" he muttered, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on your sides.

"Do you ever think about the future, Joshua?"

Sometimes. But it was always with you in it. "Not really."

Leaning back, he brought you to lie almost on top of him, so now he was the one staring at the ceiling.

You sighed. "I try not to... at least not too much. But sometimes, on nights like these, I'm scared that I..."

He waited for you to continue, but when you didn't, he gently patted your back. "That you what?"

"That I want too much."

Joshua breathed in. Held that air for a few more seconds than necessary. Breathed out. He wondered if it would always be like this-- you being brave enough to speak aloud the fears he kept locked up.

"Don't be scared," he whispered, because what else could he say?

Me too?

No. He couldn't know if you meant it in the same way he felt, and it would be selfish to let his words and feelings out now, while his two other best friends were asleep mere meters away.

You chuckled, as if to dispel any vulnerability you'd revealed. "Easy for you to say."

You had no idea.

"I'll protect you."

"Ah, right. Did you read my mind? We'll have to sleep out here tonight."

Not yet catching up to your joke, Joshua loosened his arms around you and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

You lifted your head, a cheeky, bitable smile on your lips. Your voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. "There's a monster under your bed."

⭒-⭒-⭒

Joshua ends up in the kitchen downstairs, all three boys sitting on the counter since Papa Seungcheol isn't there to discourage it. He tried to help Vernon right back into bed, he swears, but as soon as Seungkwan roused from his sleep and asked Vernon what was wrong, a conspiracy of monsters under each of their beds spiralled out of control. Even Chan got dragged in, heavy sleeper that he is.

Now, Joshua's showing them his ultra-secret monster repellent recipe. He melts an ice cube on a warm pan like a slab of butter, then pours warm water over it. Hiding more ice in his hands, he pretends to pull it from the pantry and adds that to the "mixture" too.

The boys watch, entranced and more than a little tired, as Joshua carefully pours the pan's contents into a measuring cup filled with yet more ice. He then pours that into a spray bottle they use to water the plants and screws the lid on. "There," he says proudly, presenting the bottle in front of the boys like it's a fine wine.

"What's going on down here?" your soft voice comes from the bottom of the stairway.

Joshua winces. "I was hoping I wouldn't wake you."

"It's alright," you say, though he can tell you're still fatigued. You walk over to the kitchen and pet the first boy's head that you reach, Chan's. "What are you all doing up?"

While Vernon makes grabby hands for you to run your fingers through his hair as well, Seungkwan answers. "Papa Shua's making monster-go-away juice."

"Monster-go-away juice?" you echo, then turn to Joshua with feigned shock and a quiet gasp. "Not your secret recipe?"

Joshua smiles. You're always so quick to match his humour. "I know." He throws the boys a look before meeting your eyes with full, teasing seriousness. "But I think they're ready."

Your eyes glimmer with laughter, but you hold yourself back for the sake of the bit. Turning to your sons, you wag your finger. "This is powerful stuff, boys. You have to use it carefully."

Chan's eyes are wide, sparkling with awe as he takes in your every word. Seungkwan and Vernon are equally rapt. Joshua's going to have to explain all this to the more straightforward husbands tomorrow, but tonight? Seeing the adorable looks on his sons faces and the playful tilt of yours is totally worth it.

"But don't worry," he chimes in. "It only works on monsters. It's harmless to humans. See?"

In a flash, he points the bottle at you and pulls the trigger, spraying a thin mist of water-water right in your face. You flinch in surprise, affronted, but only Joshua can tell. You laugh, then look at the boys again. "See? Nothing." You snatch the spray bottle from him. "It doesn't do anything to papa Joshua, either."

Okay, he thinks as you spray him not once, but three times, he deserves that.

"Now, papa Joshua and I are going to take care of any monsters, and then we're all gonna go to sleep, okay?"

The boys nod, and Vernon yawns, then motions for you to pick him up. You send a look Joshua's way, and he sends one right back. He gathers both Seungkwan and Chan in his arms, but before you start the trek up the stairs, he stops you. Each of the sons in his arms get a kiss to the top of their head, and then he leans over and presses one to your temple. Lastly, he bends down and, while Vernon has raised his arm to once again rub his eyes, Joshua kisses his tiny little hand. Just like he imagined over breakfast not so long ago.

No, waking up in the middle of the night to save his sons from imaginary monsters was never his idea. Neither was this life, or this family.

But Joshua wouldn't have it any other way.

[greeneyed-thestral]

I MET MICHAEL SHEEN. 16/03/24, National Theatre

So, if you've read my post about booking tickets to see Michael, you know all about my what-ifs. But the day was finally here.

I arrived at the National Theatre, followed all the Nye signs and here's the Olivier Theatre. I made my sister buy me the show's programme, hoping I would be able to get it signed.

I find my seat, I'm not in the centre but the stage still feels very close and you can see everything (amphitheatres are always the best).

Lights out. The audience is in religious silence. Can't believe I'm actually here, this is happening.

[skip this part in smaller font, if you want to avoid spoilers] In the words of Staged, he really loses himself in his roles. First of all, it's great to hear him speak in a Welsh accent.

But then we also see him turning back into a child, and you can totally believe he's young and innocent again. His stutter feels so real, his struggle and sadness too. The entire ensamble is great during the classroom scene, where they all help Nye against their bullying teacher (using those big canes to make him look scary really works). Hearing young Nye confessing that at times he thinks he 'shouldn't exist' because of who he is was a gut punch; Michael's delivery of that whole part is incredible, in that moment he really becomes a little boy that allows himself to feel vulnerable and says something dark to a friend. The way he jumps while saying "I can visualise and enunciate!" made me wanna jump too, he was ready to give up and then he found the solution through books, it's the joy and relief you feel when you realise that there is another way and your life is not over.

Now, I've watched musicals all my life and let me tell you that man is meant to be in one. He opened his mouth and all I could see was someone that had been waiting a long time for the occasion to show his talent, truly showstopping. He was so free and happy and confident, singing and dancing spectacularly. I couldn't stop smiling and giggling, we all clapped.

It's clear he means every word he says, and when he points and shouts his political arguments at the audience, those who feel called out must be shaking; I thought 'This is how people in Ancient Greece must have felt everytime they went to the theatre'. His Nye is inspiring, passionate, someone you'd want to follow, he stands up for what he believes in and lets nothing get in his way.

We get to watch him flirt, on all fours, waggling his 'tail'; everytime we think we've seen all he's capable of, he does something like this and surprises us.

But most of all, we see him being scared, first of having to do something, and then of not being able to do enough for all of us. At one point everyone has requests for Nye and I was expecting him to shout "Heal yourselves!" like Jesus in JCS, it totally conveyed what it must have been like to be in his role at the time, overwhelmed with daunting responsibilities.

In general, I appreciated the fact that it wasn't a linear biography, they chose life moments that have universal situations everyone can relate too, like they do in bio-musicals. I loved the staging. The colour palette is so recognisable; the curtains and the beds are used in many different ways so everything is explored at its full potential.

He is on stage basically all the time for more than two hours (sometimes twice a day, can you imagine?). Also barefoot and in his pajamas from start to finish, he looks like a teddy bear you just want to hug and protect.

He bows, looks at Nye's achievements, then leaves the stage.

Standing ovation, applause. I go back to the theatre lobby, I was supposed to wait for my sister, but she's late. Meanwhile, a fan asks me how to get to the Stage Door. I start too fear that I'm going to miss my chance if I keep waiting inside, so I decide to go on my own. After no more than 5 minutes, he's outside with us. Forget Nye, I am living my fever dream. He has just finished his second show of the day and yet he's smiling and listening to each and every one, signing and taking pictures. I know many have said this, but he really is an angel.

My sister arrives, and as soon as I'm sure she has the camera ready, I make my way to him. The two girls next to me who were speaking to him needed a pen and I lent them my sharpie, so I got my chance to look generous in front of him.

And suddently it was my turn. This is as much as my scrambled mind allows me to remember: I tell him I'm Francesca and I'm from Italy, he asks me how long I am going to stay, I confess that I had arrived that morning and just to see him, that I would be leaving already the following morning. I can't even focus while he's signing my programme, I just want to find the right words. I manage to say how I enjoyed seeing his passion, all these different sides of him and how watching him sing and dance has been the highlight of my evening. We take a picture together, I feel his hand on my shoulder and I realise my arm is around the waist of this person I love. I had to thank him again, telling him that he only deserves good things and that we are so lucky to have him. He wishes me a safe trip home, and I melt. I leave and I can't stop trembling. On my way back to the hotel I hold on tight to my signed programme and the sharpie that was in his hands just moments earlier. Only later I will realise that he's also written 'Ciao!', 'love' and 'X', without me asking for it or anything! Seeing him act live was a big gift already, but what followed outside was beyond my dreams. I can't look at the photos without blushing, the way he looks at me in the video and then also strokes my arm for a moment, I mean pinch me now.

The more I think about it, the more I can't believe it happened.

I want to thank everyone that under my first post pushed me and encouraged me to see the pros of doing this, I share this beautiful moment of my life with all of you. <3

[strangererotica]

“Listening to you confess, his identity as priest faded under a cloud of lust, till he was no longer a priest at all but merely a man, a man sitting beside a young woman whose sexuality he sensed could swallow him whole…”

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI ✞​ Father Paul Hill x Virgin!Reader ✞​ Age gap (I lost my virginity at 21, so I imagined Reader to be around that age because it just made sense to me) Blasphemy, some dark fantasies from Father Paul, vaginal fingering, dacryphilia, squirting, all that good stuff. 😊♥️

You’re seated sideways on his lap, legs dangling against his. Thankfully (or perhaps tragically, in terms of sin) Father Paul’s side of the confessional booth is roomy enough to hold the two of you.

What had begun as a tearful admission to your priest has turned into something far different. The rest of Crockett Island, and maybe God himself, would call your actions with Father Paul unholy…yet you can’t remember feeling closer to God than you do right now…

You’d sought Father Paul’s absolution, as you often did, for giving in to sexual urges. The desire to touch yourself, and your battle to resist it, had brought you to the confessional multiple times. What you didn’t know was that your priest, a man of god you’d revered and trusted your entire life, was stroking his cock in the compartment next to you while listening. Each time he heard the door beside him open, he hoped your warm, sweet scent would follow. How he longed for you, this anonymous member of his flock, dreaming of you despite knowing nothing of how you looked. He didn’t need to know.

Your voice alone was beautiful enough to bring him to orgasm, that sweet, angelic voice. Hearing you utter such filthy, sinful words, Father Paul’s pretense of holiness crumbled. An angel’s voice confessing the most sinful secrets stirred a dark pool in Father Paul’s groin that he couldn’t resist. The soft, desperate sound of your whimpers and sniffles as you cried aroused a particularly dark beast inside him, making him wonder, fearfully, if he wanted to hurt you? He imagined those tears running down your cheeks, your eyebrows knit together in discomfort, as he stuffed your throat to capacity. Father Paul wondered if, in all his years of priesthood, you might be the one woman to not only divert his moral compass, but shatter it completely? Hearing you confess, his identity as priest faded under a cloud of lust, till he was no longer a priest at all but merely a man, a man sitting beside a young woman whose sexuality he sensed could swallow him whole. He’d tried to resist you, as he did all temptation. Denying the urges of his flesh had always been a struggle for Father Paul, a battle he waged daily.

For all the admiration of his adoring congregation, Father Paul knew he was far from perfect. He was cracked, flawed, as much as the chipping paint and weathered beams of his church. At the heart of it all, beneath his robes and collar, he was just a man, vulnerable to the same lusts and temptations as any other. And you had proven yourself his most powerful temptation yet. Under the guise of ‘offering full transparency before God,’ Father Paul would subtly coerce you to reveal the darkest depths your fantasies reached, the ones you felt the most guilt for having. As you described straddling a pillow and rubbing your clit against it, Father Paul imagined exactly what you’d look like doing it. Every now and then, you’d hear his breath hitch as he asked you to continue. He’d pump his cock as you recited, through a timid, penitent voice, all the sinful thoughts you’d had about men lately.

“When you say men,” Father Paul had queried. “What sort of men are thinking of?” He’d paused, before adding “what type of man makes you come, in your fantasies?”

“A dominant man, Father,” you’d replied. “A man who’s in full control of me, who doesn’t let me forget it.”

“You want to be punished?” Father Paul asked, and for a split second, it almost sounded like he was propositioning you.

“I…I think I do,” you answered. “Punished for not only touching myself to these fantasies, but for having them in the first place.”

The guilt behind your admission temporarily reached past Father Paul’s own war with his flesh. That tremble of anguish in your voice was familiar to him; he’d heard it on the lips of so many before you. “The scripture tells us all have sinned, (y/n),” Father Paul reminded you. “All of us, without exception.” The priest was silent a moment, his hand pausing temporarily around his erection. “God doesn’t judge you for your desires, and neither do I.”

His voice remained calm and at ease, filled with the gentle authority you loved and trusted him because of. “The ways in which Satan tempts us are manifold,” Father Paul continued. “But it’s the actions we take in response to these temptations that determine our state of grace, (y/n)…” The irony of his words were not lost on the priest beside you. “But in God’s infinite grace, we can take comfort in knowing He will never allow Satan to tempt us beyond that which we are able to resist.”

A tiny seed of hope took root in your heart at hearing Father Paul’s words, the certainty with which he preached. “And from such infinite wisdom,” Father Paul continued. “I believe He has shown me a solution to your conflict. To the struggle which brought you here today.”

Silence settled between you briefly; the only sounds you heard were the soft creaking of wooden booth around you, and the gentle thump of your own heartbeat. “I need you to do something for me, (y/n),” Father Paul said after a moment. “And it may sound unorthodox, but I assure you, if you trust me-if you trust God, and I know you do-.” You nodded behind the screen separating you. “-He will tame these desires, these urges. Step out of the confessional booth, (y/n).”

At first, you assumed you’d misheard Father Paul. He repeated his previous words, with an additional request: that when you exit the booth, you enter it again on the side where he was seated. Your cheeks heated visibly, even in the dim light of the confessional booth. Your priest patiently awaited your response. As the door of your compartment opened, Father Paul tucked his erection back inside his pants. Despite having explicit sexual fantasies, you’d probably never seen a man’s genitals in real life; he didn’t want to frighten you.

The door pulled back with a quiet creak as you opened it. The sight of you made the throbbing ache in Father Paul’s pants even more uncomfortable. Because standing before him was a woman he’d been secretly lusting after for years. God how he’d prayed it would be YOU. Sunlight spilled through the sanctuary windows and rested at the back of your head like a halo, threading your hair in strands of gold. Your cheeks were flushed scarlet, lightly glistening with sweat. A primal energy sizzled from your pores; the air around you smelled like sex. Your priest’s hungry eyes bathed over you, top to bottom, his jaw slack with desire. Of all God’s creations, Father Paul was certain you were the most beautiful. “To God be the glory,” he uttered reverently, lifting his hand to cross himself. He then reached for your hands, taking them in his. Your touch was so small inside Father Paul’s as he guided you into the booth and onto his lap. And that’s how you’d ended up here, seated on top of Father Paul’s thighs. He cups your cheek in his hand and tilts your face to his. The woodsy scent of his aftershave washes over you as he draws your lips to his in a kiss so sweet, so gentle, it betrays the sin of what you’re doing. Being this close to Father Paul feels like a dream, like the answer to a forbidden prayer. Because what you haven’t confessed to Father Paul is that he is the man who occupies your fantasies, the man you imagine when you make yourself come.

You’ve dreamed of this moment, of this closeness to him. You’ve wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on you like this, gliding down your back and around your waist, slipping between your thighs and lingering at their destination: the soft, smooth lips only you have touched before him. Father Paul kisses tenderly along the curve of your neck, your cum slicking his fingertips as he delicately spreads your labia. You buck when his touch reveals your clit. Father Paul’s jaw tightens in restraint when he sees how sensitive you are, how badly you need his fingers there. He feels how swollen your clit is as it flutters against his fingertip and in the darkest part of his mind, he imagines what it would be like to force his fingers inside too quickly, too roughly, till you’re begging him for mercy.

“You’re crying now,” Father Paul observes. His voice is dreamy, detached as he speaks, almost consoling you. “Although, not for the same reason you were before…” His cock stiffens against your ass as you whimper. “…This is different, isn’t it (Y/N)?” Your stomach flutters; it’s the first time you’ve heard your name leave Father Paul’s lips outside of mass. Soft, wet noises coo up from the space Father Paul’s hand is kneading you. “Now,” his warm breath kisses your ear. “This next part may hurt just a little but remember, the path to salvation is rarely painless.”

Father Paul bounces you on his knee just a little, shifting your weight on his lap for better access to your hole. He’s murmuring words of encouragement to you, massaging your clit in wet circles, his eyes never once leaving yours. It’s such a connection, such an intense intimacy, you feel your heart might burst. Father Paul groans behind his teeth, a feral declaration of his own need. The pressure of your wet cunt on his lap has his cock impossibly hard; he knows that if you were to shift just the right way, he’d likely ejaculate into his pants.

“Do not be afraid,” he instructs, his fingers journeying lower. His touch teases at your entrance, preparing you. After a moment of gently massaging your parted lips, Father Paul carefully inserts his index finger just inside you. The sensation of being entered is so new, so unusual. You’ve only ever rubbed your clit when masturbating, and Father Paul’s hands are so much bigger than yours. He glides his finger further, pausing when you inhale sharply at the sting. “Shh, it’s alright,” your priest consoles you, a kind smile on his face. “I’m right here with you; you’re doing so well…” He massages his finger inside you in a small circular motion, easing your walls apart with the reverence of a man opening Heaven’s gate. The stinging is replaced by a dull ache, one you recognize from touching yourself, but more intense this time. Father Paul feels it too, feels your still-unexplored walls clench lightly around his finger. God how he’d love to bury his cock inside your tight cunt all at once, to split you open on him and him alone, stealing that treasure from any other man that would follow him. He’s making a mess of his slacks, precum leaking into the fabric and smeared by your ass wiggling on top of him.

You can’t keep still, despite Father Paul’s requests that you do. It all feels too good, too new, and you bury your face in his shoulder, weeping softly. Your cunt squeezes rhythmically around Father Paul’s fingers; he uses his other hand to guide your face to look at him, asking “are you going to come for me, (y/n)?” The look in your glossy, tear-filled eyes confirms what he already knows: you’re coming right now.

Breathy grunts mixed with sharp whines of pleasure spill from your lips as you buck on Father Paul’s hand. He clasps his other hand at the back of your head, fingers threading your hair in a gentle grip. The sounds of your climax pour from the confessional booth and through the sanctuary, reverberating off the old walls of the empty church. Father Paul’s tip leaks with need as he listens to your cries, their song more beautiful than any hymn or scripture ever could be.

You kick into the sides of the confessional booth, the old wood creaking in protest. Even if you were aware of the movements your body is making, you wouldn’t be able to stop them. And your priest wouldn’t want you to. His warm cheek is pressed to yours, soothing words of encouragement leaving his lips against your ear. Your scent is everywhere, the warm musk of your pussy dripping down his pants as he fingers you. The soft floral scent of your shampoo fills Father Paul’s nose where he’s buried his face against your hair, which is still slightly damp from this morning’s shower. A burst of liquid gushes around Father’s Paul’s hand, trickling down your thighs and saturating his pants. He comes immediately when the warmth of your climax seeps through his boxers and onto his cock. How many nights has your priest spent alone, in the privacy of the rectory, making himself come to the thought of this very moment? How many nights has he asked forgiveness from God for touching himself yet again to thoughts of you, a woman whose identity he could only guess at before today?

Father Paul’s cum mixes with yours as you become pliant, your arms wrapped around his neck going slack. He carefully removes his hand from between your legs, not wanting to overstimulate you. The whole point of this demonstration was to quell the urges inside you by relieving them. If he were to accidentally stir even more lust within you, well, what kind of priest would that make him?

As the high of your climax fades, the reality of all that’s occurred sinks your heart like a weight. “Bless me, Father,” you whimper into his chest, hiding your face in shame. “For I have sinned-.”

“No, (y/n),” Father Paul interjects. “You haven’t.” The authority in his voice tells you he means it. “You came to me in honesty, with a pure heart. Seeking counsel from God and in His wisdom, He revealed an answer to your prayers.” His voice is quiet yet powerful, the way you hear him speak to the congregation every Sunday. “God tells us we are the Body of Christ, to act as His hands and feet,” Father Paul continues. “He used me today, to help you. There is no sin in anything you’ve done here.”

As your absorb Father Paul’s words, the weight of your conscience lifts and you realize what a mess you’ve made all over his lap. “I’m sorry I got you wet,” you apologize, to which the priest chuckles, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t be,” he insists. “Think of it like a baptism.” ✞​

[salisburyliam]

My WORST to BEST ranking for Heaven's Secret 2 LIs

Oh boy I finally did it!!!! never want to read this book ever again, lmao

NOTE 1: We all know that HS2 has its flaws —S1 feels like a fever dream— but personally one that really irks me is not being able to choose whether or NOT you want to marry your LI. I mention this because many LIs routes are (negatively) affected by this sudden marriage imo

NOTE 2: Winchesto you deserve so much better than Rebecca.

7. Dino - He's never been a character I've been particularly fond of, but at least in HS1 he had some narrative importance (the dynamic with Lucifer was a lot of fun too). His relevance in HS2 is, well, zero & I personally don't feel the chemistry between Vicky and him at all. That being said. Of all the LIs, the only one with whom the wedding makes absolute sense is with Dino - he's 100% husband material.

Being good should not be equivalent to being boring… but in Dino's case, it is. 4/10

6. War - His dynamic with Vicky is… okay-ish? I guess??? They are a hot couple (I personally love his design & his laugh is sexy af) but the connection is lacking & there is no emotional intimacy whatsoever. They keep saying they're in love but are theeey? You don't know each other. Also, if you decide not to k*ll him and don't romance him later in s2 he's literally just a background character. 

I don't think this man is ready to be a husband - he should get therapy first. 5/10

5. Hunger - If it were a matter of rating characters, Hunger would be in the top three. His first appearance is one of my favorite scenes in the book along with the board game moment, lmao. But if it comes to rating him as a LI… The relationship feels rushed, to say the least. Marrying a character who appears halfway through the second season makes no sense at all - their wedding scene is just weird.

You guys met like five episodes ago. How about we start by dating first? 6/10

his smile is unsettling lol 4. Malbonte - Replaying this book so many times has made me really appreciate Malbonte. A soldier who will do whatever it takes to win. I love how everyone assumes that he always, always, has a plan (he usually does). But as a LI? His main emotion is rage and pure indifference. As a husband for life, I don't understand how that could work: I can imagine Vicky asking him how his day was and Malbonte's only response being '���.' 😐🙄 Go boy give us nothing!

Seriously though. I really love him as a character, but he needs to join War in that therapy thing. 7/10

3. Astaroth - The first interactions are awful & personally his sprite doesn't help either (he's literally a male M*ley Cyrus) but he has so much chemistry with Vicky, it surprised me. Their relationship feels organic as you progress, but just like the rest of the characters that appear in the second book, it all feels rushed. The wedding option should ONLY have been available for characters that appeared in the previous book - with new ones it just feels unearned.

Still, it had potential. 8/10

2. Mimi - The only female LI (how's that legal) and one of my favorites. tbh I think she's TOO good for Vicky??? lmao. A character who is impossible not to adore (even judgy Rebecca gives her approval), in-laws anyone would love to have, and a route that is equal parts endearing and passionate. I confess I kinda miss her sprite from the first book tho

The only reason she's not at the top of the list is the motherf*cker below. 9/10 

1. Lucifer - Simply put, they feel like soulmates (he was my LI in the first book so that also plays into it). I haate his behavior in S1, but even with that rocky start the dynamic between Vicky and Lucifer is, and will always be, one of my favorites. They have everything: chemistry, banter, passion, vulnerability moments... I love the contrast of the Lucifer from HS1 with the Lucifer in the final episode. That's growth.

I sincerely hope the third book focuses on their married life and, hopefully, Lucifer being a girl dad 😍😍 10/10

CREDIT

[alovelessmelancholy]

OMG LISTEN.

I THINK BOTH NIGHTTIME SCENES ARE REAL.

Update: HEY! I was totally wrong! But read this anyway if you want just for funsies😂

Someone said that one scene is Colin’s “do over” in a sense. (I heard this idea somewhere, I can't remember exactly but let me say that I’m not trying to steal anyone’s intellectual property or anything like that, just agreeing/elaborating on it). I think that’s absolutely what happens, but at the time Colin doesn’t realize it.

I think Pen is crying in the original scene we were given (sitting at her window thinking and then later when Colin discovers her in the garden) because Colin has continued to give her mixed signals (him watching her touch her mouth at the fair tent, telling her “don’t forget you’re Penelope Featherington”, all his longing looks and being his usual idiotic “I don’t know how hot I am being with Pen” self because he doesn’t realize that she secretly loves him. You know, just another Tuesday when Colin is around.)

ANYWAY, she is crying so he comes to console her and she decides then to let him go - what she was agonizing over while thinking at her window because she can’t come back from it if she decides to marry someone else. Colin likely (stupidly!) says something that solidifies her resolve to move on (“You can do it FRIEND, go find your husband!”)

SO she does just that, which means no kiss during this scene despite all the wishes that they would- me included .

Pen moves on while Colin is still helping her to dig his own hole to fall into, encouraging her to accept Debling's suit (DERP)

Colin finally comes to his senses and sees that he 💚LOVES PENELOPE FEATHERINGTON💚 for fuck sake (the beautiful symbolism with the candles OMG I love that but HURRY UP MAN your candle is LIT🕯). Listen to your mother and kiss your friend on the mouth.

By this time Debling may or may not have proposed, but based on Portia’s reaction about what a GOOD GIRL Pen is for landing a Lord as a potential husband, we should assume that all things are pointing in that direction. Colin has picked up on this too, and he has probably made attempts to end their attachment - maybe in some funny ways that make him look like a fool (yes please), maybe a few not so funny ways (he is STURDY now as if anyone could forget that fact but we'll hope he keeps his boxing gloves off - just for now.) 🔥 We DO know that Colin got visibly upset about Debling talking to Pen, so much so that he looked like wanted to do something about it.

SO now we come to the second nighttime scene where Colin put on the Regency Gentleman signal or whatever he had to do to get Pen to come into the garden. This is the do-over part, where he has been doing his own pining, thinking, CRYING (I cannot convey to you how much I love Teary-Eyed-Colin, he’s so gorgeous and vulnerable). He either shows up in tears and tells Pen he loves her, don’t marry Debling or he sees her crying and it makes him cry. She might confess that she was never going to marry Debling,”BECAUSE HE ISN'T YOU, COLIN.”🥺 I imagine her saying this and then…longing look number eight leads to a first kiss/extra-spicy encounter beyond just looks and hand touches. 🔥🔥

Maybe they break some patio furniture if we’re lucky.😏

UPDATE: Well I obviously had this all wrong! Ep2 confirmed REAL and a kiss ( just like RMB but outdoors 🥰) And the foggy one was. confirmed as a dream, so we can assume this is what wakes Colin up in a hot sweat 🥵

JUST LET ME HAVE THE SEASON.

[foxy-eva]

Milestone Masterlist

I want to thank everyone who participated in my second Milestone Writing Challenge! I had so much fun reading all those stories and I'm more than happy to share them with everyone else.

Fics marked with * contain smut, so minors DNI!

Spencer Reid x Reader

The Mother Wound by @imagining-in-the-margins

Prompt: Nobody said healing would be easy but they had no idea it would be this hard

Summary: Spencer and Reader bond over having emotionally absent mothers

The image of them as children making it through the dark is very touching. It's a beautifully written, bittersweet story with the ability to bring hope to those who need it.

Crazy Ex by @c-m-stuff

Prompt: Person A needs to find B before it’s too late

Summary: You and Spencer are together. When you found strange pictures of the two of you, you knew, this wasn't good

This story depicts the emotions of Spencer's girlfriend really well. I also love the team dynamics, everyone is trying to do their best despite being terrified of losing Spencer.

Rumoured Nights * by @fortheloveofwonderland

Prompt: Someone has to unexpectedly share a hotel room with their favorite coworker - who apparently really likes to cuddle

Summary: A case in a small town in Alaska forces you and your favourite coworker into sharing a room and a bed. And according to Morgan, Spencer likes to cuddle.

This fic has everything I want for a prompt like this - mutual pining, a bit of awkwardness, everyone knowing except for them and then finally them acting on their desires. I also love the team dynamics you added to the story!

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Dar+ling by @leahseclipse

What a cute story! I really like how comfortable they are with each other. Even though Emily usually is more hesitant to show her feelings, she clearly feels safe around Reader here

Prompt: Person A finally confesses their feelings for B, who has wanted to do just the same for weeks

Summary: Emily finally gets the courage to confess their feelings to the reader, who has just wanted to do it too for a while

Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

The Way You Felt by @andiebeaword

What a wonderful story! I really like the way you describe their relationship without trying to sugarcoat it. I have a similar view on Jemily - they just weren't meant to have a happy end.

Prompt: Even though their love seemed to never be enough, Person A and B can't let go of each other

Summary: While on a flight to help Spencer, exes J.J. and Emily ultimately come to terms with their buried feelings

Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner

Dance With Me by @pandorasdreamings

I really appreciate it when Emily's complex backstory is mentioned in fics. She is such an interesting person to explore further, especially in the context of her relationships with other characters.

Prompt: Person A thinks they are not worth being taken care of. Person B proves the opposite

Summary: Emily is trying to move on and be happy, but her past keeps creeping up on her. Maybe the solution to her sadness has been in front of her the whole time

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

4 AM by @hotchs-bitch

I absolutely love the softness and delicacy of this story. We rarely see Aaron's vulnerable side and you did a perfect job showing us just that in such a sweet way.

Prompt: Person A didn't know where else to go in a time of need, so they ring B's doorbell

Summary: When Aaron's marriage crumbles and he finds himself alone, there's only one person he wants to turn to

Aaron Hotchner x Haley Hotchner

Question of Timing * by @codename-mom

I always thought Hotch and Haley's relationship is very interesting but I never really considered what it would be like from her perspective. It's nice to get some variety!

Prompt: The couple decides to expand their family

Summary: Aaron finally agreed to make Haley a mother and she realised that the d-day is now. The issue is: how to convinced a husband afraid AF to be a father to do the last step? 

Aaron Hotchner x Derek Morgan

Drown in my Dreams by @masterwords

I was genuinely moved by your story and your writing style. The way you show how vulnerable both men are in a difficult situation like that is very touching.

Prompt: Person A has never shown any weakness until they can’t hold back their tears anymore. Person B is there to wipe them away

Summary: After dealing with Mr. Scratch, Derek just wants to put Hotch on his bike and get the hell out of town. So he does

Aaron Hotchner & Penelope Garcia

Nocturnal Wandering by @codename-mom

I like the way you described the dynamics between Hotch and Garcia. I always thought that their friendship was really special (and very underrated).

Prompt: Person A has never shown any weakness until they can’t hold back their tears anymore. Person B is there to wipe them away

Summary: Garcia was about to leave the sixth floor of Quantico, late at night, when she discovered that someone else was still there. Someone who was not into a good mood and clearly need some help. 

Please make sure to like and reblog these fics to show all those lovely writers some love!

[juststoriesintheend]

Unworthy

Pairing: Emerie Karr x Reader

Content: slight angst (but kind of not really), admission of feelings, fluff, 1st kiss, short n sweet

"I wasn't meant to be loved."

It was a simple thing, admitted far into the evening long after your heart had found its way onto your sleeve and your common sense had fled. You'd put too much thought into and hoped she wouldn't put enough in herself, and you let her comfort you with uncertain whisperings and an almost-brush of hands, and you left it at that.

It wasn't meant to be anything more. Yet still the morning came and with it, this strange, frantic conversation that's knocked the breath from your lungs entirely.

"I have often felt the same." She's clutching her datapad to her chest now as she confesses to you, eyes lowered and brows furrowed, her mouth tilted into some small, sad thing. "I have so much to make up for, it seems impossible to atone for, but..."

She stops. Her eyes, so dark and deep, seem to search everything in sight - the floor, the inseam of her boots, the bend of your leg, the lines of your face - until finally, she allows herself to look you in the eye and you see something there that yearns to be free.

"I cannot imagine that you would ever think yourself unworthy."

"Em..."

You want to fight her on this, to push her away as punishment for your own misplaced vulnerability, but those eyes, the way she's watching you. Now's not the time for fighting or for denial.

"I... I have something I need to say, only I'm not sure how to say it."

And the datapad falls away, placed somewhere nearby but ultimately out of sight, so she can take one of your hands in hers. It's the first time, the first real time, that she's chosen to initiate a touch between you, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You don't even dare to dream what she might want to say for fear of it coming true, for fear of it being little more than a wish. For fear that her words could topple you in an instant and you'd be powerless to stop her. But that's just love.

Emerie shifts a little closer. She takes hold of your other hand. Her toes fit into place between your feet. She leans in, so gentle and slow, until her forehead touches yours, and it's then that the curtain of her hair falls over one shoulder; a wave of dark curls that smells like her perfume and the sweetness of orchids.

She breathes in. Then out. Her breath stirs upon your skin, heating the apples of your cheeks and triggering your pulse until its galloping inside you, thrumming and straining as the everything that is her begins to consume you.

"I was alone," she finally says, "for so long. I did things I'm ashamed of now. And all this time, I thought I wasn't meant for anything more than that. You" - and she squeezes both your hands - "have made me feel more alive than, than anything I've done since the day I was taken from my pod."

There's a moment after that. It's fragile and uncertain, but it spans an eternity, warmed only by the sharing of breath and the flush in your cheeks. The air is electric in the wake of this second confession. It's so charged that you can feel it seeping into your bones until it curls up to rest somewhere in your ribcage, just below the place in your heart where Emerie has made her home.

Her breath stutters, she withdraws, glances hesitantly in your direction, and then she kisses you.

If ever there was a defining moment in the universe, this would be it. This awkward fumbling of mouths is almost juvenile, but it's everything. It's beautiful. It's perfect. It's her. It's her scent, her taste, the lingering notes of sweetened caf and caramel, the brush of her hair on your face, the palm of her hand on your cheek as she draws you in, closer, closer, until you're sure you're one being.

"You were meant to be loved," she tells you when she pulls back. Her lips are damp with your saliva and her pupils blown, and she's the loveliest thing you think you've ever seen. "You... are loved."

If she can be brave enough to admit it, then so can you. With your lungs on fire and your heart about to beat out of your chest, you offer your own admission. It's a simple thing, yes, but you mean it more than you've ever meant anything else. You've loved her since you met, even if you didn't know it, even if the words weren't there. Your heart had always known.

From now own, she's the only thing it will ever know.

[ambiguouslady42]

STEPH CONGRATS AGAIN ON REACHING 100 FOLLOWERS (and to many more 🥂) !! i’m here to send a req for the event ; my selfship with rin (bllk) ^^ hopefully you are okay w that fandom. dynamics and tropes etc are all here so feel free to take all the time you need if u ever decide to do mine xoxo

@ryescapades

Hi Rye! I cheated a little and used your headcanon to help me build your drabble! I used some examples from it, along with some lyrics from the playlist, to put it all together. I included 10 songs for the #10 player <3 Please let me know your thoughts!

The first time that you met, you came in like a storm. His whole life was to breathe and live soccer, but you interrupted the peace and quiet that existed in his mind. He initially had no intention of getting to know you, but over time, you slowly consumed his mind, then his heart.

As you work together outside to complete any major projects, he's always there to help you. He remains absent and aloof, but his actions speak a lot louder than his words. He denies that he is attracted to you, but he enjoys the thrill of touching you in whatever way. It's not sexual, but it's the light touches on your hips or his body ghosting yours, it sends electricity coursing through your body. You wonder if he has ulterior motives, as he is yet to say much, but your heart beats faster every time he gets closer to you.

With time, both of you get comfortable with each other, but there's a cloud of confusion that floats between you. He sometimes gets a little too comfortable with name calling, and sometimes you struggle to tell him what you're thinking or what's on your mind. This frustrates him at times because he wants to be able to understand you and connect with you. He likes listening to what you have to say. He calls you names that sound very mean to an outsider, but they're his way of trying to get comfortable with you. He starts to add songs to his playlist that remind him of you. Sometimes, he'll just share his earbud with you: "Here, what do you think about this song?" You never imagined that he would be the type to be into shoegaze music, but with someone who sometimes looks like he has his head in the clouds, dreaming of being the best striker in the world.

However, with time, the more you spend time with him, watching him practice or play, other thoughts cloud his mind. It's not that you would be a useful part of his life, but he wonders how much more space you can take up in his head. He's never really shown interest in connecting with his teammates, so even getting close to you terrifies him. He pushes you away when there comes the moment when your bodies get too close and you confess your feelings first. You thought it would liberate you of the hold he may have on you, but his inability to accept that someone may care about him beyond soccer creates a chasm between the two of you. You don't see him for a little bit, and the songs in his playlist become songs of yearning for you. He wants to be able to open a sliver of himself for you, but he is terrified. "Is there life beyond soccer?" he thought.

He's called you a dumbass before, but one day he woke up and knew that he was the dumbass all along. He realizes that life isn't just living and breathing soccer. He wants to have other experiences, and he wants you to be there with him. He wants to be able to hear you share the mundane parts of your day, he wants to hear you talk about your hopes and aspirations. He finds the courage to confess to you how stupid he was to watch his life passing by without you by his side. "Sit me down, shut me up," are the last words that come out of his mouth when that fateful kiss takes place. There's vulnerability to this kiss, allowing someone to come into his space and genuinely get to know him.

While soccer is still something that is a major part of his life, he makes room for you and looks forward to having you in his arms after the final scoring goal. It wouldn't matter anyway, he's a winner in your eyes.

[harryssyndrome]

Backstage To My Heart

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 | 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞?

The soft glow of fairy lights cast a gentle warmth across the room, blending with the star-shaped lights that twinkled above Ashley’s bed like a night sky. The walls were a silent testament to years of admiration—posters of Harry and One Direction covered nearly every inch, each capturing a different era of his life. A particular image of Harry, dressed in a white sweater adorned with Mickey Mouse from his L’Officiel photoshoot, his expression both playful and brooding, sat framed on her desk, like a treasured keepsake. Next to it, bottles of Pleasing nail polish and lip balm were carefully arranged, small reminders of the brand he had created, each item a symbol of how connected she felt to his world.

It’s a space that reflects both her passion and quiet yearning, filled with memorabilia and personal touches.

Ashley sits quietly, fingers tracing the edge of a blank, white A4 page. Her heart feels full, almost too full, as if it could burst from the weight of everything unsaid. With a soft sigh, she picks up her pen, glancing one last time at Harry’s smiling face in the frame. Her thoughts race, her mind replaying every precious moment they’ve shared, even the smallest ones, and she begins to write.

“Dear Harry,”

“I still can’t believe it sometimes. That our paths crossed that day—thanks to your sweet little niece. I’ve thought about it so many times, imagined it in so many ways, but never did I believe that it would actually happen. I was just another fan, another face in the crowd. You were always so far away, like the stars—beautiful, untouchable.”

Her hand pauses, and she bites her lip, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions rushing through her. The memory of meeting him that day, his soft smile, his voice—it all feels surreal. She thought she’d collapse from the joy of just being near him. And now, she was going to be a part of his life, even if just in a small way.

She continues to write.

“I only ever dreamt of being one of those people who are lucky enough to spend time with you, to know the person behind the songs, the artist behind the music. But now… now I’m here.I am going to be working with you. Being around you. Talking to you. I never thought that was even possible. This… this is more than I could’ve ever wished for. More than my wildest dreams.”

Her breath hitches as she re-reads her words. Working on Harry’s upcoming album—it was like living in a fantasy she never wanted to end. But with every moment spent together, with every conversation, it became harder to suppress the feelings that had grown since she was a teenager, staring at his posters and imagining a life where their worlds might overlap.

She hesitates again, twirling the pen between her fingers, feeling the weight of her own vulnerability in the words she’s about to confess.

“I just hope I don’t mess things up for us—for you. I know I’m supposed to be professional, to just focus on the music, but it’s hard. It’s so hard when every time I look at you, I feel everything I’ve been holding back. I’ve tried to hide it, but I don’t know how much longer I can.”

Her handwriting grows shakier. She blinks back a tear, but a soft smile forms on her lips. Harry didn’t know, he couldn’t. How could he? She was just one person among millions who adored him. But there had been moments—quiet moments—where she thought she saw something in his eyes, something he was trying to say but couldn’t.

“I’ve loved you since I was 16, Harry. It’s crazy to even write that, but I have. I wonder if you’ll ever feel the same, if you’ll ever see me the way I see you. I noticed today, at our secret spot, that you were trying to say something. I could see it in the way your eyes softened, how your smile faltered just a little. But you didn’t say it, not yet.”

A quiet sigh escapes her as she leans back in her chair, the pen falling from her hand. She closes her eyes for a moment, her mind drifting back to their meeting earlier that day. It had been at their special place, away from the cameras, away from everyone. There was a comfort in the way they sat together, the way he looked at her, almost as if he wanted to reach out and close the gap between them.

“I’ll wait for you, Harry. For that day when you finally say what’s in your heart. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. I’m yours… forever, even if you were never meant to be mine.”

Her fingers gently fold the letter, carefully placing it inside a drawer as if it holds a part of her soul. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever give it to him, but for now, it exists, just like her love for him—quiet, patient, and unspoken.

Ashley glances around the room one last time, her eyes settling on Harry’s posters, the twinkling fairy lights surrounding them like constellations in the night. She lets out a deep breath, feeling both heavy and light, trapped in a place between hope and uncertainty.

It was finally time for her to sleep. She was going to have a long day tomorrow.

The golden morning light lazily filters through the curtains, bathing Ashley’s room in a soft glow. She stands at her dresser, methodically brushing her hair, the rhythmic motions of the brush calming her slightly. In her reflection, she notices the subtle tension in her own face—her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes a little more tired than usual. She pushes the thoughts of her father out of her mind, focusing instead on the day ahead. Today is important: the audition she’s been practicing for, and later, time with Harry at the studio.

Ashley takes a deep breath, trying to force a sense of control over the morning. As she finishes up, her phone buzzes on the desk, vibrating against a framed picture of her and her mother from years ago. She glances at the screen—her mother’s name flashes across it.

She smiles, feeling a warm sense of familiarity.

“Mum, good morning!” she says brightly, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear while she packs her bag.

There’s a brief silence on the other end before her mother responds.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

The reply feels off—her mother’s voice lacks its usual lightness. It’s tight, strained, as if she’s trying to keep her emotions in check. Ashley’s hand freezes mid-motion, and she frowns, sensing the tension immediately.

“Mum… what’s wrong?” Her question is gentle but firm. Ashley knows her mother well enough to tell when something is being hidden.

“Oh, nothing, darling. I just wanted to hear your voice. I know you have that big audition today I just wanted to wish you luck, and I didn’t want to disturb you…”

Ashley’s heart skips a beat. The last time her mother called this early was when her grandmother had fallen ill. She swallows, dread creeping in at the edges of her thoughts. She sits down on the edge of the bed, her voice becoming quieter, more insistent.

“Mum, please, just tell me. I can hear it in your voice. Something’s happened.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. Ashley can almost hear her mother debating whether to tell her. Then, her mother’s voice comes back, but now it’s smaller, frail.

“It’s your father, Ashley. Last night, we went to a party together, and he… he embarrassed me in front of everyone. He made a scene.”

The words hit Ashley like a physical blow. She feels her chest tighten as the full weight of them settles in. She takes a deep breath, her grip on the phone tightening.

“What do you mean? What did he do this time?”

Her mother’s voice wavers, breaking slightly.

“He started making these comments about your uncle, my side side of the family—loudly, in front of everyone. People were staring, Ashley. It was humiliating. I’ve dealt with his attitude before, but last night… he was different. Cruel.”

Ashley feels her pulse quicken, anger bubbling up inside her. She closes her eyes, trying to hold back the surge of emotions rising in her chest.

“Mum, I don’t… I don’t get it. Why does he keep doing this? What does he have against Uncle and your side of the family? It’s like… it’s like he’s punishing you for something.” Her voice cracks with frustration.

Her mother is quiet for a moment, then she sighs deeply.

“That’s not all, sweetheart. I found out something after the party. Your uncle’s job—he almost lost it. And it turns out… it was your father. He used his connections to sabotage your uncle’s position.”

There’s silence between them now, thick and heavy, the weight of the revelation settling like a dark cloud over Ashley. Her hands are trembling now, her heart racing in disbelief. She feels hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

“He… he did what?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, stunned by the cruelty of it.

“I can’t believe this. Why would he… How could he do that?”

Her mother’s voice cracks with emotion, the pain evident in every word.

“I don’t know, Ashley. I wish I could explain it. He’s always had this resentment towards my family, but I didn’t think he’d go this far. Your uncle doesn’t deserve this. None of us do.”

Ashley stands up, pacing now, her mind swirling with anger, frustration, and sadness.

“Mum, I… I don’t even know what to say. This is unbelievable. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You don’t deserve any of it.”

“It’s not your fault, love,” her mother whispers, her voice shaking.

“I just didn’t want to tell you, but I couldn’t hide it anymore. Everyone’s tense. Your uncle is devastated. It’s like… everything is falling apart.”

Ashley presses the heel of her hand against her eyes, trying to hold back tears.

“I’ll come by as soon as I can. I promise. I’ll help fix this. We’ll figure it out, Mum.

Her mother sniffles softly.

“Thank you, sweetheart but don’t w-worry okay? You don’t have to come. Just… focus on your day for now. Don’t let this ruin everything. I don’t want you distracted by this during your audition.”

But how could she not be? As they end the call, Ashley remains seated, staring blankly at her phone for several minutes, her heart heavy with the weight of her family’s situation. Her father’s actions feel like a betrayal, not just to her uncle, but to her entire family. It’s like a wound that’s been festering, now wide open.

“Why is he like this?”

She takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to center herself, but the tears come anyway. She wipes them away quickly, trying to gather her emotions. The day ahead suddenly feels like a mountain she’s not sure she can climb.

Still trying to shake off the heaviness of the conversation with her mother, Ashley moves through her room in a haze. She grabs her backpack, throwing in the essentials, but her hands are shaking as she zips it shut. She feels disconnected from the moment, her mind still replaying the conversation, trying to understand how her father could do something so awful.

As she swings the bag over her shoulder, her roommate Rave enters the room, already sensing that something’s wrong.

“Hey… are you okay? You’ve been kind of quiet all morning,” Rave says, her eyes narrowing in concern.

Ashley tries to smile, but it’s forced, the weight of everything too much to hide.

“Yeah, just… had a rough start. Family stuff, you know? It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Her voice wavers slightly, betraying her emotions.

Rave raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing? Come on, Ash, I know you. Something’s bothering you. You don’t have to keep it all bottled up.”

Ashley hesitates for a moment, tempted to unload everything that’s weighing on her, but she stops herself. There’s no time, and she doesn’t want to burden Rave with the details. Not now.

“I appreciate it, really, but… I just need to get through the day. We’ll talk later, I promise.” She offers another weak smile before turning toward the door.

Rave watches her for a moment, still unconvinced but not wanting to push.

“Okay. Just know I’m here if you need me. And good luck today, with the audition and everything.”

“Thanks,” Ashley mumbles as she leaves, but the words feel hollow. No amount of well-wishes could shake the dark cloud looming over her.

When she steps outside, the morning air is crisp and cool, a slight breeze brushing past her face. For a second, she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, hoping to clear her head. But when she opens them and looks at her bike, her heart sinks.

The back tire is flat. Completely deflated.

“Of course,” she mutters under her breath, a wave of frustration rising in her chest. She kneels down, inspecting the tire in vain. It’s punctured beyond repair for a quick fix, and she knows she’s running out of time.

Ashley kicks the tire lightly, feeling the growing tension in her body. Every little thing was going wrong today, and it’s starting to feel like the universe is working against her.

“Come on, not today,” she grumbles, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder again. Now she’s forced to walk, the minutes ticking away as she calculates how late she’s going to be for the audition. With every step, the frustration builds, bubbling beneath the surface until it’s hard to focus on anything but her mounting anger.

By the time Ashley arrives at the audition venue, she’s late, breathless, and disheveled. She runs a hand through her hair, trying to compose herself, but her mind is scattered. Her father’s betrayal, the stress of her family, the punctured tire—it all swirls in her head, making it impossible to focus.

Inside the waiting area, she sits down, trying to calm her racing heart, but the thoughts won’t stop. She checks her watch again, her foot tapping nervously against the floor.

When her name is finally called, she stands up, her legs feeling heavy as if each step towards the audition room is weighed down by all her emotions. She forces herself to breathe, but it feels shallow, rushed. As she enters the room, she’s immediately hit by the bright lights, the silent, observing faces of the casting directors seated in front of her. Their expressions are unreadable, professional, but intimidating.

The room is suffocatingly quiet, and Ashley can feel the weight of their eyes on her as she steps into the center of the floor. She clears her throat, but it’s dry. Her mind, which had once been filled with rehearsed lines and practiced emotions, is now a swirling mess of family drama, insecurity, and frustration.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the casting directors says, his tone neutral but expectant. Ashley’s heart pounds, and she can feel sweat starting to form at the back of her neck.

She opens her mouth to begin, but her voice falters, barely a whisper at first. She pushes through, but her mind is racing, her concentration slipping. Her mother’s trembling voice is all she can hear in her head, repeating the details of the party, her father’s actions, the hurt in her family. Her hands start to shake slightly, and the script she’s memorized blurs in her mind.

Midway through, she completely loses her place.

Ashley freezes. Her breath catches in her throat, and the room seems to close in on her. For a moment, she just stands there, staring at the casting directors, their expectant faces starting to shift into something colder, more critical. The longer the silence stretches, the more panic sets in.

“I… I’m sorry,” she stammers, her voice cracking. She tries to remember where she left off, but her mind is blank. Her chest tightens, and all the frustration she’s been holding in since that phone call with her mother threatens to spill over. She feels tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but she wills them not to fall. Not here.

The casting director closest to her clears his throat, glancing down at his notes.

“Thank you for coming in, Ashley. We’ll be in touch.”

The dismissal is polite but definitive. Ashley feels her heart drop. She nods quickly, biting her lower lip to keep from bursting into tears. As she rushes out of the room, the humiliation burns hot in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Once outside, the floodgates open. She leans against the wall in the hallway, her legs weak, her hands trembling. Tears flow freely now, and she covers her face with her hands, shoulders shaking as she sobs quietly. Everything feels like it’s falling apart. Her family is in turmoil, her father’s betrayal still fresh in her mind, and now she’s blown the audition she’d worked so hard for.

Her dreams of securing the role feel shattered, and all she can think about is how she’s failed—failed her mother, her uncle, and now herself.

She pulls out her phone with shaky hands, checking the time. Her vision is still blurred with tears, but she manages to see the clock: she’s supposed to meet Harry at his recording studio soon.

The thought of facing him now, after everything, feels unbearable. What if he sees her like this? A mess, a failure? What if she lets him down too, just like she’s let everyone else down today?

Ashley wipes her tears with the back of her hand, her breath still shaky. She knows she can’t avoid Harry, not now. They have work to do, and she can’t let her personal mess spill into their professional life. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and forces herself to stand up straight.

“Pull it together, Ash,” she mutters to herself, her voice hoarse.

“Just… get through this. You can fall apart later.”

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder, swiping at her puffy eyes one last time before heading out of the building. Her feet feel heavy as she starts walking towards the studio, but she presses on, determined to face Harry even though the weight of the day still presses heavily on her chest.

Ashley’s stomach churns as she stands outside the recording studio, trying to compose herself. She takes one last deep breath, straightening her shoulders, attempting to shove all the day’s emotional baggage to the back of her mind. I have to get through this. Just be professional, Ash. Don’t let him see… she mentally repeats, trying to calm the storm raging inside her. She wipes at her eyes one last time before pushing the door open, stepping into the studio’s dimly lit hallway.

The faint sound of a guitar riff floats through the air, and for a moment, there’s a sense of peace in the music. But it’s fleeting, replaced by a tightening in her chest as she moves closer to where Harry is waiting.

As soon as she enters the main area, she sees him—Harry, standing near the soundboard, headphones around his neck, his face lighting up the moment he spots her. His hair is slightly messy, the way it always seems to be, and he’s wearing a comfortable yet stylish outfit—nothing too flashy, just Harry being Harry. His smile is wide and genuine, and for a split second, Ashley feels a flicker of warmth. But that warmth is quickly swallowed by the weight of her family’s problems, the pressure of the day.

Harry strides over, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, his energy infectious.

“There you are!” he says, his voice full of excitement. He leans in to give her a quick hug.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

Ashley forces a smile, but it feels like it barely reaches her eyes. Her arms are stiff as she returns the hug briefly before stepping back, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy.

“Of course not. I could never and I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says, her voice sounding overly bright, hollow even to her own ears.

Harry steps back and looks at her, his brows furrowing slightly, though he keeps his playful tone.

“You okay? You seem… I don’t know, different. No jumping into a story about your morning? What happened to all the energy?”

Ashley feels her heart sink. She hadn’t realized she was acting that off, but Harry knows her well enough to pick up on even the smallest changes in her behavior. She forces another smile, waving a dismissive hand.

“I’m fine, really. Just had a long morning. Nothing I can’t handle.” She hopes that’s enough to stop him from asking more, but she can see the concern in his eyes as he watches her closely.

Before he can push further, Harry grins and gestures toward the others in the studio, clearly excited.

“Well, come on then. Got some people who are dying to meet you—or meet you again, in some cases.”

Inside the studio, it's buzzing with creative energy. Producers are huddled around soundboards, engineers tweaking levels, and the band is scattered, tuning their instruments. Harry leads her around, introducing her to the team, though Ashley's mind struggles to focus on all the names and faces. She forces a polite smile each time, trying to hide how distant she feels from the moment.

"This is our producer, Tom, he's a genius with sound. And over here, we've got Sarah, the one who'll make sure I don't butcher any of the vocals," Harry says with a chuckle, throwing a playful look at Sarah, who laughs.

"You already sound great, Harry," Sarah teases back.

"And you know Mitch," Harry adds, gesturing to his guitarist and close friend, Mitch Rowland, who grins and gives Ashley a friendly wave.

"Good to have you back, Ash!" Mitch says in his usual laid-back manner, his tone filled with warmth.

"Harry's been talking nonstop about how you're gonna save this album with your brilliant ideas. No pressure, though."

Ashley forces a laugh, but it comes out weaker than intended.

"Yeah, well... I'll try not to let you down." Her voice cracks slightly, but she quickly covers it up with a cough, glancing away before anyone can notice the tears threatening to form.

“You ready to make us all sound better than we actually are?”

Mitch says with a grin, his guitar resting on his knee.

Ashley lets out a small laugh, but it’s weak, barely genuine.

“I’ll do my best,” she replies, hoping that the cracks in her facade aren’t showing as much as they feel like they are.

Harry leads her to a spot beside him near the soundboard.

“We’ve got a couple tracks we’re still fine-tuning, and I thought you might have some ideas to throw in.” He hands her a set of lyrics they’ve been working on.

“No pressure, just… see what comes to you.”

He later brings her over to the soundboard, pointing at the screen as one of the producers plays back a track they’d been working on.

“We were stuck on this verse, and I thought you’d have some killer ideas.” He looks at her expectantly, hope in his voice.

Ashley nods, trying to focus on the music. The melody is beautiful, the lyrics rich with potential, but her mind is a mess, the notes blurring into the background of her thoughts. She listens for a few beats, then tries to add some suggestions.

“Maybe… you could shift this line here? And the melody… could rise a bit more before the chorus kicks in…”

Her voice is unsteady, her suggestions coming slower than usual. Normally, she’d be filled with ideas, excitedly bouncing them off Harry and the team. But today, she can barely concentrate. The weight of her earlier breakdown, the betrayal from her father, and the humiliation from the audition all swirl in her mind, distracting her from the music in front of her.

Harry watches her, his smile softening. He can see it—something is off.

“That’s a good idea,” he says gently, though his eyes remain on her, searching her face. After a pause, he leans in closer, lowering his voice so the others can’t hear.

“Ash, you sure you’re alright?”

Ashley nods, taking the paper and scanning over the words, but the letters seem to blur together in front of her eyes. Her mind, still occupied with thoughts of her mother and father, can’t seem to focus on the task at hand. She bites her lip, willing herself to concentrate. This is what she came here for. To help. To contribute. To be a part of something that mattered to her.

She leans over the table, scribbling down a few notes, offering suggestions here and there, but it’s all surface-level. Her heart isn’t in it, and she knows it. So does Harry.

He leans in closer, lowering his voice so the others can���t hear.

“Are you sure, you’re okay?” His tone is softer now, filled with concern.

“You’re not your usual self today. If something’s bothering you, we can talk about it.”

Ashley forces herself to keep her composure, her heart squeezing painfully at his kindness. She wants to open up to him, to tell him everything that’s weighing her down, but now isn’t the time. Not here, not with all these people around. So she shakes her head, forcing a smile that feels more like a mask.

“I promise, it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Harry doesn’t look convinced, his eyes still scanning her face for answers, but he gives her a small nod.

“Okay,” he says quietly,

“but just… you know I’m here for you, right? If you ever need to talk. About anything.”

His words send a pang of emotion through her chest, but she swallows it down, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I know. Thank you.” She glances back at the lyrics, desperately trying to refocus her mind.

But it’s no use. The weight of her family’s problems is pressing down on her, her thoughts scattering. When they reach a part of the song that needs a new verse, Harry looks to her for ideas, but Ashley just stares at the paper, her mind blank. The pressure mounts as the seconds tick by, and she can feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her to contribute.

She tries to come up with something—anything—but the words won’t come. Her throat tightens, her hands trembling slightly as she grips the pen. She’s stuck, completely paralyzed by the whirlwind of emotions she’s been trying so hard to suppress.

Suddenly, she feels the burn of tears welling up in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, trying to hold them back, but they come anyway, hot and unwanted. She turns her head slightly, hoping no one will notice, especially Harry. She wipes at her eyes quickly, but a tear escapes, and she can feel the lump in her throat growing larger, threatening to choke her.

Harry notices. Of course he notices. He watches her, concern deepening in his gaze. He reaches out, his hand resting lightly on her arm, his touch gentle but grounding.

“Ash…” he begins softly, his voice filled with worry.

But Ashley can’t look at him. If she does, she knows she’ll break. She takes a deep breath, forcing the tears back down, blinking rapidly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“I just… I need a minute.”

Without waiting for a response, she quickly stands up, excusing herself and walking toward the door, her steps hurried and uneven. The tears she’s been holding in finally spill over once she’s out of the room, and she presses her back against the wall in the hallway, her hands covering her face as she sobs quietly.

She hates this. Hates that she can’t hold it together, that she’s letting her personal life bleed into the one place that used to bring her joy. She hates that Harry has to see her like this—weak, broken.

Inside, Harry watches her leave, his heart sinking as he sees the pain she’s trying so hard to hide. He glances at Mitch and the others, sharing a silent understanding with them before quietly slipping out after her.

He finds her in the hallway, leaning against the wall, tears streaming down her face. For a moment, he just stands there, watching her, unsure of what to say. He knows that whatever she’s going through, it’s something deeper than just a bad day. And he wants to be there for her, to help her through it.

Without a word, he steps closer, standing beside her, not pushing her to speak but making his presence known. He mentally debates if he should provide her with some physical support or not without making her uncomfortable but he does it anyway, he gently places his hand on the small of her back. After a few seconds of silence, he speaks gently, his voice low.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know? Not with me.”

Ashley sniffs, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater, embarrassed that he’s seen her like this. She doesn’t respond immediately, but after a long pause, she whispers,

“I’m just… it’s been a lot. My family… there’s stuff going on, and I can’t… I don’t know how to handle it.”

Harry nods, understanding, but doesn’t press her for more details. Instead, he offers her a small, reassuring smile.

“You don’t have to handle it alone.”

His words, so simple yet so full of warmth, cut through the fog in Ashley’s mind. She looks up at him, her eyes still red from crying, and for the first time that day, she feels like maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t have to carry all of this by herself.

A/N: here comes another one! I love this sweet and caring side of Harry so much! Well I love everything about but you what I mean! Thx for the love so far lovelies! 💗 see you tomorrow

Like, comment and reblog are appreciated! DO NOT STEAL MY WORK!! I WILL FIND YOU.

STORY MASTER-LIST

Tag-list: @prettygurl-2009 @sassamanda77 (TAG-LIST IS OPEN) let me know if you wanna be added via comments or DMs

Posted on: October 5th, 2024

[teaguehq]

For my dear @josephafq on his birthday.

Dear Joseph,

It's your birthday!! I get so excited to celebrate occasions like this with you, and especially the ones like today that make you the focus of a lot of spoiling that you deserve. And that's certainly the plan for today, as I've been making plans for weeks to ensure this day is a full celebration of the day you were born, and a reminder of just how lucky I feel to be here with you for it. I've admittedly waited until the last few days before your birthday to sit and write this letter, since it's always been a bit of a challenge putting into words exactly what I feel, and especially when it comes to my feelings for you. That's a bit silly, right? We're both artists and supposed to be better than most at that sort of thing, but alas, I get so caught up in wanting to say things perfectly and in the way you deserve them that I often forget you always appreciate the effort regardless, and would probably kiss me and tell me I'm overthinking it. You're worth the overthinking is all I can say to that! Because I can't help thinking about our recent confessions and just the fact that you love me, and I love you, and how it's out in the open now. I guess part of me was a little scared to admit that, partly for potentially scaring you away, and partly because it is such a vulnerable thing to admit. I told you that I knew before I'd admitted it, around the time you surprised me with a visit to Calgary and I practically ran off set mid-take just to greet you. I realized when we were saying our goodbyes that I loved you, that I hadn't felt that way about anyone in a long time. And though I didn't say it, I'd like to think that part of you knew. But you can imagine my surprise and my delight when you said that, said you envision a future with me, which was something I'd been hopeful for yet a little afraid of doing myself. Like I'd jinx things if I thought too far ahead, you know? Which sounds silly to say our loud, let alone write.

I want you to know you've definitely eased me out of feeling that way. You're always patient with me, always kind, and every day, I wonder what I did to deserve someone as amazing as you are in my life. Because that's exactly what you are, Joseph, and I couldn't say that about you enough, or thank whatever forces are out there enough that brought us together. I'm grateful that we get to build a life together, and of course that it includes celebrating every milestone and fun event, like birthdays! Because what better time to let you know just how special your existence is in the world? It's certainly made such a huge difference in mine, to the point where I'd never want to live life without you in it. I've also been lucky enough to see all of your amazing accomplishments both in your professional and personal life, and I've never been so happy and so proud of someone, and so overjoyed getting a front row seat to see all of it up close. And when I think about our future, which makes me so happy to say that it's ours, I can't see my being proud of you or happy for you fading in the least, since I know you're going to do so many more amazing things, and that we'll get to do a lot of those together. I know that's one of the most important things to me, making memories with you and spending as much of my time with you as I possibly can. Even when that's a challenge with the two of us always working, the one thing you've shown me and continually reassured me that we're in this together, that we'll always work around whatever distance we have to, that you're not going anywhere. Nor am I, I hope you know, as I'd be all the more lucky to have as much time with you as I can have. So, here's to what I'm hoping will be such an amazing next year for you, with all wishes granted and every single one of your dreams coming true, and me getting to cheer you on for all of it. Happy Birthday, Joseph, and I love you so very much. I hope you look back on this day the way I do all our memories with you, with a smile and the desire to always keep them close to the heart.

Love always, Owen

A birthday isn't a birthday without a cake, and I thought this particular one would be a cake you got a kick out of for the guitar and music theme.

This is one of the gifts I've been slowly working on for weeks, taking pictures of our memories over that time, and often on the sly so it could be a proper surprise. Included are most for our travels, including the trips to London, Tampa, and New York! And of course I had to include the sweet gift you planned for me with the decorations at your apartment, along with the photos we both took for New Year's.

You have such an impressive guitar collection already that it was a challenge trying to think of one you don't already have! Although this one seemed perfect when I couldn't get the time you surprised me with a date at the planetarium off my mind, so only natural you should have a guitar shaped like a star.

Once again, I know I'm likely celebrating a little prematurely, though either way, you'll have this amazing collection of unedited studio songs by The Beatles.

You look so amazing in leather jackets that I couldn't resist getting you another one.

This is a puzzle bracelet, which I both liked the name and the look, not to mention I thought it'd look incredible on your wrist. Happy to take you out for an occasion you can wear it.

A bit of a silly gift, I know, though I love yours and Jamie's friendship and know you'd totally get a kick out of getting something with his face on it. Well, sort of. At least you know he's in there!

This particular surprise for you is in the form of a trip in a Gondola! Banff is just outside of Calgary, and I booked us a tour to ride up Sulfer Mountain and take in all its beautiful views before we head to Banff hot springs! Which, I booked the time slot for just the two of us, so we can hang around int he hot springs and relax for as long as we'd like, at least until I whisk you away for your birthday dinner.

So, this was admittedly the most difficult surprise to keep to myself, but I did book us a cabin just outside of Calgary! And part of the surprise is that while production on the show isn't quite finished, my part of it is, hence why we've got the cabin for the week! It has plenty of amenities to make you feel entirely spoiled, and as you should, including a nice hot tub. and while activities are a bit limited in the winter, we can always go dog sledding, snow shoeing, skiing or skating if your heart desires! I may have also booked a surprise helicopter tour for you, just so we can see everything in the area from another view. But anything else we do this entire week is up to you, so if that end sup just relaxing in the cabin and keeping each other warm, you won't hear me complaining about that in the least.

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 7: Dream a Little Dream of Me

Summary: Melara confronts Loki at the end of time.

Word Count: 2,611 words.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, implied smut (sorry, my kiddos were reading this story, so I couldn't write it full-blown smut how I wanted to...maybe in another story about these characters because I already have another one in the works).

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Dream a Little Dream of Me performed by Anne Reburn

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

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A/N: Writing this chapter made me cry. Every time I re-read it, I cry. It's a little shorter than the rest, but it gets the job done.

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The spectral form of Loki, flickering at the edges where the moonlight met the shadow, eyed Melara with a tumult of emotions playing across his face. It was a face torn between worlds, between the stark duties of a god and the raw, burgeoning need of a being who now found himself inexplicably bound to a mortal.

“I told you, I simply cannot take you to me,” he began, his voice a mixture of regret and iron-clad resolve. “There are consequences, Melara, repercussions that ripple through time and space, affecting not just us, but the very fabric of this…your reality.”

Melara’s gaze did not falter, her voice rising to match the intensity of her emotions. “And what of the consequences of your absence here? Of promises half-fulfilled, of a presence that is more shadow than substance?” Her words, sharp as shards of glass, aimed to pierce the veil of his indecision.

Loki’s form shimmered, a sign of the conflict raging within. He was the guardian of the timelines, the one who sat upon the throne at the end of all things, and yet here he was, grappling with the deeply personal, intimate plea of a woman who had managed to carve a niche in his ancient heart.

“The fabric of your world…of you…has become interwoven with every essence of my being,” he confessed, his usual flamboyance stripped away, leaving raw honesty. “Even across the great distance. To bring you to me is to expose you to the infinite complexities of existence, to the eternal burden I carry. It is to risk more than you can imagine.”

Melara’s response was laden with a heartbreaking mixture of hope and despair. “I have shared my darkest fears, my deepest pain with you. I have been vulnerable in ways I never thought possible. Can you not trust me to face your truth?”

Loki’s projection continued to kneel before her, a symbolic gesture that transcended the physical distance between them. “It is not a matter of trust,” he whispered, his voice carrying an echo of his duty to protect both the timelines and her. “It is a matter of safeguarding what I have come to cherish above all else. What you seek is redemption, Melara, and it is I who should be redeemed.”

The air was thick with the unspoken words and the gravity of the decision that lay before him. Loki’s eyes closed, a silent prayer to the fates that had led him to this juncture. When they opened, a new determination sparkled in his eyes, a clarity that had been absent moments before.

“I will bring you to me,” he said, the words falling like stones into the stillness of the room. “But you must be prepared for the journey, for the truth of what you will see. You must understand that who is before you is but one facet of a being forged in the crucible of time and chaos.”

Melara stood resolute in her demand. “Take me to him,” she repeated simply.

And with those words, the room around them began to shift, the walls of reality thinning as Loki extended his hand towards her, covering her eyes as a gust of air blew at her tousled hair. The veil between their worlds was lifting, and together they stepped forward into the maelstrom of destiny, their fates forever entwined.

Melara’s eyes fluttered open at the cessation of the breeze, the air still, yet charged around her. The chill of the air made her shiver in her thin nightgown, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. Her gaze fell upon her feet, bare against the cold marble that seemed to stretch endlessly before her, leading upwards in the dark. The staircase before her was majestic, its surface a dance of gold and onyx-colored stone, each step seemingly alive with a light that pulsed from the cracks, veins of power leading towards an ethereal vortex swirling with hues of green and purple.

Loki’s projection, a guide at the threshold of worlds, nodded towards the ascent. “Up you go,” was all he said, his voice a whisper in the vastness.

With a breath that felt like the first, Melara began her climb, each step resonating with the echo of destinies being woven and unwoven in the distance. The closer she came to the apex, the more the timelines, those ribbons of fate, sang with the voices of countless lives lived and yet to be lived.

There, at the summit, sat Loki, his form more substantial than any projection could encapsulate, immersed in the silent orchestration of time itself. His eyes, pools of eternity, were fixed on the dance of green strands that flowed through his fingers like water. He was the architect of destinies, the custodian of time’s flow, and she recognized this as the vision she’d had of him night after night in her dreams since the day they had met. The sight of Melara seemed to puncture the very fabric of his being, a single tear betraying the stoicism etched into his features.

In one swift motion that held the grace of the ages, he drew the timelines around him, crafting them into a cloak that shimmered with the essence of all realities, the throne beneath him as much a part of him as the breath of the cosmos. As Melara approached, each step reverent and bold, she reached out to touch the tear, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cold she had felt from the lips of his projection just moments before.

Her hands, tender and hesitant, traced the contours of a face marked by the passage of eons, the lines telling stories of laughter, of sorrow, of battles fought in the shadows and light. He responded to her touch, a being of power yielding to the simple act of a physical connection, the need to be seen, to be felt.

Seated in the cradle of his existence, she leaned in, her lips finding his in a kiss that was a confluence of the past, present, and future – a merging of mortal and divine. The kiss deepened, and Loki’s embrace enfolded her, the timelines now a radiant backdrop to the union of two souls drawn together across the impossible expanse of reality. His fingers explored the reality of her, a contrast to the timelines that he had only manipulated but never felt as he felt her now.

In their embrace, the universe seemed to pause, the timelines glowing ever brighter, a testament to the power of a moment that defied the very laws of nature. It was a passion born of the convergence of two paths, a mortal and a god, in the heart of infinite realities and realms as Loki pulled Melara to rest in his lap, not releasing her lips until she pulled away gasping for air.

Melara’s eyes fluttered open in the stillness that followed their kiss, locking with Loki’s. The chaotic dance of the timelines around them seemed to slow as if giving them a rare moment of tranquility amidst the usual tumult of the multiverse. She gazed into the eyes of the god who had woven himself into her life, her expression a blend of awe and affection, the enormity of the moment not lost on her.

With a weak but heartfelt smile, she whispered, “Hello,” her voice barely rising above the whispers of time that threaded through the space around them. It was a greeting, yes, but also an acknowledgment of the new depth to their relationship, a single word that spoke volumes of acceptance and understanding.

Loki, taken aback by the simplicity and depth of her greeting, returned her smile with a warmth that had nothing to do with the power he wielded. “Hello,” he echoed, the word a promise and an offering, a vow to honor the trust she placed in him at this confluence of their lives.

Melara’s voice trembled as she began to speak, but Loki gently placed a finger upon her lips, silencing the fight within her. His eyes, a mirror to the cosmos, gazed into hers with a silent intensity. “Melara,” he whispered, the timbre of his voice quivering with the truth of his heart, “across the distances, you have managed to bewitch me, mind, body, and soul. From the very first note that escaped those lips, I have loved you.” There was a sacred silence that fell between them, as if the universe paused to concede to the depth of his confession.

The timelines cast their emerald glow on Melara and Loki. Melara, ever blunt and unmoved by Loki’s grandeur, met his gaze with a mixture of warmth and reprimand. “That’s quite the speech, but you’re not off the hook yet,” she teased, her tone light yet firm. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do, Loki. But…I suppose being loved by a god isn’t the worst fate in the cosmos,” she admitted, a playful nod to his confession.

Loki’s gaze softened as warmth blossomed on Melara’s skin, her words igniting a flush that spread across her cheeks. Gently, he cradled her face in his hand, savoring the genuine touch, the real connection that had eluded him until this moment – a sharp contrast to the hollow interactions of his projection that she had rejected so fervently just before her journey to his throne.

In the stillness of their profound embrace, Melara’s breath whispered against the fabric of reality, her voice a tender caress in the vast silence of the throne room. She drew near, her lips a breath away from Loki’s ear, the softness and warmth of her skin as it brushed against his elicited a long melodious sigh from his lips as she began to sing the words, “Stars shining up above you.” She smiled, leaning her head against his.

“Night breezes seem to whisper,” pausing, she carefully whispered the words “I love you.”

Loki’s entire essence melted as she continued, enveloping him in the quiet melody she had chosen, an Earth song of dreams and whispered love.

Birds singing in the sycamore trees, Dream a little dream of me.

A single tear fell from her eye as she pulled back to drink in the sight and scent of Loki. His skin was soft and his smell was a delicious resinous fragrance, reminiscent of the deep, verdant forests surrounding her hometown. The lyrics were clear in her intent, a gentle declaration meant for him alone. Her voice was subdued compared to the belted words she had crooned on the night they had first met. This essence of her voice floated with the subtle vibration that resonated down to the core of his corporeal being. Loki, the god of stories, found himself enveloped in a narrative of intimate simplicity, a single, shared moment that eclipsed the grandeur of his dominion over time and space.

Say ‘night-y night’ and kiss me.

She paused to kiss Loki’s forehead gently.

Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me.

Another pause to kiss each of his eyelids sweetly.

While I’m alone and blue as can be, Dream a little dream of me.

And yet another pause to choke back the tears from falling. Loki wiped them, mesmerized as she continued with a smile, the song soaring as she rocked the pair slowly, arms tightening around Loki’s shoulders as they sat entwined on the throne.

Stars fading but I linger on, dear, Still craving your kiss. I’m longing to linger ‘til dawn, dear, Just saying this…

Melara bit her lip, her voice cracking as she let a bittersweet giggle float from her lips before continuing.

Sweet dreams ‘til sunbeams find you, Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, But in your dreams, whatever they be… Dream a little dream of me.

On the throne seated at the end of time, Loki and Melara lingered as the last notes of her song hovered in the air, threatening to be set adrift by the whirling of the timeline cloak draped down Loki’s back. He cradled Melara, memorizing her every curve, the drape of her hair as it framed her face, how her eyes glowed, reflecting the light of the timelines burning brighter from the strength that her presence gave to Loki’s magic.

Melara leaned in to kiss Loki’s lips carefully, pulling back to whisper against them, “Do you hear that Loki?”

“What’s that?” he asked her curiously.

 A twinkle of mischief gleamed in her eyes as a smile pulled at her lips as they ghosted Loki’s. “I believe that’s the sound of the great god of stories brought to his knees by a mere mortal’s song. The tales of the wild woman who stole his heart will be told across the multiverse.”

Loki, the architect of fates and weaver of time’s threads, could not help but laugh heartily – a genuine, heartfelt sound that eased the tension of the moment between them. Their argument faded to a distant memory as Melara’s laughter joined his, a duet that filled the chamber with a lightness that belied the gravity of their surroundings. For just that moment, they were not mortal and god caught in the machinations of destiny, but two souls sharing a connection that transcended the bounds of their respective existences.

It was unspoken between them that this was likely the only time they would ever share the same space, at least without an avatar getting between them. Neither of them chose to dwell on that fact. Instead, they shared this bittersweet joke between them, a nod to the intimacy that had grown between them over the few weeks when Loki stood watch over her recovery.

As the laughter and smiles faded, they just gazed into each other’s eyes, protecting the other from a reality that would soon set in. But first, they would make this truly a moment to savor for the rest of their respective lives, lips meeting again, this time passionately.

***

“Nope!” Saoirse stood up, raising her hands in protest. “No, no, no, no, no, no. Nope! Uh uh. You are NOT going to tell me about how you banged my mother on that fucking…I mean…that throne up there!”

Loki nearly fell out of his oversized velvet green armchair in laughter as he watched his daughter nearly to the edge of vomiting as she thought of him and Melara and their encounter at the end of time. “I don’t have to tell you anything, daughter. Your mere existence is the result of it.”

“Loki!” Saoirse shouted, conjuring a rock to hurl in her father’s direction, him catching it just as swiftly as it was tossed. “Just stop! You were supposed to be telling me about her performance! Not…not this.”

His laughter dwindled into the softness of the expansive room, a gentle reminder of where he had left off in the story. He cleared his throat, the velvet timbre of his voice taking on a reverent tone. “Very well,” he cooed. “But I assure you it would not be nearly as interes-…”

Picking up the blade beside her, Saoirse pointed the tip directly at Loki, a threatening glare darkening her eyes with purple hues shimmering. “I assure you that the story I asked for would be much more [dry heave] fascinating.”

“Okay, okay. Just put the blade down. It pains me to see you dry heave while wielding such a magnificent weapon,” he said in jest, waving at the dagger pointed at him. “Know where you came from and all that nonsense, right? But where were we?”

Saoirse rolled her eyes angrily, lowering the dagger while mumbling under her breath, “God of fucking mischief!”

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Tags: @mischief2sarawr

[mysticalthingphantom]

Hey! I wanna get to know my Swiftie mutuals. Tell me your top 5 songs and albums from her. Feel free to go into depth/explain if you'd like!

hey!!! meowdy! ( yup, i read your bio and agree) nice to meet you! i'm sorry for all my lore but it is hard to talk about things i love without bringing personal matters with it. i feel like i can talk about taylor lyrics without trauma dumping so i am truly sorry for the things i wrote. but since you said you want to know your mutuals here i go!

TOP ALBUMS

1 - folklore: it is such an ethereal experience for me. i love how all the stories in it are connected in some way and the way she could create so many details for all the characters tbh i feel like i could have been any one of them and in some ways i am. i love how every song feels like summer rain, is comforting and vulnerable. i was the first album of her that i felt i could relate to 100%. is my all time favorite.

(now the positions after folklore vary depending of the day for me so i may change them later)

2 - the tortured poets department: i know is new and everyone is freaking out about it but for me that's one of the most honest pieces of music i have ever listen to it. i keep caught on all these debates about to whom she wrote it but is so stupid because these songs were never about anyone BUT taylor. she could have dated anyone and still wrote these masterpieces, it isn't about a man, it is about taylor swift. and she put SO MUCH of her heart in it that i can feel it. all that anger, all that pain, all that fear it all came from her. she is the artist. i know some critics say is easy to write 31 songs if they all look similar (haters gonna hate is so fucking true) but for me as an inspiring artist is a relief to know you can create different things about the same topic and don't feel ashamed about it. you can write about the same theme a thousand times and guess what? it can be a thousand times different because it will be a thousand different parts of yourself. everything about ttpd is so beautiful ( plus dead poets society references makes it perfect bc is my favorite movie)

3 - evermore: follows the folklore aesthetic and vibes. marjorie? champagne problems??? tolerate it???? Does she have a hidden camera in my backpack or something?

4 - speak now: i'm nineteen wtf she wrote something like THAT when she was nineteen?????? this album is so magical, It has some of the fantasy she later put on folklore and evermore but with more joy and cheerful melodies. listening to speak now is like opening my favorite book over and over. i wish i could be emma falling in love and i wish to live a timeless love and i wish i could sing long live with my friends/found family after winning a battle. i just love it all so much and never grown up? i listened to it when i was packing my things to move out of my hometown so you can imagine how much i relate to it. castles crumbling is also so close to my heart because i constantly feel i'm burning bridges and fucking things up. so yep all these fears of loneliness and failure goes present in this album goes deep .

5 - midnights: as a HUGE fan of the moon ( the moon is my true soulmate and i don't care if it "just a sattelite"or a "bunch of rocks and dust glued together" because guess what? i'm also a bunch of universal dust glued together) the whole celestial aesthetic of the album hits me like a train. all these confessions, these letters, these maniacal thoughts i have after the sun sets are not only mine. i love how she hugged me through these lyrics and showed me that everyone is haunted by ghosts after midnight. but the night time isn't just a place for nightmares, there is also hope, and joy and good dreams.

TOP SONGS

1 - mirrorball : since the first time i listened to it all i could think about is "someone finally sees me"

2 - the archer: she saw right through me. i am so scared of being seen because if someone sees me, if someone truly knows me it would hurt 1000 times more being rejected by them.

3 - you're on your own, kid: i lost all my friends after high school, literally no one of the fucking people i used to talk to every day and go to their houses and remember their birthdays. all of the people i used to open up to, the people i used to cry and laugh with just didn't reach out anymore and i know it is half my fault but it made me realize how truly alone i am as a human. It doesn't matter how much you connect with someone you are always on your own at the end of the day and she literally summarized that feeling in a fucking song.

4 - i can do it with a broken heart: because you still can be a mirrorball even when the ones you built the show for have left.

5 - the lakes: dead poets society vibes and i'm also a poet and i also want to run away.

6 - renegade: (you asked for 5 but here is a bonus track for you haha <3) i sing that song is a platonic way because it translates so much of my relationships with my friends and family. i sing along thinking about them and i know they could sing thinking about me because of trauma and miscommunication is such a top topic in all that.

[thedivinetarot-2]

Hello there sorry to bother you first if all I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the wonderful opportunity of having a match up I always liked them *^*

Here is a brief description of me, I am short, 150 cm, with black wavy hair that fell a bit on the back and green chartreuse eyes, I have a pretty fair skin and some beauty sign here and there.

I am a creative person and thus I love wrtiing or cooking, I enjoy reading too especially romantic historical novels, or watching film and tv series on the same theme.

I am usually shy with new people but friendly and kind nonetless, on the other hand I am also stubborn proud and pretty moody.

I like to learn things I am interested about, or having deep talk or making people laugh but I can't stand ignorance, insensitivity injustice and small talks.

The aesthetic I felt drawn to the most are Cottagecore and Fairy Academia.

I am a Taurus and my MBTI is INFJ, my love language along gift giving is words of affirmation.

I am here for asking one, I would like to be paired with Jean If it is not too much to ask I would like a bit of both sfw and nsfw in it 🙏🙏

I wish you a wonderful day 🥰🥰 Thank you again for this opportunity

I hope my answers are enough interesting if not please feel free to ask away 🤗🤗

@queengiuliettafirstlady

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Ooh🥺 imagine your match ups being loved this much😭❤.

I wish you a wonderful day 🥰🥰 Thank you again for this opportunity.

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I match you with...

Jean

Pre-Relationship (SFW)

Well, in the beginning he is shy as you. The first few encounters will be awkward and weird. Like you and him will literally be stuttering and blushing when talking to each other.

Which made Arthur realize that and tease both of you for the amount of things you suppress. So, to warm things up you had to take the lead and put the shyness away. Because you like him a little bit too much.

And of course Napoleon and a couple of residents had to tell you his story including him. So, after you gathered the information about him you had to get close to him.

But that doesn't mean Jean is not savage. Well, he is but not with you. He is just so soft and awkward when it comes to you. So, you decided to make a habit which is going to help him in his store and support him. It was hard at first Jean was hesitant he could hurt you or anything would goes wrong. But he definitely was a guardian Angel. He is scared of losing control over himself because you're so precious and sweet as honey.

Jean took a lot of time to open up to you. And of course you did too. He is afraid to be vulnerable in front of you. He is afraid of losing control over his emotions. He came out many times as cold in the beginning.

Napoleon talked to him about that. And he eventually made him trust himself more. He was afraid to the point that of he get too close to you he will either hurt his emotions because he is being vulnerable. Or hurt your feelings since he can't put his fingers on it. And between this and that everything was chaotic inside of him. You shake his internal world, and made him feel things he never dreamed to imagine them.

Confession

One day, you were setting at the dinner table talking about relationships and how people act with each other and how you would love to experience this thing. "Why are you talking about that Hondje? Like there's someone who would want to be with you" Theo said rudely caring less about your feelings. You sniffed you tears and looked down at your plate and managed to laugh things off. Because Theo will always be Theo. Everyone at the table was looking at you with compassion, they knew that you tried to be with Jean even though he is always managing to run away from you.

Next day, in the evening you were helping Jean closing the store. It was 9:30 P.m and this was almost considered late. So, you were wearing this.

Sweeping the floor and putting on the last touches for tomorrow. Jean was at the cashier locking the cabinet. "I know what happened last night" Jean said without looking at you. " It is nothing Theo is just a sharp tongue person" you replied. Jean looked at you " Do you think I would forgive him for hurting your feelings" he said moving towards you. " I thought your never cared" you said not looking at him. " I care but I don't show, it is hard for me" he said. "Well then it is not important forget about it" you managed to shut the door but Jean had another plan to go about. He stand still in front of you he left your chin up and looked into your eyes. " It is impossible for anyone who sees you and not fall for you" he said smiling. You tried to look away but his sweet touch on your skin made it even harder, he refused to let go of you. " It is hard for me to love, and it is harder to see you with someone else. I prefer changing myself into what you want instead of seeing you with someone else" he continued. " I love you" looking into your eyes. "I love you even though sometimes like I am not good enough" he goes on. " I love you even though I am a monster and I killed people before. I love you madly" he said. You gasped " I love you too". He closed the remaining distant kissing you, you stood on your tip toes to reach him. After that kiss you made sure to close the lights of the store because you're staying there till the morning.

Listen to Madly by Lana Del Rey

Relationship Headcanon(SFW)

At first, it wasn't easy for both of you to make a specific pattern to stick to because of the differences in your personalities.

But with time you both managed to stick to something that was common for both of. Like helping him at his gun store or running errands around the town. Or even helping other residents.

At first Jean was so hesitant to let you in but with time he warmed up to you and got used to you.

He even started to pick up on preferences when it comes to spending time with you. Like cuddling you; enjoying your warmth.

Or walking around town hand in hand. Or him just standing behind you so close to shield your tiny body for protection.

Or him refusing to let you go out of bed to just stay close to him for a couple of minutes.

Relationship headcanons(NSFW)

He is virgin, so expect him to... well; mess it up.

Expect messy things to happen especially the awkwardness of the first couple of times.

But once you both get together he is probably going to get intense with you.

I can see him like you being on top of him. Riding his thing. And imagining that you're a Saint coming from the sky.

He like the thought of you both getting intimate together. He sometimes imagine you both having sex while you're away.

I can see him being hesitant to do some positions out of fear of hurting you but once he speaks up about that you'll comfort him telling him that you both can try it out.

I can also say that both of you need time for your sex life to develop into something kinky or intense but once you do... you're gonna guck like rabbits.

Conflicts:

Well I can see him being cold and distant tbh. He spent majority of him time alone and he used on being alone. He used on being the freak that everybody fears or refuse to be with. I can see him withdraw sometimes from you. Not because he doesn't love it is just he can't seem to understand that it was just a phase in his miserable past. Also I can see him being afraid of sex since he saw how English men were raping women in his village during war (I am not sure of this info take it or leave it). Also I can see that he can be anxious alot of time and he do act like children.

He need A LOT OF PATIENCE.

Possible Match:

Le Comte De Saint Germain and Vincent Van Gogh.

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Note:

I am so sorry for being this late. The college semester came and I was so overwhelmed I barely had time for myself. I appreciate your patience and support.

Take care

M🤎