#white washed oak floor

[shes-the-latest-it-girl]

Flat Panel Closet in DC Metro Large modern dressing room design with a light wood floor that is gender-neutral, flat-panel cabinets, and gray cabinets.

[dakaria-ktp]

New York Formal Large danish formal and enclosed light wood floor and beige floor living room photo with white walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[iamthelorenzo]

Home Bar Seattle Image of a mid-sized cottage with a single-wall light wood floor and beige floor wet bar, a shaker cabinet, a gray cabinet, a quartz backsplash, marble countertops in various colors, and a green backsplash.

[dearbluebmw]

Open in New York Mid-sized coastal open concept light wood floor family room idea with beige walls, a two-sided fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted tv.

[hellosaidthemoonisafangirl]

Family Room in Boston

Mid-sized enclosed 1950s game room with blue walls and a medium tone wood floor.

[willqraharn]

Dining Room in New York

Design ideas for a sizable, enclosed, Scandinavian light-wood and beige-floored dining room with gray walls and no fireplace.

[cassandra-jade-gray]

Living Room Denver Inspiration for a small coastal open concept light wood floor, white floor, vaulted ceiling and shiplap wall living room remodel with a music area, white walls, a two-sided fireplace, a wood fireplace surround and a wall-mounted tv

[90days-90reasons]

Modern Living Room - Living Room

Mid-sized minimalist living room with white walls, an open concept, a light wood floor, and a brown floor. There is no fireplace or television in this room.

[lovatobostinha]

Laundry - Farmhouse Laundry Room Inspiration for a large farmhouse utility room remodel featuring a multicolored floor, l-shaped ceramic tile, shaker cabinets, quartz countertops, white backsplash, and quartz backsplash. The room's other features include gray walls, white countertops, and an undermount sink.

[chelseafcazul]

Family Room Enclosed New York With white walls, a standard fireplace, and a stone fireplace, this large Danish enclosed family room photograph has light wood floors and beige floors.

[newmas]

Family Room New York With white walls, a standard fireplace, and a stone fireplace, this large Danish enclosed family room photograph has light wood floors and beige floors.

[idealfitnessdublin]

Dublin Living Room Home Bar Inspiration for a large contemporary open concept medium tone wood floor living room remodel with a bar, white walls and a wall-mounted tv

[queerkataguiri]

Home Bar Seattle Image of a mid-sized cottage with a single-wall light wood floor and beige floor wet bar, a shaker cabinet, a gray cabinet, a quartz backsplash, marble countertops in various colors, and a green backsplash.

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Thirteen

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Allusions to panic attacks, excessive gore, fluff with Simon at the end <3

Taglist: @waves-against-a-cliff @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan @dlishus05

Masterlist

I HATE THIS CHAPTER LIKE USUAL BUT I HOPE U ALL ENJOY IT

All you could feel was burning.

Your lungs were aflame, sucked into your ribs with every gruelling indent. Your thighs were worn down, almost skinned to the bone, oozing wounds of blood and puss pooling at your knees as you heaved, scraping past thorned bushes.

The trees felt alive, clawing at you with pointed wooden talons, the prickle of sharpened sticks tearing at exposed flesh. Swollen feet met tar, the eldritch smell of a metallic tang consumed you, rotting away in every sense as you panted.

Your skin was like leather, worn down and bleak as your body collided against the abandoned roads, the slaughtered sound of the walking dead nearing with every passing frame. The sight of them was familiar, only mangled now.

You weren’t sure what had happened.

All you remember is how it started.

The day was darker than usual, consumed by an epiphany of greying clouds. The rumble of thunder stalked your every move as you committed to your daily rounds, your heart smouldered by the grief that had caught up to you.

They had all smiled at you as they welcomed you with breakfast. Why did Gaz seem different? Was he ill? You shook it off with a smile.

Why did you shake it off with a smile?

Your stomach was hot now, a building sensation of nausea washing over you as you tended to your garden. You locked eyes with Soap, his own staring back with a darkened hue of blue, any surrounding white slowly turning into a bleak red. Was he tired? You would lecture him about sleeping earlier later.

You felt caged in as you entered the house once more, kicking off your over-worked shoes with a grunt as you headed for the sink, desperate to scrub off the caking dirt that stuck to your fingers.

Gaz was sweating now, droplets of milky residue working down his forehead as he coughed, spluttering into the palms of his hands. His skin turned a ghastlier shade by the time you faced him, his hands shaking before the rest of him followed suit, his body convulsing as it clattered onto the floor.

Your voice was mousy as you called out, your limbs plastered together as you overwatched Ghost press two fingers to his neck, chasing a pulse that wouldn’t come.

The timber that held the house felt weaker now, almost rotten, as it clattered under your feet.  It was crumbly, squeaking under you with every step as you heaved in what felt like mould.

Where was your gun?

You could hear Soap calling out to you, his voice nasally, almost inaudible as he choked on his accent before it turned to blood, his uvula dangling at the back of his throat with every metallic form of discharge from his lungs.

You were in your bathroom now, the tap running with what seemed like extra force as the drain clogged, murky water soon flooding the kitchen as you pounded at the door, rattling with the rusted knob. Your feet were drenched as you kicked in the wilted timber, the frame clattering under you as you climbed through the formed hole you had made, a wooden shard catching onto your forearm with a drag, a pained wince leaving your mouth as you clutched onto the wound.

Everything felt blurred, almost like you were stuck in slow-mo. You could feel Price’s shoulder under your fingers, his skin cold. Why was his neck bleeding? Your touch was soggy now, a familiar squelch sounding from under you as greying eyes met yours.

His grip was strong, holding you onto the breaking floorboards with every snarl, your skin tearing as you were pulled along wilted frames, the oak crumbling under your shoes as you cried. Price’s hands were at your stomach, clawing at the breaking skin with rotting claws.

You could hear your blood thumping as you kicked at his drooping frame, the bones in his legs tumbling into his ligaments as he clattered to the floor. You were dragging yourself to the door now, the grumble of corroding mouths swarming you as you trailed a bloodied path to your frame.

How did you make it to the forest?

The grass mocked you as you watched it die, the blades sphacelating with every step you took. Your hands were on your abdomen, clutching onto the open wound as blood spluttered, your grip pushing against the seeping organs that writhed against you.

Your vision had turned orange now, any welcoming colours forgotten as you pushed against a shrub with your shoulder. The sweet berries you used to eat now turned poisonous as you mewled into the air.

Your throat was closing in now, curling against your oesophagus as your hands pushed into your mouth, pressing into the back of it as you gagged, forcing bile across the ground as you heaved.

Why did you stop clutching your stomach?

You were on the road again. Your trail had gotten stronger as you skinned your knee against the blackened pavement. You felt your eyes close, fluttering to an abnormal silence as your lids ceased any light.

Everything was static now. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? Greedy hands pulled at your flesh, a searing pain moulting into your chest as festering digits tore at your insides, digging through your organs with a tug before holding them to degraded teeth.

You could feel them at your neck, tapping against your skin with uncertainty. Your mouth was parted open, the skin from your lips torn as you attempted to scream only to be consumed by one’s hand.

They were pushing down your throat now, scraping along sensitive walls. Your lungs were drowning, your nose heaving as you attempted to breathe before infested fingers held them closed.

Your eyes were open now, looking down in desperation. There was a strange indent against your chest, tugging and pulling at the veins that penetrated beneath the surface. You could see fingers now poking from inside you, rotting talons digging through the flesh before they pierced the exterior.

How were you still alive?

Greedy hands ripped at your ribcage, snapping your bones like measly twigs. It was red-hot pain everywhere. Your brain stopped thinking, overwritten by the intense agony that writhed through you.

You weren’t breathing. Your lungs were empty. They were mouthing something to you now, their lips consumed by gore. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you hear? Hands were by your head, pressing along your scalp tenderly as bloodied fingers dyed your hair. Your eyes were wide, begging for sanity.

Your body was emptied now, the residue of beating organs trailed along the road. Your heart was spluttering inside someone’s stomach. Fingers toyed at your scalp, dragging along your forehead with a permanent indent.

You mourned the last of you, your brain repeating the words ‘you’re dead’ in a constant stream. Or was that your own voice? The faces around you were a blur now, their bodies melting into the tar as a swarm crowded you. Your eyes blurred as you took in the faces around you.

They were all you.

Your body was writhing against the sheets, a strum of sobs tearing through you as your teeth tucked into your lips, drawing blood. Simon was fast, his hands resting against the side of your head as he guided you back to reality.

Your voice cracked as you screamed out, shoving him away as you sucked in a breath.

“Sweet’art, you were having a nightmare, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

“S-Simon?”

Your voice was hoarse, stripped from all moisture as you pressed against your stomach, looking down at your perfectly fine frame.

“I’m sorry,” you mewled, finding your voice as you swiped the sweat against your forehead. The Lieutenant was harder to see in the dark, but you could make out the softness in his eyes.

“Don’t have to apologise. I get them too.”

Your brows raised momentarily before you smiled at him, holding your hand out as he grasped onto it. He paused for a moment before he held it to his chest. He was warm.

It was subtle but you could feel it. He could feel it too.

“When they used to get bad, I used to search for my heart and feel the beat. Reminded me that I was okay.”

“I can feel it,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his chest before it met with the apple of his cheek.

“I can feel you too.”

[a-major-love]

Night Fever

Pairing - Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary - Of all people you could have met that fateful night, it had to be him.

Word Count - 1k+

Warnings - MDNI, fem pronouns, mentions of smoking & alcohol, no use of y/n

A/N - I always imagined dancing with Michael was incredibly fun but also probably intimidating. Enjoy!

1977

Spotlights pierced through the haze of smoke filtering the air, beaming down on the partygoers. Sweat rolled off their skin, mingling with the overpowering stench of perfume and cigarettes. The men and women’s eyes twinkled at you, sparkling from pressed glitter. Their bright, painted lips mouthed along to the stream of ABBA lyrics filling the crowded space. The music pouring from the speakers vibrated under your feet. Studio 54 was lively, and terrifying all at once. 

“Friday nights are always the busiest,” your friend – Alicia –  mentioned from beside you. Her stark black hair was pulled into a tight bun, revealing her teal colored eyeshadow. The sequined dress she wore hung off her bronzed shoulders, flecks of glitter dotted her skin. 

You glanced down at the denim jumpsuit you wore, with a thick belt secured around the waist. Somehow, despite the pumps digging into the soles of your feet, you felt mildly underdressed. You scanned the crowd, biting your lip as your eyes swept over the other dancers. 

“Let’s go, birthday girl,” Alicia said, nudging you towards the center of the room. 

You giggled. “I’m just trying to appreciate the atmosphere.” 

“Well, you can go appreciate it out on the dancefloor.” 

She grasped onto your forearm, pushing through the cluster of hot bodies that brushed against you two. You could feel the men’s gazes pass over you, their heavy eyes glancing over your form before looking away. Glasses with golden liquid, and pierced olives swung around you as the people got lost in the music. 

You finally approached the middle of the dance floor, where a bright, glowing disco ball hung above your heads. Alicia broke out into a grin, her pearly white teeth pointed to the ceiling. Her dangled hearings whipped around her face as she began swaying to the music.  

It was initially her idea, at first, to celebrate your birthday at Studio 54. All you knew about the nightclub was that the entrance fee was too expensive, and the line never seemed to ease up. As much as you adored Alicia, you couldn’t find a good reason to stand outside all night – in New York during the spring – hoping to make it inside before the place closed. If there’s one thing you understood about spring in New York, it was how cold the nights could be. 

So, how in the hell she pulled this off, you were sure she would take to her grave. 

You laughed, watching her bounce around, throwing her head back. Acting as if a plethora of eyes weren’t on her. You swayed your hips, letting your eyes close as the sweet sounding harmonies of the Bee Gees washed over you. It felt as if everybody on the dance floor was in sync, breathing and moving in time with each other. 

Sharing one heart, one pulse to the music. 

Your body moved and rocked, becoming bewitched by the entrancing tune. 

“Excuse me-

You suddenly bumped into someone, startling both you and the stranger. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, whipping around to face them. A pair of oak, brown eyes crinkled at you as the strange man chuckled to himself. 

“It’s alright,” he assured, adjusting his blazer. “You’re not a bad dancer, you know.” 

You playfully grinned at him, “Have you been watching me dance?”

“I – uh didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered.

You scanned the man, taking in his wide doe eyes and large afro currently dusted with glossy confetti. A gold pendant rested between the dip of his chest, a sliver of deep brown skin peaking through the few undone buttons.

Somewhere, in the back corners of your mind, familiarity tugged at your brain. 

“Have we met before?” you inquired, furrowing your brows. 

“No, we haven’t,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly. 

You opened your mouth to reply, when he stuck his hand out. 

“Is it alright if we danced together?” he asked.

Heat creeped up your face, as you took his inviting hand – his skin was silky smooth and warm in your grasp. He softly smiled at you, as he tugged your form closer to him. Swiftly, he twirled you around, giggling at your reaction as you nearly stumbled from the sudden movement. You caught yourself in time, taking both his hands as you grooved to the deep bass coming from the speakers. 

His eyes remained trained on you, as if analyzing every motion and gesture you made. The music enveloped you two, as the dance floor fell away, along with the people surrounding it. The club was nothing but a blur of color, as the hot white lights radiated down on you two. The music pulsed through your skin, reverberating against your ribcage. The sweet, lingering scent of nicotine floated through the air. It was as if the dancefloor came alive from under your feet suddenly, a pulsating heartbeat belonging to the untamable beast known as music. His hands never left yours, as he pulled you into his side, before going into a spin. 

You watched, in fascination. “You’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

He bashfully smiled. “Well, I’ve been dancing for most of my life.”

“Do you do it for a career, or something?” “...You could say that.”

He twirled you again, interrupting whatever train of thought you were processing. 

The night went on endlessly it seemed, as if time had temporarily stopped. Yet, the crowd of Studio 54 never broke off. A stream of guests revolved in and out of the space, some dressed in dripping jewels that outshined the hanging disco ball or extravagant outfits that felt expensive to even look at. It felt as if you were in a lion's mouth, a wet, breathing cage waiting to clamp down on you. 

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your frame.

“Let’s get going, my feet are killing me,” Alicia groaned, already tugging you away. 

“Wait!” The man called out, feeling your hand loosen in his grip. Alicia squinted at him, trying to make out his features through the alcohol induced brain fog. 

“You look a little familiar...” she muttered.

“I’ll meet you outside,” you explained, nudging your friend back. Alicia glanced over at you, glossy lips pouting at your urgency. She finally caved, rolling her eyes as she knowingly nodded and began to maneuver her way through the crowd. 

You turned to face him. “I had a really great time, uh-

“Michael,” he introduced, squeezing your hand. 

Had he been holding it the entire time?

“Well, it was really fun dancing with you, Michael.”

His eyes flickered between yours, as if weighing something in his mind. Michael eventually sighed, reluctantly loosening his grip and letting your hand fall to your side. 

“I hope we get to do it again, sometime,” he said. With wistful smile growing on his lips. 

You returned the smile, clenching your hand from the sudden loss of warmth. Without another word, you turned and made your way to the exit. 

The bumping music followed you out the double doors and onto the bustling street of New York City’s nightlife. A breeze brushed against your bare arms, biting at your skin. Alicia was leaning against a car, impatiently tapping her foot. Her eyes finally landed on you, wearing a strange expression you couldn’t quite place. 

“Girl, I have several questions,” she started, opening the car door for you. 

You snorted. “Ask me when it’s not past midnight.” 

She sidled into the passenger seat, as you started up the engine. The bright, white lights of Studio 54 reflected off the hood of your car. 

You could still feel his presence, even during the drive home. 

[babyflorencee]

Stockholm Syndrome

Part seven: When Fear Meets Desire

Links: MASTERLIST | Part eight

Harry Styles x fem!Reader

The cool water from the shower had washed away the heaviness, but my mind was still tangled in confusion. I stood in the guest bedroom, staring at the untouched bed, its stark white sheets folded too neatly, too impersonal. The silence pressed down on me, thick and stifling, like a fog I couldn’t quite shake. I was too awake, too restless to sleep. There were too many emotions that churned inside of me.

I wanted to be close to him.

Harry’s voice, gentle and warm, played in my head. "You make my world brighter, love." It felt real. I wanted it to be real, even though I still couldn't reconcile the part of me that remembered how he'd taken me, stolen me from everyone and everything that I once knew.

The part of me that should hate him collided with the part that ached for him. But here, in this house, surrounded by the soft scent of his cologne and the quiet that settled like a balm, everything felt like a dream. A dangerous dream, but a dream nonetheless. A dream I didn't want to wake up from.

I couldn't stay in that guest bedroom. I didn't want to stay there. Not tonight.

I slipped into a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt that Harry had left for me and I left the bedroom, my bare feet padding softly against the cold oak floors. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing or where I was even going—only that I needed to find him. His presence was magnetic, a force I couldn’t resist even if I wanted to. The house felt different now, softer. The walls no longer felt like they were closing in on me. But I was still scared—scared of what he might think, scared of what this would mean for me. What if he was only being kind because he felt responsible for me? What if I was just a broken thing to him, just a puzzle he could fix? Just a challenge?

I wandered down the hallway, my steps faltering, uncertainty settling in my chest. The walls were painted a deep slate gray, interrupted only by sporadic art—a mix of abstract splashes of color and serene black-and-white landscapes. Everything about the space was sharp and clean, like Harry had designed it to keep people at a distance. Yet there were hints of softness: a folded throw draped over a chair in the corner, a candle flickering faintly on a side table.The house felt vast in its silence. How was I supposed to find him? I couldn’t remember the exact layout of the house, and the hallways seemed endless. Was this how it would feel every time I tried to get close to him? Lost?

I reached another hallway, and I paused, unsure which direction to go. The quiet of the house pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. I needed to find him. I couldn’t stay away. My heart wouldn’t let me.

Taking a deep breath, I started down the hall to the left, moving cautiously, hoping to stumble across some familiar sign of him—his scent, his warmth, anything. But every door I opened was wrong. A laundry room, a bathroom, a closet. Nothing that told me where he might be. Nothing that felt like him.

Why is this house so impossible to navigate?

But it wasn’t just the house. It was him. Harry was a maze of contradictions—dark and tender, cruel and kind. Every time I tried to pin down what I felt for him, it seemed to slip right through my fingers.

I reached another hallway and stopped in front of a closed door. My heart skipped in my chest. I was too far in now to turn back. I pushed the door open with shaking hands, only to be met with a small, unused guest room.

Frustration built within me as I turned down yet another hall, my breath shallow. Why was it so hard to find him? Maybe my brain was still fogged. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be here, wandering through this house like some unwanted intruder.

Then, in the distance, I heard the faint sound of the television. The soft hum of it floated through the air, guiding me. to his room. I just had to follow the sound.

I hurried down the next hall, relieved when I saw an open door at the far end. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him lying on his bed, half-turned toward the TV. His dark hair, messy and unruly, which framed his face in a way that made him look so impossibly handsome, even in the blue glow of the television screen.

I froze in the doorway, uncertain whether to step inside. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, the anxiety of what I was doing bubbling up. He looked so peaceful, so at ease. I didn’t want to disturb him, but the longing in me was so strong that I couldn't bare another second without being wrapped up in his arms.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand poised above the doorknob.

Then I knocked softly on the doorframe.

It was stupid. The door was already open, but something inside me wanted to be sure, to have a reason for stepping into his space. To have him invite me in, just like he had done earlier, when he’d reached for my hand and led me upstairs. I needed to know that he wanted me here, with him.

His eyes met mine as soon as I knocked, and the confusion that flickered in them made my chest tighten. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice thick with concern. He set the remote down, pausing whatever show he was watching. The tension between us, the space we hadn’t crossed yet, was palpable. I stood there, almost ashamed of the way my heart was racing.

“I…” My words trailed off, unsure of how to even begin. I could feel the weight of my heart pressing down on me. What was I doing? I wanted to stay with him, I wanted to feel his warmth, but my mind was still shouting at me, telling me I shouldn’t. He was the man who had taken me, locked me in this house, and yet here I was, standing in his doorway, wanting nothing more than to lie next to him.

“I just… I want to be with you,” I said quietly, my voice trembling.

Harry’s eyes softened, his confusion turning into something else. Something warm, maybe even a little surprised. His lips parted as if to speak, but instead, he reached over and patted the side of the bed, as if telling me to come closer.

“You can stay with me,” he said, his voice like the slow, steady rhythm of a song you didn’t know you needed. “Come here.”

“Are you sure?” I asked softly, my voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No,” Harry said quickly, his voice filled with assurance. “You’re not disturbing me. Remember what I said earlier? I want you here.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. I walked in, my steps uncertain but my desire undeniable. The moment I climbed into the bed, Harry shifted, moving over to the other side. He didn’t say anything, just made room for me, his eyes inviting me in without hesitation. And in that moment, everything inside me screamed that this was right, that this was where I needed to be. That this is where I should be.

I crawled under the covers, the warmth of his body still a mystery to me, but I didn’t question it. The blankets settled around me like a soft embrace as he pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and sure, and it made my thoughts blur.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper against my ear.

I nodded, my body relaxing against his, finally allowing myself to believe that this was real, that we were real. I could hear the steady beat of his heart, the quiet hum of his breath.

"I don’t know what I'm doing," I whispered, “You... you kidnapped me. I shouldn't want to be anywhere near you. And yet, every time we're apart I need you near me. And Harry that scares me.”

Harry’s arms tightened around me, the warmth of his embrace grounding me as I poured out my messed up thoughts. I felt the vulnerability of my confession, feeling raw and exposed. He was quiet for a moment, the room heavy with the words I had just spoken. Then, his voice broke the silence, low and full of something I couldn’t quite place—regret, understanding, or maybe something even deeper.

His arms tightened around me, his warmth seeping into my skin.“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said softly, his voice laced with regret. “I know I’ve done terrible things. Things I can’t take back. And I’ll live with that for the rest of my life. But you… you’re the one thing I never expected. The one thing I didn’t think I deserved. I never thought that I could feel this way about anyone. Not after everything, not after the life I’ve led. And yet, here you are, pulling me in. You’ve got a hold on my heart that I can’t break free from.”

I looked up at him, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. “Why did you take me?”

His gaze faltered, his fingers brushing absently against my arm. “Because I was a coward. Because I thought I could control everything, even my own feelings. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. And now…” He trailed off, his voice breaking slightly. “Now, I just want to be the person you feel safe with. The person you can trust.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me. “I don’t know if I can trust you yet,” I admitted.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “I don’t blame you. But I’ll prove it to you, every day, if you let me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

I reached for his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. “I don’t know how to let you in,” I whispered. “But I want to try. I don’t want to be scared of you anymore.”

His eyes softened, a small, tentative smile tugging at his lips. “Then that’s enough for me. For now, that’s enough. But I need you to know that I’ve never felt anything like this. And I’m not going to pretend I know how to fix everything I've done, but I’ll be damned if I let you go. I want you here. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life”

I could feel the truth in his words, even if the shadows of doubt still lingered in my chest. I wanted to believe him. But the pieces of who he was—the part of him that had taken me, that had kept me locked away—still haunted me. His arms around me felt safe, but my mind screamed in protest. What if it wasn’t real? What if, one day, everything would break again?

“I want to trust you, but I don't know if I can.” I whispered, my voice barely audible as my heart raced against the tide of fear.

He exhaled softly, like my words were a blow to him. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he gently cupped my face in his hands, his gaze so intense, filled with something I couldn’t quite define.

“Then don’t trust me yet,” Harry said quietly, his voice laced with vulnerability. “But don’t pull away from me either. Stay here, with me, just for tonight. Let me show you that I’m not the monster you think I am. I’m not asking you to forget what I've done to you. But I’ll prove to you, one day at a time, that you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

I looked up at him, his eyes were so full of sincerity, but there was something else there too—fear. Fear that I might pull away. Fear that I might never forgive him. But as his words lingered in the air, I could feel myself wavering, torn between the raw truth of what he said and the deep fear that still held me captive. But the way he held me, the way he looked at me, made it harder to resist. And maybe… just maybe… there was a part of me that still wanted to believe him.

“I'm scared of what I'm feeling for you,” I admitted, the truth slipping out of me. "I know I shouldn't feel this way towards you, but I do. And I don't want these feelings to go away. I don't want you to go away."

Harry’s face softened, and he tightened his grip around me, pulling me closer, his lips brushing my hair as he spoke. “I promise I'm not going anywhere.”

He leaned down slightly, his lips grazing my own "You're all I need, love. That's the truth. I just want you to feel comfortable in here."

"I think I'm starting to be," I said, surprised at how true it felt.

He pulled back slightly to look at me, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “What do you mean by that? That you’re starting to be?” His voice was soft, like he was afraid of pushing too hard.

I closed my eyes, thinking for a moment. “I mean… I don’t know how to explain it. I feel safe with you right now, even when everything inside me says I shouldn’t. I don’t know how that makes sense, but it’s the truth.”

Harry's eyes flickered with something like relief, though there was a trace of sadness in them too. He kissed the top of my head, his voice low. "I’ve never wanted anything more than for you to feel at home here. Even if it’s just for tonight."

I nodded, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions spinning in my chest. "Okay," I whispered, nestling back into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart slow my thoughts.

"Y/n?" His voice was low, almost hesitant, as his fingers tangled gently in my hair, each movement deliberate and tender.

"Yeah?" I whispered, lifting my head from his chest, the warmth of his skin still lingering against my cheek.

"Can I kiss you?"

His question hung in the air, thick with anticipation. My breath caught, and I couldn’t bring myself to respond with words. Instead, I nodded, the movement small and uncertain.

He didn’t hesitate for long. In a heartbeat, he leaned in, his lips hovering just over mine. The faintest brush of his breath sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had gone completely still. There was hesitation in his touch, as though he was giving me one last chance to pull away.

But I didn’t.

His hand slid from my hair to the back of my neck, the touch firm but not rough, grounding me as he closed the distance. When his lips finally met mine, the kiss was forceful, almost desperate, as if he’d been holding back for far too long. Yet beneath the intensity, there was something more—a tenderness that made my chest ache.

When we finally pulled apart, our breaths mingled in the quiet space between us. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or heavy. Instead, it wrapped around us in a warm embrace. Almost like it was shielding us from the chaos of everything around us. His forehead rested lightly against mine, and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, the warmth of his presence, and the unspoken words that lingered in the quietness.

“What do you think of when you look at me?” he asked suddenly, his voice hesitant.

I opened my eyes. So I could stare into his green eyes. "What do you mean?" I whispered, unsure of where this conversation was going.

He let out a sigh, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I know who I am. But who do you see? What’s in your head when you look at me?"

My heart softened as I looked at him—at the man who had kidnapped me, yes, but also the man who had stayed with me through all the pain, the man who held me when I needed him.

"I see someone who is trying," I said carefully. "Someone who is afraid, just like me. But trying. I see someone who wants to make things better, even if it doesn’t always make sense. And I… I see someone who feels real to me, in a way I can’t explain."

Harry’s smile softened as he pulled me closer, one of his hands resting gently on my back, as the other softly pulled my head back to his chest, his lips brushing my hair as he spoke. "You’re the only thing that feels real to me right now," he whispered. "And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you."

In that moment, the world outside felt distant, fading into nothingness as I listened to the rhythm of his breathing, the calm in his presence.

“I’ve never had someone care about me like this,” I said, my voice small, barely a whisper against his chest. “You don’t know what it means to me.”

Harry’s fingers traced circles on my back, slow and steady, as if he were trying to convey something with each movement. “It means everything to me too. You mean everything to me.”

And for a moment, I allowed myself to believe it. That despite everything—despite the twisted path that had led me to him—maybe this was where I belonged. Maybe love could still exist, even in the darkest of places.

“I’m sorry for all the ways I hurt you,” Harry added, his voice full of regret. "But I’ll spend every day making it up to you. I promise."

I smiled softly, a quiet peace settling over me as I pressed my lips against his chest. "You don’t have to promise anything. I’m here. And for tonight, that’s enough."

And as we lay together in the dark, the quiet of the room wrapping around us, I allowed myself to believe—just for tonight—that maybe we could find a way forward. Together. it felt like a beginning. A messy, beautiful, uncertain beginning—but a beginning nonetheless.

***

The sunlight poured into the bedroom through a crack in the heavy curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. The air was warm, tinged with the faint scent of Harry's cologne. I blinked my eyes open slowly, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear was the first thing I registered. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, his warmth feeling like a blanket.

“Good morning,” Harry’s voice rumbled against my hair, low and hoarse with sleep. I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. His green eyes, sparkling even in the dim light.

“Morning,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, as though speaking louder might shatter this moment. His hand drifted lazily up and down my back, his fingers tracing patterns over the fabric of my borrowed t-shirt. It sent shivers down my spine, even though his touch was as gentle as a feather.

“You slept in,” he teased, his lips quirking up in a soft smile. “I like it. Means I get to keep you in here longer.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped my lips. “I can’t stay in bed all day, Harry.”

“Yes, you can,” he countered quickly, his arms tightening around me as though he could physically stop me from moving. “In fact, I insist.”

“Harry,” I groaned, but there was no real protest in my tone. “We can’t just do nothing all day.”

“But we absolutely can,” he argued, his voice dipping into a playful whine. “Come on, love. Stay here. Stay with me. Please.”

I tried to push myself up, but his arms only tightened more, pulling me back down against his chest. His lips found the top of my head, then my temple, then the corner of my mouth, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made me melt.

“Harry,” I said again, this time more softly, the sound catching in my throat.

“Please,” he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and enticing. “Just a little longer. I need you here right now. Don’t go just yet.”

My heart squeezed at his words, at the raw vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t demanding; he was pleading, as though letting me go might break something inside of him. And I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Not when he looked at me like that, like I was the only thing in this world.

“Okay,” I relented, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay.”

The smile that spread across his face was instant and radiant, like when the sun breaks through the clouds. He pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my forehead in a kiss so soft it made my chest ache.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly over my skin. “You’ve no idea how much it means to me, having you here. Waking up next to you.”

My cheeks warmed under his gaze, and I buried my face in his chest to hide the blush I knew was creeping up my neck. His laughter rumbled against me, deep and affectionate.

“You’re adorable when you blush,” he teased, his fingers threading through my hair.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, though I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

Harry shifted slightly, leaning back against the pillows and pulling me with him until I was half-draped across his chest. His hands never stopped moving, one trailing up and down my spine while the other tangled in my hair. It was calming, grounding, and I felt myself relaxing more with each passing moment.

“You’re too good to me,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but laced with an undercurrent of emotion. “I don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve you.”

I lifted my head to look at him, my brows furrowing at the sadness that flickered in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” I murmured, reaching up to cup his face. “Don’t ever say that again. You mean so much to me, Harry. More than I can even put into words.”

His gaze searched mine, as though trying to find the truth in my words. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t like the kiss from the night before—this one was slower, softer, yet intense. His lips moved against mine with a tenderness that made my heart ache, as though he was pouring all of his feelings into our kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re mine, Y/N. You always will be.”

I didn’t respond with words; I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned up to kiss him again. For now, in this moment, everything else could wait. The world outside could wait. All that mattered was the warmth of his arms around me and the steady beat of his heart against mine.