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gaylordscooter · 16 days

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One Year of This So-Called Hell

It's been awhile since they've started living at the castle. They've grown used to it. They wouldn't call it their home or call each other their housemates, but they certainly thought of it like that.

However, despite how long they’ve been here, they still have yet to get acquainted with Nightmare. They were all casual with each other except with him. For obvious reasons, including but not limited to the fact he kidnapped them all and puts them through grueling situations from time to time.

Though, that latter reason has diminished over time. They didn't know if he was running out of ideas or what, because recently these situations have become akin to game nights. Quite literally they would play some board game or card game. It was kinda fun. None of them were going to complain though, even if they found it odd.

But today something especially odd happened. Not only was there a breakfast setup for them when they arrived at the kitchen this morning, Nightmare himself was at the table.

At first none of them said anything to him. Then Killer decided he couldn't stand the silence and said a good morning that was directed at everyone.

“Good morning, Killer,” Nightmare responded in a formal tone. He took a bite out of his pancakes. The three were watching him in disbelief as he chewed and swallowed. He looked up, taking note that none of them were making a move to sit down. “I hope the food isn't that bad. It took me a few tries to make something decent.”

“you cooked this?” Horror asked in surprise. He shot a skeptical look at the food. He's never messed with their food before, but he wouldn't be surprised if he started now.

“I made an effort to. There are no eggs as I couldn't extract the edible part without getting the casing mixed up in it.” He continued to eat, trying to show the food wasn't tampered with.

Killer shrugged and pulled out a chair to sit down a few chairs away from Nightmare. He grabbed a plate and a few pancakes. He quickly inspected the food before dousing it in an ungodly amount of syrup and began to eat.

Nightmare couldn't help but stare at Killer's soul as they ate, as weird as that was. He was transfixed by the shape. It was different, much more reminiscent of a proper monster soul rather than the usual target.

“hey, bud, my eyes are up here,” Killer said.

Nightmare's eye snapped up as if he was a child that was caught holding a knife. He noticed that Killer’s eye sockets, which were usually empty, had ringed eyelights at the moment, but usually he’d only have them when he was experiencing intense emotions—often negative. He didn't sense any negativity from him at the moment.

“whatcha lookin’ at?” he questioned despite knowing the answer.

Nightmare felt the other two’s tension and wariness. “Your soul's different,” he noted.

Killer’s posture relaxed a little. “oh, yeah. it's been that way for a bit.” He glanced at the other two, silently pleading them to stop standing in place awkwardly and to actually join them at the table.

Fortunately, Horror read his mind and made a move to sit down, prompting Dust to as well.

“May I ask what it means for it to look that way?” Nightmare implored.

Killer seemed taken aback by the question. His smile went crooked, at least more than usual and he slouched as if to cover his soul with the table. “am i allowed to say ‘no’? you kinda already asked.”

“You need not answer,” he responded. He dropped the topic; the question made Killer uncomfortable and he would rather not drive him away.

Dust and Horror were finally beginning to eat. Nightmare was almost worried they’d never start.

“i’ll tell you if you answer two of my questions,” Killer eventually said, to his surprise.

Of course he’d turn this into a bargain. “Ask away.”

He noticed that piqued Dust and Horror's interest.

“what’s up with the breakfast? you've never done this before.” Killer said.

“I can be nice, once in a while.”

Killer scoffed, rolling his eyelights.

“And it's a special occasion. It's been a year since I first brought you all here,” he added. He debated doing something like this in the first place. His relationship with these three was unusual. He was their tormentor; their personalized hell. At the very same time, he was their provider, in a way. He’d bring them food, water and shelter, things normally a parental figure would do—even though he was everything but that.

Horror laughed dryly, “how nice, a breakfast to celebrate a whole year after you kidnapped us to treat us like your toys.”

However, as far as he knew, he was nothing but a demon and that was exactly how they saw him.

His brother was an angel, and he was a demon. That's just how things were.

“second question, why haven't you ever messed with our food?”

Horror’s expression soured as he glared at Killer like it was a warning.

“it'd be pretty effective torture, right?” He continued to eat despite the topic at hand.

“It’d be effective,” he agreed, “but only once. Afterwards, Horror would be too far gone to do anything with.”

Horror dropped the fork he was holding with a clatter. His smile was tense and nearly a straight line.

“you’d still have me and dust, though,” Killer said.

“you little shit—”

Killer turned his head to Horror revealing his serious expression to him to silently tell him, no, he's not giving him ideas. He's trying to get information.

“Killing or irreparably harming any of you would be a major inconvenience, that is why.”

Killer stood up and leaned towards Nightmare, putting his hands on the table. “you said we were easily replaceable,” he remarked.

“I said there were many like you, not that you were easily replaceable,” he corrected. He didn't like where this conversation was going. “I answered your questions, now answer mine.”

“fine,” Killer huffed, sitting back down and crossing his arms. “i don’t know,” he said.

“What?” Nightmare said in a low rumble. Was he tricked? He didn't take kindly to the notion that Killer was going back on their deal. His tentacles flicked irritably.

Horror, noticing the ends of them sharpening, decided to speak up, “he doesn't. at least, he doesn't know what causes it.”

His tentacles relaxed, no longer threatening to lash out at Killer. “Do you feel any different?”

Shouldn't he already know that?

“oh he sure feels different,” Horror said.

Killer shrunk in on himself, trying to look invisible. Embarrassment. Shame? Guilt.

Why was it suddenly harder to discern his emotions?

“I want to hear it from him.” His eye bore into Killer.

Killer groaned, bordering on a growl, “you’re telling me you haven't felt a difference? actually, i’m surprised you’ve kept me around before, considering i didn’t feel anything.”

Nightmare's eye widened.

He didn't feel anything before? That wasn't right. He could sense his emotions the whole time. That's how he found him in the first place. As far as he knew, he wasn't like Ink either. It was very clear he had a soul.

“You did feel before. That's how I found you,” he insisted.

Killer narrowed his sockets. Anger. “i was only acting, until recently. none of it was real.”

He could feel bitterness coming from Dust.

Killer frowned, risking a glance at Dust. “but it is now,” and it’s terrifying, “and it’s weird.”

“How long has it been like this?” He knew Killer was getting annoyed at all the questions but he couldn't just drop it now. He didn't care if he was getting annoyed.

Killer had the audacity to stand up.

“Sit back down,” he ordered.

“i don't need to answer you. i don't need to follow your orders. i'm not your pet,” he spat as he roughly pushed his chair in, making the table jolt.

“You aren’t,” he sighed as Killer stormed off. His eye darted to Dust and Horror. They hardly ate anything.

“it’s been fluctuating ever since we got here,” Horror said once Killer left. “but recently it's been staying that shape.”

Nightmare was surprised at Horror’s willingness to share that information. “I’ve been sensing fear from him recently.” It didn't take a genius to find out that it was connected. “But there's also been positive emotions—coming from all of you, actually.”

Horror scoffed in a way that sounded like a laugh, “call that stockholm syndrome.”

He did not know what “stockholm syndrome” was, but from his knowledge he knew that the word “syndrome” had negative connotations. Did he inflict a disease of some kind on them without knowing?

He stood up, picking up his plate with one of his tentacles that stretched over to the sink to place it down. “I will be taking my leave now. Thank you for humoring me.” His body melted into the shadows and he was gone.

Horror shook his head, “what a weirdo.” He put a few more pancakes on his plate and resumed eating.

Dust refrained from eating, merely picking bits from his pancake and dropping it back down on the plate.

“so…how are things between you and killer?” he dared to ask. It's been about a week since they had that fight. The two were avoiding each other. Well, Dust was obviously avoiding him. Killer just made no attempt to approach him—at least to his knowledge. This led to Killer spending more time with Horror, and honestly, he has no clue how Dust has tolerated this guy for so long.

Dust made a guttural noise that was basically a growl.

Though it was a clear show of his discontent, Horror couldn't stifle a chuckle.

That only exacerbated Dust’s sour mood. He stood up.

“hey, wait,” Horror said. “you hardly ate anything.”

“not hungry,” he signed.

Horror looked unconvinced. “that's bullshit and you know it.”

Dust sighed and picked up his plate.

“c’mon dude, don't go wallowing in your room.”

“don't play therapist,” Dust muttered.

“someone in this castle needs to stay level-headed. you didn't answer my question.”

“what do you think?”

“i think…that killer’s an asshole and you're right to be pissy, but you two should probably talk,” he suggested. He gave him a serious look, “he's driving me insane, dust.”

“it's all he’s good at,” he said bitterly.

“c’mon now, that's not true.”

Dust didn't even have to say anything.

“ehhh. we still care about him anyway,” Horror said.

Dust was mad that he couldn't refute that without lying.

Nightmare found Killer outside in the forest, he was nearby a make-shift shelter he made for the stray cats that lived here. It took him an embarrassingly long time to find him because he wasn't in the castle, but him being outside for once was a welcome change. Since he wasn't holed up in his room it meant Nightmare didn't have to worry about intruding on his private quarters.

Killer loudly groaned when he noticed Nightmare. He ignored him and continued to watch and pet the cats.

Nightmare remembered how terrified Killer was when he saw him hanging out with a bunch of cats. He thought he would harm them—he was so sure that he instigated a fight to protect them. Once that was resolved, he started going outside much more often just to see the cats. He was still tense whenever Nightmare was near them, however.

“Have you named them yet?” Nightmare asked.

“what’s it to ya? waiting for me to be more attached to them so you can rip them away from me when the time’s right?” Killer snapped. He didn't take his eye off the cats.

There were six of them, each of them having various colors and patterns. He was surprised Killer could take care of that many, considering he couldn't take care of himself.

Nightmare hummed thoughtfully, eye skimming over the group of cats. “I was merely curious, usually people name things they look after.”

Killer scoffed, “you named dust and horror.” The brown cat rubbed its head against his outstretched hand.

“Yes.”

“you don't ‘look after’ them.” He gently scratched the chin of the cat. It was purring.

“Depends on how you define ‘look after’. I definitely monitor them.”

“no shit,” he snarked.

“i also supply food, water and shelter.”

Killer frowned and stood up. The cats meowed in protest. He faced Nightmare. “what are you getting at?”

“You see me as needlessly cruel, as if I’m incapable of doing kind things,” he replied.

Killer laughed forcefully. It startled the cats, making them retreat to their shelter. “what? suddenly feeling like you deserve sympathy? i don't give a shit if you do kind things. that doesn't change the fact that you tortured us.”

Surely none of it was worse than their situations in their old universes.

“Right. Forgive me for digressing, but what, pray tell, is ‘stockholm syndrome’?”

It seemed like Killer found that question humorous. “you trying to do that to us? is that what your deal is?”

Frankly, Nightmare had no idea what Killer was talking about.

“you start being all nice and dandy to make us think ‘oh he's not all bad. i actually enjoy being here’.”

“You do,” Nightmare pointed out, “enjoy being here, I mean.” He could sense that clearly.

“fuck off. you don't know that for sure,” he said bitterly.

He couldn't deny the utter contempt Killer held for him.

He dipped his head. “I apologize.”

“you what?” Killer said incredulously.

Why was he apologizing? He was deceiving him. He had to be.

Nightmare didn't know what he was doing. He's hardly bothered to show remorse. There wasn't any reason to start now. Except, after seeing the companionship between the three, he couldn't help but feel jealous.

He wanted connection. It was pathetic to admit, but the only person he was close to was his brother. Was.

How cruel of the multiverse to allow him to yearn for something he wasn't allowed to have. He couldn't help but try to get what he wanted.

“For choosing you three to inflict pain upon, I apologize. You don't deserve it yet I do it anyway.”

“i don't deserve it?” Killer said. “hah! who the hell am i talking to right now? you really nightmare?” He strode closer to Nightmare and thrust a finger at him, poking him in the chest.

Nightmare was shocked by the sudden contact.

“y’know, you and me are pretty similar in some aspects. we don’t have the capacity to care and yet we're pretending we can anyway. you can't fool me. i know you're just trying to manipulate me with that apology.”

Nightmare took a minute to respond, scanning over Killer’s feelings and expression. Again, he was hard to read, like he was able to obscure it. He wasn't trying to manipulate him. He really wasn't. But he supposed he hasn't been upfront enough with him to believe that. “Do you recall when we encountered Fresh for the first time?”

Killer snarked, “what about it?”

“I could've left you, you said.”

“you didn't save us out of compassion, you just needed us for your stupid plans or whatever.”

“But you thought you were replaceable. Which one is it?” he countered.

“it's whatever's most beneficial to you,” he retorted. “you said it would’ve been a hassle.”

He did say that. Nightmare was stumped. He didn't even know where he was trying to go with this. It wasn't like he could make Killer’s hatred towards him disappear.

Maybe he could make Killer’s self hatred go away.

Why did he think that? Did he want that? That wouldn't benefit him.

Maybe he was sick of the feeling of hatred, like loneliness. Like being sick of having the same food over and over again.

He felt something down by his tentacles. He tried to hide his surprise but he hastily looked down to see one of the cats nudging against one of his tentacles. It was the brown one that cuddled Killer a moment ago. Nightmare froze.

“hey!” Killer barked and knelt down to shoo the cat away from Nightmare. “baked beans, i told you not to get near him,” he scolded the cat.

The cat meowed out a whine.

Killer frowned and stood back up as the cat walked away.

“‘Baked beans’?” Nightmare echoed. “Is that its name?”

“don’t hurt her.”

“You are awfully insistent that I’m going to hurt these cats. Has anyone told you about self fulfilling prophecies?”

Killer decided to take that as a threat and drew out his knife.

Nightmare made an attempt to seem less threatening, having all of his non-essential tentacles tucked away. “I’m not going to hurt them, Killer.”

“you're lying!” he shouted and pointed his knife at him. “i’ve seen it happen. you're going to do it, i know it! you're just trying to get my guard down.”

He’s seen it happen?

“Are you having nightmares, Killer?”

He didn't answer.

He couldn't reason with him now, he supposed. Nightmare decided the best course of action was to simply leave. He sunk into the ground.

Killer frantically scanned the area, taking a few minutes until he confirmed that Nightmare did indeed leave. He knelt down, curling in on himself as he sighed. The cats walked back over to him.

Nightmare reappeared in the kitchen, startling the two skeletons that were currently on the couch of the other half of the room.

Usually they wouldn't be startled at his appearance. At least, not anymore. He caught sight of the drinks in their hands, they seemed to be similar. He scrunched his eye in disgust. “What the hell is that?”

They were surprised at his language. Usually he didn't express surprise like that, or at all. Dust and Horror looked at each other as if neither had an answer.

Instead of verbally answering, Dust thrust the drink out. Was he offering it to him?

Nightmare got closer to inspect it. When he reached out to grab it, he saw the two’s sockets widen. He brought it up to his face, the goop covering his mouth melted away as he took a sip.

Oh god. That was awful.

He refrained from spitting it out and managed to brute-force his way into swallowing. A whole shiver rippled throughout his body, and it didn't help that it literally made the goo on his body ripple for a bit.

Horror and Dust remained painfully silent.

Nightmare calmly handed the glass back to Dust. “It's horrible,” he deadpanned.

“he was just trying to show you it, not…” Horror didn't even have to finish his sentence.

Oh great, he misunderstood. He didn't even have to drink that. It was painfully obvious he was embarrassed, even after he covered his mouth once more. “Why do you drink such awful concoctions?”

Dust shrugged, wiping the rim of the glass with his gloves before resuming the consumption of that horrific beverage.

Nightmare refrained from showing his disgust. He moved over to one of the chairs near the couch to sit down. All of his tentacles disappeared, revealing the rest of his cloak that covered most of his legs.

Dust spat his drink out while Horror gawked.

Nightmare flinched, “What?”

Dust gestured at the lower half of his body.

“you have legs!” Horror exclaimed.

“Of course I have legs!? I’m a skeleton like you two.”

“you’re a skeleton?”

Nightmare realized how little they knew about him. “What did you think I was?”

Horror scrunched his face, unsure how to answer. “not…a skeleton?? what's up with all the slime then?”

“I suppose you could call it melted parts of my own body fused with a surplus of magic. Would you care to see how I look without the ‘slime’?”

Horror was very confused at his willingness to be open about this. Which was fair. From their point of view, all of this was coming from nowhere.

Dust, however, immediately signed “yes.” It seemed like his curiosity trumped his confusion.

“Alright,” he said. He focused, shifting his energy into one concentrated point: his forehead. The usual glowing cyan crescent moon on his forehead grew into a full moon as the goop on his body disappeared, revealing white bones with a blue tint to them underneath.

The silence that came after was deafening. The way Horror and Dust looked at him felt different. It was like they saw him as a different person like this.

Sure he was less menacing in this form, but he didn't think he looked that different.

He did. He totally did. He was even smaller like this. He was probably shorter than the two if he were to stand.

“you look so young…” Horror said.

He didn't like the tone of his voice. Maybe this was a mistake.

He quickly changed back to his usual form. The dark goo flowed out from the moon like a waterfall until his whole body was coated in it once again. He immediately felt more comfortable. He decided he was never going to do that again. “As I said, I’m a skeleton like you two.”

“you’ve mentioned you had a brother, does that mean—”

“My brother is not a Papyrus, no. He looks just like me. I did not have a world like yours nor was I ever like you. In fact, I did not even have a world.”

Horror blinked at the onslaught of information. He just learned more about him than he ever has the entire year. “you're pretty chatty today.” About yourself, he meant.

“I suppose it's the torture for today.”

“torture for us or for you?”

At this point, what was the difference? Nightmare thought, but it went unsaid.

Once Dust finished his drink, he got up to put the glass in the sink. When he tried to go to the hallway, Nightmare opened a portal underneath him to get him back on the couch. He glared at Nightmare in protest.

“Dust, I know you and Killer are having some…complications right now,” he said, completely changing the subject. “Although it's provided plenty of energy for me, you two can't avoid each other forever.”

“but wouldn't that benefit you?” Horror questioned.

“I’m not going to risk Dust killing him out of anger.” That wasn't even an exaggeration considering their game of Monopoly the other day. He had to physically wrench them apart when Killer made him bankrupt. “Go make up with each other.” He summoned a portal underneath Dust, sending him to the forest where Killer was.

Dust managed to land on his feet, luckily. He didn't want to fall on his face right in front of Killer to give him something to laugh about.

Killer damn near screamed at his sudden appearance, but he played it off by coughing into his hand when he realized it was just him. Now all the cats around him were skittering about frantically. “miss me that much you had to drop by?”

Dust was completely unfazed by his pun, leaving Killer to awkwardly laugh at his own joke.

“‘m pretty proud of that one,” he mumbled as if to voice disappointment.

Of course he was proud, it was a miracle whenever he could think of a pun on the spot. It was something he was oddly insecure about, not being able to come up with jokes that well.

Dust supposed it was a reminder that he was hardly “Sans” anymore. It seemed like such a small thing until you thought about it. Dust knew he’d use humor to cope or to cheer people up. It was second nature, a skill polished throughout his life, even. To suddenly lose that ability…he wondered if Killer looks at his past self and sees a stranger.

“you just gonna stand there and stare at me like i stabbed your soul?”

While he wasn't skillful at punning, he sure was great at handcrafting every sentence he says to annoy him.

Killer’s cheerful facade dropped, “seriously, are you? i’m having a moment with the cats.”

Is that what he's been replaced with? Cats?

Even though Nightmare ordered him to make up with him, he really didn't feel like talking at the moment.

He wondered what Killer would do if he just continued to stand here in silence. Knowing Killer, he won’t be able to just ignore him.

Yet he turned around to face the cats. He knelt down to pick one up—the one with a pure brown coat—that one was his favorite. He named it something stupid but Dust couldn't remember it off the top of his head at the moment.

He just kinda held the cat for a little while, petting it in silence.

And then after a bit he stopped. The cat whined at this and hopped out of his arms.

He sighed. “i…i’m sorry, okay?” he finally said.

Pathetic, he couldn't even face him when he said it.

“i shouldn't have messed with you like that. i thought you were playing along. i forgot that…i refused to believe you really did care about me and it took you stabbing my soul to get me to realize.”

He had to pause as his breath shuddered, probably trying to keep himself composed. He still hasn't turned around or stood up for that matter.

“i don't know if i can care about you back. i care now, but,” his voice wavered, “you’ve seen how unstable my soul is. at any moment it’ll just snap back to the same old shape of a target and then boom, nothing! a pillow could care about you more than me.”

“i think all i’d do is hurt you,” Killer said. He turned his head to look at him, “you wouldn't want that, would y—woah,” only to see Dust right in front of him, crouched down to be at eye level.

Killer raised a brow bone, having zero clue where this was going.

Dust put a hand on his own chest and then gently brought out his soul.

Killer’s eyes blew wide open.

It was odd, seeing a normal monster soul for the first time in awhile. Well, it wasn't entirely normal. It was pale white, covered in cracks, and an unusual dim glow of red outlined the edges. He could guess where that came from and it wasn't LV.

Before he could ask what his deal was, Dust spoke, “get your knife.”

Oh, HELL no.

His own soul (metaphorically) jumped out of his body at the instruction. He immediately knew where this was going and he did not like it.

“no!” Killer objected. “the hell’s gotten into you? i’d kill you!”

Dust looked as calm as ever. “you're scared,” he noted.

“of course i…” Killer furrowed his brow bones. “you’re trying to prove a point aren't you?”

He saw Dust’s smile curl up. Bastard.

He held his soul out to him as if it wasn’t the culmination of his being. “hold it,” he said.

Killer stared at it, dumbfounded. “i’m not gonna—”

“forget the knife. hold it,” he repeated, apparently switching his approach to this.

Killer shakily held a hand out, allowing Dust to place his soul in it.

He dare not move, as if it was a motion sensor bomb. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop himself from trembling.

He shifted his gaze from the soul to Dust’s eyelights, unsure of which one to look at.

i could kill him. all i’d have to do is squeeze my hand shut. it’d be so easy. would it pop?

He didn't want that. God, he didn't want that at all.

“you're not going to kill me,” Dust stated like he was so sure of himself.

“i could.”

“do you want to?”

“god no.”

“and my soul’s still fine,” Dust remarked.

“what the fuck are we doing, dust?” Killer asked, looking at the soul in his hand in disbelief.

“i dunno, trust exercise?” he offered as an answer.

“pretty intense trust exercise,” he chuckled half-heartedly in an attempt to ease his tension.

“and stabbing your soul wasn't?”

“i wouldn't call a murder attempt a ‘trust exercise’.”

“you know i didn't want to kill you,” he reminded.

“right. you want your soul back now?”

Dust gave a nod.

Killer carefully handed his soul back to him. A moment later it was back in his rib cage.

He let out a sigh of relief, keeping his gaze on Dust to ensure that he hadn't become his namesake. “we chill?”

Dust smirked. “we chill.”

A portal to the kitchen opened near Killer and Dust immediately after.

They could see Nightmare and Horror sitting on the couch looking right at them. Nightmare was slowly clapping in a mocking manner.

“were you two watching the whole fucking time?!” Killer barked. He threw his hood over his head to cover his blushing face.

“Not the most conventional way I’ve seen two people make up,” Nightmare remarked. “It was certainly interesting to watch.”

“my life's not a goddamn sitcom, asshole!”

Nightmare guffawed. He was fucking with him and it was absolutely working.

Killer crossed his arms and pouted. He gave Dust a “can you believe this guy?” look.

Nightmare’s laughing ceased suddenly, “Hurry up and get inside. I have something to give you three.”

“oh, goody, is it a bomb?” Killer asked sarcastically. Despite his sass, he stepped through the portal alongside Dust.

“No, actually.”

A portal opened on the ceiling between Nightmare, Horror and them.

A shopping cart with a huge pile of clothes on it crashed down onto the floor.

It took Killer a second to realize those were the same clothes they left that time they went shopping, when they first encountered Fresh. He reached down to pick up one of the articles of clothing, they were still in fairly good shape. “how the fuck?”

“That is Killer’s gift, of course.” He looked at Dust. A wrapped present appeared in his hands. “As for you, I wasn't quite sure what would be appropriate for you.”

Dust cautiously took the present.

“how come he gets his gift all fancifully wrapped?” Killer complained. He was currently trying to get all the clothes back in the shopping cart. Alas, the pile he made the first time was a one-time feat.

“Because he's less annoying.”

Dust tore the wrapping paper and opened the box that was inside. He looked at the contents inside blankly.

“what is it?” Killer questioned.

Dust reached inside to take it out and show them.

Killer and Horror’s sockets widened as that familiar red-orange came into view.

It was Papyrus’s cape.

Nightmare was unsure what reaction this gift would get. He's seen other Sanses from Dusttale universes wearing it. It supposedly had sentimental value.

It seemed that Dust was also unsure how to react. There were conflicting emotions, Nightmare knew that much.

He carefully put the cape back in the box and signed a “thank you”.

“As for you, Horror,” He held out what appeared to be a rock at first.

Horror inspected it, realizing it was a phone—his phone. He was irked by the idea of Nightmare going to his home universe just to grab this. At least, he hoped he didn't do anything but grab this.

However, the phone might as well have been a rock. He doubted Nightmare knew the phone wouldn't even work. The thing hasn't been charged in years.

And then it caught him off guard by ringing. He flipped it open, seeing the words on the screen indicate that the call was coming from his brother.

He tried to stop his hopes from getting up. He reminded himself this could be a prank call and it wasn't his brother at all.

“Go on, answer it,” Nightmare urged.

This had to be a prank. Papyrus’s phone wouldn't be able to work there was no power—and even then he was in a completely different universe.

He answered the phone.

“SANS!” Papyrus’s voice immediately rang out. “FINALLY, I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ANSWER! YOU’RE ALIVE! OH MY GOD YOU’RE ACTUALLY ALIVE!” He sounded on the verge of tears.

“bro?”

“YES, SANS?”

“just checking that it's actually you and not a prerecorded message,” Horror managed to say. The smile on his face grew as it became genuine. He saw Dust and Killer watching him in his peripheral vision.

“I COULD SAY THE SAME THING. I WASN’T SURE THIS WOULD EVEN WORK!”

“how are you calling right now? was the core fixed?” he dared to ask.

“OH. UH, NO. ABOUT THAT…” Papyrus trailed off going quiet for a minute.

“what happened?” His grin faltered slightly.

“DO NOT FREAK OUT.”

“you're gonna make me freak out if you don't tell me what happened.”

“OUR WORLD WAS KINDA DESTROYED, BADLY.”

Horror’s eye socket went blank. “what?!” he shouted.

Papyrus was quick to clarify, “BUT I’M DOING FINE! ACTUALLY, WE RELOCATED TO A MUCH MORE HOSPITABLE PLACE! SURE OUR HOUSE AND THE ENTIRETY OF SNOWDIN IS COMPLETELY GONE FOREVER BUT THERE’S FOOD HERE AND MAGIC AND I CAN CALL YOU! SPEAKING OF WHICH—WHERE IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Horror sighed in relief. He glanced at Nightmare, who looked eerily indifferent to all of this, before he answered his question. “i kinda got kidnapped by an otherworldly entity, sorry bro.”

“YOU AND YOUR WEIRD HOBBIES, WARN ME NEXT TIME. I THOUGHT YOU DIED. THE ENTIRETY OF SNOWDIN DESCENDED INTO ABSOLUTE CHAOS WITH YOU GONE—ALSO THE WORLD-DESTROYING THINGY PROBABLY PLAYED A ROLE IN THAT TOO.”

“aw geez, is everyone else okay?”

“YEA, EVEN UNDYNE.”

Horror’s expression soured at the mention of her. “well, that's great,” he said sarcastically. He vaguely heard someone else on the other side of the call. From what he heard it didn't sound like anyone he knew.

“OH, ALREADY?” Papyrus replied to the unidentified person. “I SEE,” he sounded disheartened. “BROTHER, I NEED TO END THE CALL NOW BEFORE IT TEARS A HOLE IN THE MULTIVERSE.”

“huh?”

“I’LL SEE YOU LATER, LOVE YOU!”

“love you too,” Horror managed to say before Papyrus hung up. The second the call ended he felt incredibly drained. He felt like he got a mental whiplash when he looked at the room he was in.

Killer seemed to tune out the last bit of their conversation as he managed to get all the clothes piled back on the shopping cart. It seemed like Dust helped him.

Nightmare was also looking at those two rather than at him. He wondered if he was eavesdropping on the phone call or not.

It's been an entire year since they've been here. He had no idea how much longer this would last. He didn't even know what would happen after.

“I will be out for the rest of the day,” Nightmare announced, opening a portal behind himself. “We are stocked up on supplies, correct?”

“you got it, chief,” Killer piped.

“Not my name…” Nightmare muttered before leaving.

Killer sighed the moment the portal closed, looking up at the pile of clothes. “i have no idea how i’m getting this to my room.”

“bet you can't get it to your room by the end of the day,” Horror said, still recovering from that call.

“hey. you're totally wrong.”

Horror shrugged, “time's ticking.”

Killer then decided that pushing the cart would be an effective way to get it to his room. To his credit, it wasn't until he was met with the obstacle that was the doorway to the hall that his plan became flawed. He turned his head to Horror. “so what are we betting exactly?”

#utmv fic #the bad sanses #nightmare sans #horror sans #killer sans #dust sans

233 notes · View notes

theostrophywife · 6 months

Text

kiss with a fist | chapter six.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: w.i.t.c.h. - devon cole

author's note: some cute soft fluff cause i'm in a tender mood.

In all your years at Hogwarts, you could count the amount of times you’ve attended a quidditch game on one hand and you wouldn't even need to utilize all of your fingers. Needless to say, you weren’t really into the rowdiness and belligerence of sporting events, but a bargain was a bargain. You were just glad to have Luna with you. Even if it meant enduring Pansy Parkinson’s presence.

“Be nice,” Luna warned as you approached the stands.

“I won’t bite if she doesn’t,” you murmured back.

Luna nodded, knowing that it was the closest thing to an agreement she was ever going to get out of you. Despite your surliness, your friend seemed to brighten the minute she spotted Pansy. In a sea of blue and gold, the dark haired witch was the only one clad in green and silver. Your housemates kept exchanging wary glances at the Slytherin in their midst, but they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut.

You watched quietly as Pansy and Luna exchanged pleasantries. While your friend was generally a bubbly person, she seemed extra giddy as she spoke. There was something about the way that she softened that convinced you to ease up on the scowls. It must have been contagious, because Pansy actually smiled and it wasn’t a derisive sneer or a smug smirk, but a genuine smile. You didn’t even know the witch was capable of it.

Finally, she seemed to take stock of your presence. The dark haired girl jutted her chin out proudly, her aristocratic features schooled into forced neutrality. It occurred to you that Pansy probably received a similar warning to attempt decency.

“Y/N,” she said.

“Pansy,” you replied.

The two of you eyed each other. Sizing up your opponent. The eagle versus the snake, claws against teeth. The staredown was purely psychological warfare.

You squinted. Hurt her and I’ll maim you.

The silent warning didn’t seem to offend Pansy. Instead, she gave a subtle nod of her chin and made way for you and Luna to sit. You settled in, trying not to peer down at the drop. Heights had never really been your thing.

Pansy observed you curiously as Luna patted your arm. “Y/N’s not a big fan of heights.”

“Oh?” Parkinson asked.

“I generally prefer solid ground. It reduces the chances of me falling and breaking my neck.” The corner of Pansy’s mouth quirked. “What about you, Parkinson? Are you keen on flying?”

“A bit.”

Luna brightened. “She’s being modest. Pansy here is a very talented flyer. She’s got an Abraxan named Circe.”

“The most powerful witch to ever live,” you noted. “She used to turn men into swine.”

“A lost art, really.”

You smirked. “The classic femme fatale. A personification of the dangers of femininity. They always paint powerful women in a terrible light, don’t they?”

“Perhaps it makes the men feel better about their own inadequacies.”

“We’re always making men feel better about their inadequacies,” you answered thoughtfully. “Convenient that the myths fail to mention that Circe was one of the first pharmakis. Modern magic would not be what it is without her extensive knowledge of herbs and plants and yet she’s rarely credited in any potions books we read.”

Pansy nodded, eyeing you in amusement. “I can see why Nott has taken a liking to you.”

You turned to Luna who immediately shook her head. Pansy laughed. “Don’t worry, Lovegood didn’t tell me a thing. She didn’t have to. Theodore never stops talking about you, you know.”

There was no hiding the flush that crept up to your cheeks. “We’re both vying for the top spot in Slughorn’s class. I assume he has a lot to say about his competition.”

“It’s more than that,” Pansy said. “I’ve known Theodore since birth and I’ve never seen him put this much effort into anything. He’s always been naturally talented at potions, given his mum’s background, but you challenge him. For the first time in a long time, he’s found someone who’s actually up to par. I, for one, enjoy watching you put him in his place.”

You smiled. “I quite enjoy it too.”

Luna looked at you, then at Pansy before a huge grin graced her lips. It was obvious that she was pleased at the sight of her best friend and her…potential more-than-friend getting along.

The game started not long after. Your comprehension of the rules were rudimentary at best, but Luna made sure to explain as best as she could. From what you gathered, there were four positions: seeker, beater, chaser, and keeper. The chasers attempted to score as many goals as they could by throwing the quaffle through the posts, which the keepers guarded. The beaters used the bludgers to disrupt the other players. The seeker, on the other hand, needed to catch the golden snitch. All while floating on a broom hundreds of feet in the air.

This match, Pansy explained, had been anticipated to be the most brutal of the season. The enmity between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins translated very clearly on the field. While there had always been a divide of support between the other houses, you could tell that the majority of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stands were cheering for the Gryffindors.

You wondered how that made the Slytherins feel. Three houses against one. After the war, Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic droned on and on about the importance of unity and reconciliation. Professor Slughorn even delivered a speech during your first potions class, but the disparity between words and actions were painfully obvious.

The rest of the school still mistrusted the Slytherins. If any of them cared, you wouldn’t have been able to tell. Especially not as they played. The quidditch team was deadly. You watched as green and silver robes whizzed past, familiar names sprawled on the jerseys. Malfoy, Zabini, Riddle, Berkshire, Warrington, Rosier, and Nott.

Theo winked as he flew past your portion of the stands. You rolled your eyes, but held your breath as he careened towards one of the goal posts. Ron Weasley stood guard, squinting suspiciously at Theo. The flash of the quaffle was too fast for your eyes to follow, but it sliced the air all the same, slipping through an opening above Ron’s shoulder. The redhead cursed as Theo gave him a mocking bow.

Pansy was the lone witch in your section to cheer for the Slytherins. Luna joined her in solidarity when the crowd grew quiet. Suspicious glances were cast in your direction, which you rebuffed with a menacing glare. They all found something else to look at rather quickly.

Displeasure rippled over the crowd as the Slytherins kept scoring. Theo was an unstoppable force. Warrington and Riddle flanked him at each side, throwing bludgers at anyone who attempted to thwart his efforts. The other two chasers, Berkshire and Zabini, circled around them in an aerial formation that confused the opposing team. The Gryffindors grew increasingly frustrated when Evangeline Rosier kept rebuffing their attempts to score.

Both teams played well, but the Slytherins were ruthless, tactical, and efficient. They used the opposing team’s weaknesses against them. The Gryffindors tended to be over reactive and Theo used it to his advantage. He baited them into making rash plays, which left openings for him and the other chasers to exploit.

By the end of the game, it was Berkshire who scored the winning goal. The discrepancy between the cheers and booing was insurmountable, but Pansy didn’t seem to care. She cheered for the team louder than anyone. As the win was formally announced, you heard murmurs coming from below you.

“Stupid Death Eater bitch.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Pansy tense. Luna’s mouth hung agape as she wheeled around to identify the foul mouthed culprit. You were quicker.

“What did you just say?” you asked in a deathly quiet voice.

The conversations around you stopped as you faced Romilda Vane. The smug faced witch crossed her arms, her scarlet and gold scarf billowing in the wind as she looked up at the three of you.

“You heard me,” Romilda said in a haughty voice. “Her father was one of the Dark Lord’s staunchest supporters. As were the Malfoys and Notts. Not to mention Riddle. How he was allowed back at school is a mystery to me. They should all be in Azkaban.”

Your ears began to ring. The crowd parted as you descended the bleachers, bringing you face to face with Romilda. “I wasn’t aware that you’d recently earned a place in the Wizengamot. For all your prattling, you’d think you were the Chief Warlock.”

She cowered under your glare, but doubled down as she looked towards her friends. “I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking. As far as I’m concerned, the Slytherins should be punished for their crimes.”

“I hardly think you’re speaking from any moral high ground, Romilda. Didn’t you try to dose Potter with Amortentia in sixth year?”

Romilda reddened as she sputtered nonsense. The students around you snickered, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug painfully into your palms. If you hadn’t, you might’ve punched that stupid smirk right off of her face.

But you knew that physical violence was not the answer. There were far more strategic ways to land a blow and you were an expert in this type of warfare.

“I suppose Harry’s lucky that your potion making is about as incompetent as your critical thinking skills. Now move before I make you.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing getting tangled up with all those snakes. They’ll sink their teeth into your back the second you turn it.”

“One of them is worth ten of you. At least the Slytherins fought to defend the castle instead of running off like a coward. They may have teeth, but at least they know how to use them. You’re all roar and no bite.”

“You’re a bitch, Y/N.”

You reared back, baring your teeth. “Oh you have no idea, Vane. But I’d be glad to demonstrate.”

Romilda held her ground. For a split second, you weighed the consequences of harming a fellow student versus the satisfaction of pummeling Romilda to the ground. Luckily for the idiotic Gryffindor, Luna gently gripped you by the elbow.

“It’s not worth it, Y/N.”

You looked at your friend who wore an expression of concern. Beside her, Pansy didn’t say a word. She was utterly silent, almost resigned like she encountered this treatment on a daily basis. We all pay the price, Theo had said.

Without another word, you nodded and bulldozed through Romilda as you exited the stands. It was only when the three of you reached the ground when you finally realized that you were shaking from anger.

“Are you alright, Pans?” Luna asked, clasping Parkinson’s hand.

Pansy shrugged. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Luna. If I let the opinion of an airheaded twat affect my day, I’d never have a good one again.”

“Are you sure—” Luna fretted.

Pansy smiled gently and squeezed her hand in assurance. “Truly, I’m alright. The only thing upsetting me at the moment is that I’ve left my scarf up there running from those hags. Would you mind getting it for me, Lu?”

Your friend still looked worried, but she nodded and made the trek back up. You and Pansy stood in silence, watching as the last of the crowd trickled out of the stands.

“Vane had no right to say that,” you said. It came out harsher than you expected.

“At least she had the gall to say it to my face,” Parkinson stated with a shrug. “I don’t know if that makes her brave or stupid.”

“Gryffindors often have trouble making the distinction.”

The dark haired witch laughed. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. As moronic as she is, Vane is right. She was only voicing the opinion of the masses."

“But you fought in the final battle. I saw you rallying the others against the Death Eaters. Romilda wasn’t even there. She didn’t even fight.”

Pansy sighed. “A lot of good that did. I had to watch my friends duel against their own parents and yet this entire school still mistrusts us. I suppose I can’t blame them. The majority of the Dark Lord’s followers were produced by our house.”

“Not all Slytherins are bad. The world isn’t so black and white,” you said adamantly. “Most of us operate in the gray areas, whether we admit it or not. The only difference is that you lot don’t try to hide it.”

“Yes, but a snake is a snake. Even when we shed our skin, they still see deception when they look at us.”

“And you’re willing to just accept that?”

Parkinson gave you a pointed look. What choice did she have? What choice did any of them have?

After a beat of silence, you cleared your throat. “Are you sure you’re alright? Luna’s worried.”

“I assure you, being villainized isn’t anything new to me. I suppose that’s why I named my horse after Circe," Pansy mused thoughtfully. "It’s better for them to believe that I’m some sort of evil sorceress than to realize that I am more shackled by my circumstances than I could ever be at Azkaban. My family name is a collar around my neck, waiting to choke me at any moment, but they’re so blinded by their own misconceptions that all they see are my teeth. I prefer it that way.”

“Oderint dum metuant.”

"Let them hate, as long as they fear." A faint smile bloomed on Pansy’s lips. "That’s awfully Slytherin of you to say. Are you sure you’re in the right house, Y/N?”

You chuckled. A beat of silence followed as understanding passed between you. Perhaps you had more in common with Pansy Parkinson than you thought.

When Luna returned, the two of them tried to convince you to join them at the common room party, but you declined. You weren’t really in the mood to be around people.

“You two go ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

As the sun set over the school grounds, you found yourself at the Black Lake. Dusk tinged the horizon with pink and purple and the fluffy white clouds hung low enough to kiss the dark water. You settled at the end of the dock and dipped your toes into the lake, watching as the motion made ripples across the surface. Maybe it was unwise to linger here given that the lake was home to the merpeople and the giant squid, but they would be far in the depths and you were honestly too knackered to care.

Sighing, you pulled out a silver flask from your robes. You had initially brought it for the after party, but it would’ve been a shame to let the firewhisky go to waste.

“Illegal contraband?” A familiar voice teased just as the wood gave way beside you. Theo bumped his shoulder against yours as he sat. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well maybe your idiotic tendencies are rubbing off on me.”

“I’d like to rub more than just my tendencies on you.”

You rolled your eyes and handed him the flask. “Just fucking drink, Theodore.”

He grinned before taking a swig. You chuckled at the face he made from the burn of the Ogden’s. “That is straight up liquor," Theo remarked through his coughing fit. "You're out of control, diavolina. Should I be concerned?”

“We’re celebrating,” you said. “At least you should be. That was quite a win out there. I didn’t expect you to be so….efficient.”

“Careful, Y/N. That was almost a compliment.”

You shrugged. “To be fair, I haven’t been to a game in years. You could’ve been absolutely rubbish and I’d still think it was a feat that you managed to stay seated on that broom.”

“Well, it is a pretty important component of quidditch. Did you at least attempt to enjoy yourself?”

“It was a brutal game. There’s a lot more strategy and planning that goes into quidditch than I initially thought. It’s like chess, but you’re allowed to hit people. I had a blast.”

Theo chuckled. “I should’ve known you’d get a kick out of all that violence.”

Warmth spread through your body as you took another swig. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating your win at the party?”

His fingers brushed yours as you handed the flask back to him. “I’m where I want to be.”

This time, you weren’t sure if it was the firewhisky or Theo’s presence making you flush. The two of you kept drinking in silence as you peered up at the sky. Back home in London, you never would’ve been able to see the stars this clearly. They glittered in the night sky like tiny diamonds etched through the darkness.

“I heard about what happened earlier,” Theo said after a moment.

You weren’t surprised. Word traveled fast around this school. “Luna told you?”

“No. Pansy did.” He shifted, turning over to look at you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you did too. “You did a good thing, Y/N. You stood up for Pansy. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I was only doing what anyone else would’ve done.”

“No. You weren’t.” Theo set the flask down. “No one else would’ve come to her defense. Pansy, she’s the strongest one out of all of us. Draco, Mattheo, and I, we can always resort to punches when we’re insulted, but Pansy doesn’t have that option. She just has to sit there and take it. It means a lot that someone spoke up for her.”

“I did the bare minimum.”

“It still meant a lot.”

“There’s no need to thank me for—”

Theo sighed in exasperation. “For Salazar’s sake, will you just take my gratitude without arguing?”

You bit back a smile. “Fine. I acknowledge your gratitude.”

You downed the rest of the flask as Theo lit a cigarette. The flame from that curious Zippo flickered in the darkness as smoke filled the air.

“So,” Theo started, taking a deep inhale. “Are you ready for the slug club dinner next week? I’m not even invited to the bloody thing and yet I still know every detail thanks to McLaggen’s incessant prattling. What a twat.”

“Cormac is kind of a twat, isn’t he?” you asked, giggling as the alcohol started taking its effect. “I heard that he kisses like a fork tongued lizard.”

Theo’s eyes flashed. “You better not know that firsthand.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I wouldn’t go near McLaggen’s mouth with a ten foot broom.”

“Good. I can rest easy that you won’t be replacing me with a reptilian snogger.”

“You can rest easy either way. I’m not going to that dinner.”

Theo paused, the cigarette hanging haphazardly from between his lips. “What do you mean you’re not going?”

“It’s a pretty straightforward sentence, Nott. I will not be attending Professor Slughorn’s ridiculous dinner.”

“You have to go,” he declared firmly.

“I’m confused. Do you want me to snog the lizard or not?”

Theo frowned. “Do not snog McLaggen unless you want me to turn him into an actual reptile.” He exhaled and smoke curled around his lips. “You can’t miss that dinner.”

“I have no interest in attending.”

He stared at you, his gaze fixed with determination. “Is this about what Slughorn said the other day?”

You picked at your fingers, avoiding his eyes. “It’s probably going to be boring, anyways. Just a pissing contest for us to compare our grades and achievements like we’re puppets on a string.”

“You should still go.”

“Why?” you asked, a bit irritated that Theo was pushing for this so hard. You would’ve thought that he of all people would understand your choice. “Why would I subject myself to be part of something that judges people based on prejudice rather than merit?”

Theo’s expression softened. “Because it’ll raise your chances of joining the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. That’s your dream, isn’t it?”

You reeled back in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

He rolled his eyes. “You only talk about it a thousand times a day.” Theo raised his brow in challenge. “Slughorn’s one of the most influential members. If you go to the dinner, it might solidify a formal invitation.”

Theo was right. You didn’t want him to be, but he was right. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve sabotaged and plotted and schemed for a way in. This was an opportunity to distinguish yourself from your fellow classmates, so why were you hesitating?

You knew why. You were looking right at him.

“I’ll drag you there myself if I have to,” Theo declared.

You sighed. There was no way he was going to let this go. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

Theo smiled triumphantly. You kicked at the water, sending a wave across the still lake. “You know, if Slughorn knew that you were a Marchesi, he’d probably fall all over himself to recruit you. Hell, anyone would. You’re practically guaranteed a place at the Society, too.”

Theo shrugged nonchalantly. “Where would the fun be in that?”

“I’m serious, Nott. It could open up doors for you.”

He sighed. “That’s exactly why I’ve kept the knowledge to myself. I’m tired of everyone judging me based on my family, good or bad. I want to accomplish something that’s solely mine. Not Nott, not Marchesi. Just Theo.”

“That’s uncharacteristically noble of you.”

“I told you, I’m not just a pretty face. I’m also rich, witty, intelligent, athletic, etc. Honestly, the list goes on and on.”

You snorted. “Just don’t expect humble to be part of that little myriad, Theo.”

Theo paused. The moment of silence swelled between you like an errant wave. Then, a huge smile broke out on his face.

“What?” you asked.

“You called me Theo.”

“Well, that is your name. Has quidditch concussed you so severely that you’ve forgotten?

He responded with an eye roll. “I’m perfectly lucid, thank you very much. Well, besides the firewhisky. I’m a little bit sloshed from that, but not sloshed enough to not notice you call me by my actual name. Not Theodore, not Nott, not twat, not oh god—”

“I get it, Theo.”

His grin grew wider. “There it is again. Theo.”

“It’s just a name, nothing special.”

“It is when you’re the one saying it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The satisfied smirk on his face refused to budge even as the sky grew darker. The two of you sprawled out on the dock, staring up at the sky and enjoying the comfortable silence. Theo toyed with his lighter, rubbing his thumb over the spark wheel, which caused the flame to flicker on and off.

You stared at the lighter, vision blurring from the alcohol. “Why do you have that thing?”

“I told you, Mattheo’s a little thief.”

“No, I mean I know the reason. But I just can’t figure out why.”

Theo scrunched his brows in confusion. “Are you sure you’re not the one concussed?”

“Would a concussed person be able to do this?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and slightly flipped to the side. The action made your hair come loose.

“What in Merlin’s name am I supposed to be looking at right now?”

“I’m obviously doing a cartwheel,” you deadpanned. “Aren’t I?”

Theo chuckled. “You are one drunk witch, Y/N.”

“M’not drunk.” He raised a brow. “Fine, maybe I’m a tiny bit bevved, but you’re the one avoiding my question.”

“Sorry,” Theo said rather unapologetically. “I’m a bit distracted at the moment.”

“By what?”

“Your hair,” he murmured softly. Theo reached out and toyed with a loose strand, twisting a long lock between his fingers. He swallowed thickly, his voice lower and huskier than it was a minute ago. “You should wear it down more often.”

“It’s a hassle.”

He swept it over your shoulder, knuckles brushing your cheek. “It’s beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed. Whether from the alcohol or his touch, you couldn’t differentiate. “Stop deflecting, Nott.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Relentless witch. Can’t you see I’m trying to have a moment here?”

You gave him a pointed look. Theo sighed before handing over his lighter. Up close, you could see that the silver was worn and dented. It looked much older than you initially thought. To your surprise, Theo silently waved his wand and the lighter transformed into a heart shaped locket.

“When my nonna gave me the grimoire, it came with this. It was Alessandra’s old locket. She treasured it more than the grimoire itself.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“Open it.”

Your fingers stilled. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t get shy now, diavolina. You wanted to know and now I’m telling you.”

You hesitated for a moment before curiosity got the best of you. The locket popped open easily. Inside was a picture of a dark haired woman standing next to a man with watercolor eyes and thick brown curls. The couple looked at each other with love and adoration in their eyes.

“That’s Alessandra, obviously. The man was Damiano, her closest friend, the mad scientist of the village, and the cleverest muggle she’d ever met. He helped author the grimoire.”

“I never knew that Alessandra had help with her inventions.”

Theo nodded. “As my family intended. They didn’t approve of her relationship with Damiano, but she didn’t care. They fell madly in love and eventually married.”

“How is it possible that no one knew about him?”

“Damiano was born with a unique illness that was incurable even with magic. Alessandra poured years of her life into finding a cure, but in the end he succumbed to it. She passed away only a year after him. My nonna said that she died of a broken heart.” Theo took the chain and traced his fingers over the picture. “They left behind two young children who were eventually raised by Alessandra’s parents. Their son and daughter grew up not knowing who their father was. The Marchesis did everything in their power to keep the knowledge to themselves. They didn’t want anyone to know that their great bloodline was tainted by a muggle.”

Theo bowed his head in shame. He avoided your gaze, choosing to look out at the Black Lake instead. “There it is. The secret that my family has guarded for centuries. The sad part is that some of them still hold those bigoted beliefs, so when people assume the worst of me, I can’t blame them. The Marchesis, the Notts, either way you look at it, there’s bad blood coursing through my veins.”

“That’s not true, Theo,” you said softly. “You know I don’t think that of you, right?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Everyone else does.”

“Well, I don’t,” you said firmly. “You said it earlier. Family isn’t all that a person amounts to. When I look at you, I don’t see a Nott or a Marchesi. I just see Theo.”

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered. The saddest part was that you were sure he meant it. “My great great great grandmother fell in love with a muggle and how did my family repay her for it? They blotted him out of existence.”

The starlight caressed his forlorn expression with its silver glow, painting a heartbreaking depiction of Theo that you had never seen before. It reminded you of that day in the potions lab when he was talking about his mother. There was such an openness and vulnerability in him then that was present now as well and you realized why he looked at you the way he did that day.

Theo hadn’t been waiting for you to give him an out. He wanted—no, he needed a friend and you had been too scared to step up then, but you weren’t now. You could be that for him. You wanted to be that for him. A friend.

Without second guessing yourself, you reached out in the space between you and grabbed hold of his hand. Theo stared at your intertwined fingers in surprise.

“The love between Damiano and Alessandra lives on,” you said with a small smile. “In their children and their children’s children. In…you.”

Those watercolor eyes, the very same ones that you had grown so familiar with shone with emotion. Unlike the day in the lab, Theo didn’t put up his mask of cockiness and arrogance and you realized with a start that you didn’t want him to.

He smiled and squeezed your hand gently. “Yes, I suppose I inherited Damiano’s affinity for cruel, brilliant witches.”

"Affinity is putting it lightly," you said teasingly. "Admit it. You're obsessed with me, Nott."

You blinked as Theo hovered over you. The weight of his body pressed against yours ignited a flame of fiendfyre in your core. He dipped his head down, his curls tickling your nose. "No, not Nott. Not Theodore. Try that again, diavolina."

You wriggled underneath him, but Theo held your hips in place. He brushed his lips against yours and smirked when you tried to kiss him. His low rumble of laughter sent shivers down your spine. "Say it. Say my name again."

"If I say it, will you stop being a tease?"

Theo kissed your neck and laughed when you pouted in response. "Only one way to find out."

"I'll knee you in the crotch if you do that again, Theo."

He grinned. "There's a good girl," Theo said rather suggestively. You fought the urge to squirm at his words. He peppered kisses along your neck, your jaw, and your cheeks while you burst into a fit of drunken giggles. "For the record, I am obsessed with you, but I think you're a little bit obsessed with me too."

"You wish, Theo."

"You're going to be the death of me," he said huskily as he unbuttoned your cardigan. Theo's eyes were full of mischief as he dipped between your breasts, sucking on your flesh and leaving marks in his wake. "But I'm willing to die a happy man, Y/N."

Taglist: @annaisabookworm@marina468@yaraasthings @the0doreslover@bubybubsters@moony-artemis @natasha887@lucyysthings@criesinlies @bunnymallowo@niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl@wordsarelife@clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar @mishtay @cherry-hoe @littlebookbengal @maybefoxysouls @nomup @aliensknowmyillusions @cinderellawithashoe @starsval @kalulakunundrum @lucyysthings @siriuslysmoking @purplegirls-posts @unstablereader @lqclercs @whatsupb18 @rikirritated @psychedeliccc @jetblackpayne @clairesjointshurt @ama1a2 @omwtkydttfym @cinderellawithashoe @xeqr @txzii @goldenmagnolias @ilikefictionalmen @xxpeachyxo @dirt-cup-draco @willowecho25518 @shulipp @pompeygirl89 @lame-ferrum @dustbunniess @justdizzie @sopsopsopy

Please let me know if you'd like to be added.

#i am writing this from the grave because the new pics of lorenzo at the movie premiere has k*lled me #theo nott #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine

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percervall · 22 days

Text

it's a bad idea (fuck it, it's fine) — part 1

Summary: your housemates give you an offer you can't refuse. What's the worst that could happen? Pairing: Jenson Button x fem!reader, Fernando Alonso x fem!reader, Sebastian Vettel x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: smut, dirty talk, mild degrading, oral (m and f receiving), face fucking, fingering, slight nipple play, hinting at m/m, mentions of free use, *gasp* and they were room mates Word count: 1.9k

Part 1 of the Fuck It series

The arrangement was, frankly, absurd. Had the offer come from anyone other than Jenson, you would have kicked them so hard they wished you had punched them instead. Part of you hoped he would have forgotten what he had said while heavily under the influence of too much champagne, but luck was not on your side.

"Have you thought about my offer?" Jenson asks, innocently blowing on his coffee, making you choke on air.

"The offer in which I pay my rent by, wait let me check my notes. Ah, yes, 'fucking you'," you reply, voice a lot steadier than you feel. Because truth be told, it had been impossible to not fantasise about getting railed into next week by him- by any of them. Oh, you were well aware of how much your life had become the plot of a rom-com ever since your landlord decided to be an absolute greedy bastard. Become a live-in house sitter for 4 millionaires they said, it'll be fun they said. Liars.

"Oh come on, it'll be mutually beneficial," Jenson argued.

"Proud of you for using your big boy words, pretty boy but how exactly is this gonna end up in anything other than disaster?"

"He's hungover and a himbo, why are you bullying him?" Mark mutters, voice still rough with sleep as he literally picks you up and unceremoniously plops you down on top of the counter. There are days where you curse your small stature and his strength, especially when it leaves your brain stuttering to process getting manhandled.

"We'll set rules. All I'm saying is we're all adults-.." You can't help but snort at that. "Fine, whatever. I'm just saying that I've seen the way you look at them, seen the way your eyes flash with lust and I am pretty sure some truly filthy fantasies, and I know I can speak for all four of us when I say we would love to help you realise those. Also, we don't need your rent money and this is just so much more fun." Well then. You just got read for filth before even having had your morning coffee. Fuck him for seeing right through you.

"Where's your sense of adventure, nena?" Fernando comments, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Right next to my 'I survived Multi-21' t-shirt," you mutter. It's a low blow, but getting bullied into sleeping with four drivers makes it hard to think.

Mark shoots you a look, eyebrow raised.

"The mouth on you," he comments, "Seb was very apologetic. Made it up to me in the best possible way. In fact, I should make you apologise to the both of us the same way, sweetheart. On your knees." He whispers the last part in your ear and you cannot contain the whimper that comes out at his thinly veiled threat.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being made to kneel and take cock like the good little girl you are, hm?”

“Mark-..” You have no idea how to respond to that and keep your dignity in tact. You try to look away but Mark takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“I asked you a question sweetheart. Are you gonna be a good girl for us?” His thumb tugs on your bottom lip and all rational thought leaves you as you nod.

“Mm, knew JB was right about you. Takes one to know one, I suppose.” You can hear a muffled what the fuck’s that supposed to mean? from the living room as Mark helps you down from the counter. You hadn’t even noticed the McLaren teammates had left the kitchen until just now.

“On your knees, sweetheart,” Mark nudges you and you sink down onto the floor. The small kitchen runner is the only thing protecting your knees from the cold hardwood floor, but the prospect of sore knees is quickly forgotten now that you’re at eye level with Mark’s crotch. You can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock against his shorts and it has your mouth watering. Mark chuckles as he notices the hunger in your eyes.

“You’re lucky Seb is out for a run. Or maybe I’m the lucky one, getting to fuck this mouth all by myself.” The whimper you let out is involuntarily as you eagerly watch him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, pushing them down far enough to free his cock. You scoot a little closer, taking him in your hand, tongue darting out to lick away the bead of pre-cum. Mark hisses, head thrown back and that’s all the encouragement you need to suck the tip into your mouth.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, sounding absolutely wrecked already despite you not even having done anything yet.

“You said something about fucking my mouth?” Mark looks down at you, pupils completely blown and he grins so wickedly, it leaves you breathless.

“Are you absolutely sure sweetheart?” As you nod in response, he gathers your hair into a ponytail in his fist, angling your face. “Alright then. Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much and I will stop, okay?”

“Okay,” you parrot, and move your legs apart ever so slightly to stabilise yourself. Mark drags the tip of his cock across your lips and you open up for him. He slides in, careful to not immediately choke you. You relax your jaw as much as you can, but god it’s been so long since you last did this. Mark sets a slow rhythm, letting the both of you adjust. Looking up at him through your lashes, you can see how he’s trying to hold on to the last shreds of self control, and well. That just won’t do.

“Mark,” you say, slightly out of breath as you pull back, “you taunted me with using me. So for the love of God, fucking use me.” Mark chuckles and the sound has you aching. He tightens his grip on your hair and slides his cock back into your mouth. Resting your hands on his thighs, you close your eyes as he finally delivers on his promise. The sounds are obscene and if you had a functioning brain cell left, you would have been concerned about the two of you doing this in the kitchen, but as things stand, the only thing you can focus on is Mark’s throbbing cock inching down your throat. Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you look at him as you swallow around him.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m not gonna last, sweetheart,” he groans, pulling back. You hollow your cheeks while taking deep breaths through your nose, pulling another string of curses from the Aussie. You can feel his cock throb as he grunts above you.

“Gonna-.. Fuck.. So good, you feel so fucking good..” he mumbles, and throws his head back as he comes.

“You better not swallow, Schatzi,” comes a voice from the doorway. Who are you to disobey? Mark pulls out carefully, tucking himself back into his shorts while Sebastian helps you up from the floor. He carries you bridal style into the living room, placing you down on the couch next to Fernando.

“Show Nando, baby,” Sebastian all but coos and you carefully open your mouth. The underlying relationships? Questionmark? between your housemates makes your head spin, but judging by the way Fernando’s eyes darken, Sebastian knows something about the Spaniard you don’t.

“Can I kiss you, nena?” he asks and all you can do is nod. Fernando cradles your cheek, pressing an almost chaste kiss against your lips before he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips. The moan he lets out as he tastes Mark on your tongue has you throbbing. When you break apart to catch some air, Sebastian leans closer and licks away the few drops of cum that spilled when Fernando kissed you. Am I dreaming? you can’t help but wonder. Out loud apparently.

“Very much awake, doll,” Jenson grins as he kneels in front of you, “Something tells me you’re absolutely soaking. Mind if I give a hand? I do so love making people come with my mouth,” he adds and you’re quick to raise your hips so he can pull down your panties, much to Jenson’s amusement. He pushes your oversized shirt up higher and parts your legs. Sebastian moves your face so he can steal a kiss and you moan into his mouth as Jenson drags the flat of his tongue over your oh so sensitive clit. Their hands are everywhere it feels like. You’re pretty sure Fernando has one up your shirt, teasing your nipple while he kisses your neck. Jenson’s are curled around the inside of your thighs as he holds you open for him while Sebastian has one hand on your cheek as he kisses you; the other mirrors Fernando’s. Needing something to hold on to, you bury a hand in Jenson’s hair. He sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning against your cunt as you tug. Breaking the kiss, you throw your head back with a moan of your own while you grind against Jenson’s tongue.

“Need.. Fingers.. Please, Jenson, need your-.. Fuck, oh God..” Despite your incoherent state, Jenson understands what it is you’re asking of him as he carefully slides two of his long fingers inside of you. Sebastian and Fernando manage to strip you of your t-shirt, both of them taking a nipple into their mouth.

“I’m so-.. So close.. I’m gonna cum, please can I cum?” you whimper. Fernando mutters a yes against your skin and something snaps; Your back arches as your orgasm hits you and for a moment you forget how to breathe. The loss of Jenson’s fingers makes you whine but your housemates more than make up for it when Fernando grabs his wrist in order to bring Jenson’s fingers to his mouth, moaning as he tastes you.

“Just as I thought, you taste delicious nena,” the Spaniard comments with a grin. These men will be the death of me, you can’t help but think while Seb accepts the glass of water Mark hands him. The German driver helps you take a few sips as you slowly return into your body. Something tells you that this only scratches the surface of their underlying dynamics and you are dying to delve deeper.

“Told you it’d be mutually beneficial,” Jenson jokes, pulling you from your thoughts.

“God, I hate that I’m saying this because your ego is fucking big enough as is-,” you start only for Jenson to interrupt with a that’s not the only thing that’s big, doll which makes you roll your eyes.

“I was gonna agree to your plan, idiot. You proved your point. Twice over. I- eh.. I can see the appeal,” you continue before downing the last of the water. The four men share a look that you can’t quite decipher and it makes you wonder: just what did you exactly sign up for? You pull your shirt back on, suddenly very aware of the fact you’re naked, needing something to act as a barrier between you and this crazy idea.

“How about we discuss the details after breakfast? Don’t know about you, but I am starving,” Mark breaks the silence. You nod gratefully and let Sebastian pull you to your feet. A part of you is excited to see where this.. arrangement will lead you, but you’re also apprehensive that you might be about to bite off far more than you can chew.

Welp. Here we go I guess. Updates are gonna be slow on this, so please temper your expectations. Ideas have been brain stormed, things are brewing in the ol' noggin, I just gotta write it 🥲

Massive shoutout to @curiousthyme and @feralnando for helping me brain rot about this and for holding my hand while I descent even further into chaos. This whole part was written while listening to Hozier's Too Sweet and Ethel Cain's Gibson Girl on repeat, so feel free to do with that information as you please

Please let me know what you think. Your comments, likes and tags mean the world to me 💜

taglist

@2pagenumb @dannyramirezwife @daydreaminlewis @emlynblack @forza55 @jaimeleannavanlloman @mehrmonga @szobosz @raizelchrysanderoctavius @whoreforeveryon

#f1 fanfic #mark webber x reader #mark webber x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #jenson button x reader #jenson button x you #mark webber smut #fernando alonso smut #jenson button smut #sebastian vettel smut #fuck it fic

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f1goat · 6 months

Text

his teammate + lando norris x part seven

In which you find yourself getting closer to your brothers new teammate who's a dick.

lando norris x fem!verstappen (sister) + cursewords + eventually smutty i wrote this before, but i'm rewriting it because i missed somethings. you can comment if you want to be added to a taglist :) thanks for reading!

masterlist x playlist

“Maybe we should get inside now? I can’t warm you up forever,” Lando says jokingly. You know he’s right, but you don’t want to leave your comfortabel position against him. He presses a soft kiss against your forehead. That’s the other reason you don’t want to go back inside. You can’t be this close with him if everyone is around. But still, you can’t stay here either for the rest of the night.

“I still want to introduce you to my friend,” Lando tells you.

“I think I already met him,” you reply with a small smile, “if your friend is Max.”

“How?” Lando asks you confused.

You let out a soft laugh and tell Lando about your meeting with Max from earlier tonight.

“Okay, but I still want to introduce you properly,” Lando says, “So come on.”

Without further discussion Lando takes you back inside the club with him. He grabs your hand and leads you to the people while he searches for his friend. You think about everything that is happening and just happened. It’s a lot to progress. When you’re sober tomorrow you really need to think about all of this.

It doesn’t take Lando long to find his friend. Together with him you’re standing in front of Max. The boy is smiling at Lando and you.

“Fixed it?” Max asks while looking at you. You show him a small nod.

Max, Lando and you continue to talk for a while. You’re quick to find out that Max is a nice guy. He seems to have the same humor as Lando, but is a bit more well mannered. They tell you about how they have been friends for a very long time and even lived together for a while. Max jokes about Lando who was a terrible housemate - he was never there and if he was he made a mess. You laugh with them. This is nice. Lando informs you about the girlfriend Max has, Max is quick to suggest a double date. Before you realize it, Lando already accepted the offer.

Does that mean you’re officially dating Lando?

Lando and you really need to talk about a lot of things.

Do you want to date Lando? It doesn’t surprise you that your heart is already screaming ‘yes’.

You continue to have fun with Max and Lando. The conversations are nice. Max jokes about Lando a lot, something you also like. It’s easy to connect with Max. Lando puts his arm around your waist to pull you a bit closer to himself.

“Ah there you are!”

It’s your brother who interrupts your conversation with Max and Lando. You suddenly feel stressed. Slowly you take a few steps away from Lando, hoping your brother doesn’t notice how close you were to his teammate earlier.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” your brother says excitedly, “I think you’ll really like him.”

Fuck. This happens sometimes. Max is drunk and gets the idea that he needs to meddle into your love life. Which often results in an attempt to match you with someone. Most of the time, someone you really don’t like. So far there has been multiple RedBull employees, but also a few drivers from when Max was still in F3. You wonder who it is this time.

“Oh that’s unnecessary,” you tell him, “I just met Max - Lando his friend.”

“No, no,” your brother is quick to react, “You’ll really like him! Come on.”

He grabs you by your arm and drags you with him. You can only send Lando an apologetic look. He shows you a small smile back, something you’re glad about. Still you feel a bit unease. You wonder who Max is taking you to. It’s always your perfect match according to Max, but they are always weird.

In the mean time Lando lets out a soft sigh. His friend sends him a worried look. Lando doesn’t say anything at first. He thinks about everything that just happened. You told him that you also feel something between yourself and him. He kissed you, or better said you kissed him first. He was already talking about double dates, he didn’t even need to think about it. Lando knows perfectly well what he wants. It’s you. He wants you.

“Is Max going to match her to some random dude?” Max asks Lando after a bit, “Man it’s weird to use my own name like that,” he adds with a soft laugh.

“I don’t know,” Lando shrugs.

“She’s nice,” Max changes the conversation, “I understand you want to better yourself for her.”

“You like her?” Lando asks interested to his friend.

“Yeah,” Max replies, “I think she’s great for you.”

Lando smiles. It means a lot to him that his friend likes you as well. Certainly when that said friend is Max. He’s glad Max sees it as well.

“But you really have to fill me in,” Max continues, “First you get all worked up and tell me you have to get some fresh air, then I walk into Y/N who tells me she lied to you and needs to find you. And then you walk back together and act like a couple. How does that work?”

“She lied because it makes her nervous. Y/N has no idea how her brother will react and she’s told me she doesn’t like my attitude sometimes and all those girls,” Lando explains, “but she did say she felt something between us as well. I tried to tell her I’m trying to better myself, but after I said one or two sentences she kissed me.”

“She kissed you?” Max asks.

Lando nods, “She made the first step.”

“That’s great! Although I do think you two really have a lot to talk about tomorrow,” Max states, “I mean how will you go on from this?”

“I don’t know,” Lando shrugs, “I think that’s up to her. I want everything I can get from her.”

+++

“Pierre, this is my sister Y/N,” Max introduces you to his former teammate, “Y/N this is Pierre, he drives for Alpine but was my teammate once.”

You give Pierre your hand to introduce yourself again, but Pierre is quick to pull you in for a hug. He is quick to start talking to you. Max is even quick to disappear again. Great. Pierre talks about himself, he tells you about how he’s a great driver and that he’s waiting for his seat back at RedBull. “Next to Max of course,” he is quick to add, “because I really don’t understand what someone like Lando does at a top team like RedBull.”

You sigh. This is going to be a long night. Pierre puts his arm around your waist to make you dance a bit with him. You cringe at his movements. Together with him you dance for a bit. You look at your watch, if you do this for ten more minutes maybe then you can get back to Lando? You can just tell your brother that you don’t like Pierre. Like you always tell him after his match making attempts. Pierre pulls you closer to himself. You are quick to move a bit away from him again.

In the mean time Pierre keeps talking about himself. He doesn’t even ask one question about you. You can safely say he isn’t interested in your personality, he probably is just interested because of your looks. Annoying.

“You know,” Pierre starts another story, “I really don’t know why your brother is even trying to befriend Norris. He seems like the worst.”

This must be your luck right? How do you respond to this without letting Pierre notice there’s something going on between Lando and you?

“He’s quite nice,” you state carefully, “and he and Max learn a lot from each other.”

“What’s Norris learning Max? How he can crash?” Pierre jokes. You can’t hold back an annoyed sigh. Pierre drops the subject and continues to dance with you.

Lando can’t stop watching Pierre and you. This must be his luck. Finally he knows that you’re interested in him as well, only for your brother to play matchmaker a few seconds later. Max tries to distract him from Pierre and you, but he can’t succeed. Lando lets out a frustrated groan, he wants you for himself and now Pierre is dancing with you. He sees how Pierre keeps getting you closer to himself. It frustrates him even more. Would it be a bad thing to get you away from there? Maybe he can make up some excuse?

Lando doesn’t know that you’re having the same thoughts. How much longer do you need to do this before you can get back to Lando? What excuse can you use? You can’t figure it out yet. Your drunk brother keeps looking at you and Pierre with a smile. Does he really not realize that you two are a terrible match?

“What if I tell her I need to speak to her about Max?” Lando suggests to his friend, “or I can say that I need her help with something.”

“That are the worst excuses possible,” his friend tells him.

“But I can’t look at this,” Lando sighs, “I already didn’t like Pierre and now this.”

A slower more sensual song starts to play. Pierre puts his arms around your waist and spins you around. It doesn’t take long before you realize why. You don’t move yourself, you don’t want to play along with his idea.

Lando notices it as well. He sees how Pierre is getting way too close to you. A possessive feeling takes him over. He doesn’t even recognize this side of himself. He’s pretty sure that he’s experiencing a lot of jealousy right now. He needs you to get away from Pierre.

Maybe it’s time to make up some excuse. Pierre is grinding himself against your ass. You move away from him. This is something you don’t want. “I’m going to the toilet,” you mutter when Pierre sends you a confused look. Without waiting for his response you walk away from him. Maybe if you first go to the toilets, then you can get back in without Pierre noticing you. You can say later that you’ve lost him. That sounds like a good plan.

Lando sees how you’re walking away from Pierre. He’s quick to mutter something to Max about wanting to talk to you, before he starts to follow you. Without giving it a second thought Lando follows you in the ladies bathroom.

“Y/N,” he quickly says with a loud tone before you can disappear into one of the toilet stalls.

You turn around surprised when you hear your name. “Lan?” You ask surprised when you notice him. He’s quick to walk over towards you. You smile. Lando pulls you with him into one of the small toilet stalls. Before you can make any kind of remark about it, he presses his lips against yours. You react quickly. It doesn’t take long before the two of you are properly making out in the toilet stall.

Lando can’t help himself and starts to touch a bit more of your body. His hands find their way towards your ass. Slowly he touches you. When he feels a vibration against his mouth, he realizes that his movements made you moan. It makes him continue. He kneads your ass slowly with one hand, his other hand he uses to pull you as close towards himself as he can manage.

You let your hands rave through Lando his curls. Softly you pull onto one of his curls. He deepens the kiss as response. You love the feeling of him touching you, but you’re quick to realize you need - and want - more then this.

Slowly you move your hands down. When you reach Lando his pants, you touch his bulge softly. You use a bit more pressure then, slowly you palm Lando his bulge. It doesn’t take long for him to get harder. You notice directly. You continue your movements but increase your speed a bit.

Lando removes his lips from yours to let out a moan. He presses his lips against your neck afterwards. You feel him press multiple kisses against your neck. He’s fast to find your sweet spot. Softly he sucks on a bit of your skin, marking you as his own. When he removes his mouth from the spot, he can’t help but feel proud of the mark on your skin. Maybe Pierre will now understand that you’re not for him to claim. You’re already claimed by someone else. By him.

“Touch me,” you whisper to Lando. The words are coming out of your mouth before you can think about them. Lando smirks when he hears you. He feels proud of the needy tone your voice has because of him. He gives you what you want. His hands move across your body. He touches your breasts first. Firmly he kneads them through your bra. You grab one of his hands and move it under your bra. You need to feel Lando his skin on your own.

Lando is quick to follow up your movements with his other hand. He uses one of his hands to knead your breasts, while he softly pinches your nipple with his other. In the mean time his lips have found your neck again. After a bit he decides to move further. He’s glad about the dress your wearing. Slowly he pulls it up a bit, just enough for him to see your string and your ass.

“Fuck,” he mutters without thinking about it. “You look so good babygirl,” he continues.

You don’t reply verbally to him. You grind yourself against Lando. He realizes you want more from him. He presses his hand against your string. Slowly palming the place you want him the most. He puts on a bit more pressure. He can feel your wetness already. It’s making him even harder.

“More,” you beg.

Lando slides your string aside. He slowly uses one finger to slide through your folds.

“So wet already princess,” he groans, “Is that all for me?”

“Y-yes.”

He starts to touch different spots around and on your pussy. You try to wait patiently for him to touch your clit or to insert a finger. You let out a soft groan when it starts to take too long for you. Lando smirks when he notices. He slides his finger through your folds again, but this time he ends a bit higher. He’s almost touching your clit by now, but still not yet.

“Lan,” you softly beg.

“Yes princess?” He asks.

“More please,” you continue to beg.

Lando wastes no more time and puts his finger onto your clit. He starts to draw circles on it slowly. You let out a moan from his movements. This is for him a sign to increase his pace. He uses his other hand to knead your breast again. He switches between kneading your breast and pinching your nipple a couple times. In the mean time he flicks his finger onto your clit. You let out a moan. It’s unfair how he’s doing things like this to you. It’s insane how good it feels.

You’re no stranger to handjobs, but you have never experienced them like this. Lando is without a doubt the best one.

“Lan,” you moan softly, “I’m close.”

Lando stops his movements when he hears your words. Before you can say anything he presses a soft kiss on your lips.

“I don’t want you to have your first orgasm by me in this place,” he states, “so tell your brother and Pierre some excuse about that you’re leaving this place. We’re going to my hotel room.”

You let out an annoyed whimper. Lando smirks when he notices.

“I’ll do a lot more to you there babygirl,” he tells you.

+++

It’s a good thing that Max is incredibly drunk right now. You sure he doesn’t even think about your stupid excuse. You told him you’ve booked a taxi back to the hotel, since you’re not feeling well. You’re glad that you have your own room, so Max can’t check anything later tonight. Max doesn’t realize the words you’re saying, but he does wave you a goodbye. You’re lucky that Pierre seems to be gone, or you don’t see him at least.

You’re quick to get towards Lando again. He slides his arm around your shoulders and takes you with him towards the cab he already called.

On the way back towards the hotel, the two of you can’t resist touching each other. You’re sitting closely towards Lando, who has his hand laying on your thigh. He slowly draws circles onto your thigh, it makes you go crazy. You want his hand somewhere else. Fuck.

The elevator in the hotel isn’t anything better. Lando has you pressed up against the wall when the both of you move upstairs. His hands are everywhere, expect for the places you need them the most.

You realize that he’s doing this on purpose. He’s making you as horny as he can manage and he’s already succeeding way too well.

When you’re finally in his hotel room, you don’t waste any time anymore. You’re quick to press yourself against Lando and to unbutton his blouse in the mean time. You need him with you, but preferably naked. In the mean time Lando finds the zipper of your dress, he’s quick to unzip it. You let out a soft whimper when the cold air touches your skin.

Lando lifts you up, causing your dress to fall onto the ground. Neither of you pay attention to that. Lando takes you with him towards his bed. Softly he drops you onto it. He notices that the bra you’re wearing is matching with your string. He hoovers over you. Slowly he presses kisses all over your body. He removes your bra to let his lips find your breasts. He kneads one of them, when he slowly sucks on your other nipple. You can’t withhold a loud moan.

He doesn’t waste time and trails his kisses more towards the place you really need him. After a few soft kisses onto you stomach and legs, you feel Lando his mouth presses against your pubic mouth. He slowly sucks on a bit of your skin, marking you once again. He moves lower after that, but instead of giving his attention to your pussy he presses kisses against your inner thighs.

“I need you Lan,” you tell him softly.

Lando listens to your desperate words. Without a warning he presses his lips onto your clit. Softly he sucks it inside his mouth. You let out another moan. His fingers slide through your wet folds. You notice how he lets one of his fingers linger around your entrance. He removes his mouth for a small second from your clit, the sucking is quickly replaced with small and fast licks. He let his finger enter you after that.

His finger is going in and out of you at a fast pace. His tongue is making you crazy as well. You feel your orgasm reaching quickly.

“I want to cum on your cock,” you tell Lando. He looks up surprised, but is quick to listen to your words. He undoes himself from his pants and briefs. Before he can do anything else, you take his cock into your hands. Fuck he’s big. Big and pretty. You change your position so you can reach his cock with your mouth. You lick away a bit of precum.

“Such a good girl,” Lando tells you. You feel yourself getting even more worked up because of his words. You take his cock into your mouth, the part you can’t fit in you fit into your palm. You move your head up and down while you suck as good as you can. Lando is quick to let out a loud moan. You use your hand to stroke the part of his cock you couldn’t fit in. You continue your movements for a couple of minutes, before Lando pulls back.

He softly presses you back on the matras, making sure you’re lying down comfortably. Then he hoovers above you again. He lets his cock slide between your wet folds. When it softly touches your clit, you almost cum on instance. Lando doesn’t waste more time and pushes himself inside of you.

Your first reaction is a loud moan. Then you start to moan his name. “Fuck Lan,” you whimper when he increases his pace. “I’m going to cum,” you continue. Lando increases his pace even more, “Me too princess,” he tells you.

You feel your orgasm getting closer again. It won’t take you long anymore. Your stomach tightens and your legs are shaking. When Lando puts his finger onto your clit and draws a few figures onto it, you let everything go. You let out another loud moan when you feel the familiar waves crashing over you. Lando is quick to follow you into orgasming when he feels the way your pussy keeps tightening around his cock.

“Fucking hell princess,” he moans before his cum enters you as well.

+++

“I think I need to call a cab,” you state a while later. You’re still laying in the bed with Lando. He is playing with your hair.

“I think you need to stay here,” Lando remarks.

“Do you want me to?” You ask him.

Lando nods. “Yeah, you can sleep here babygirl.”

You show him a small smile and get even closer to him onto the bed. Lando presses you against himself while continuing to play with your hair.

taglist ; @whore8io & @chonkybonky & @love4lando & @eviethetheatrefreak

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfiction #ln4 #lando norris imagine #formula one #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut #f1 smut #fem!verstappen

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harrygoeswest · 1 year

Text

Infatuation On A Mutual Level

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

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

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

Word Count: 18,777

~.~.~.~.~

Now

Every morning was the same.

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

Harry’s door opening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry had noticed a lot about you.

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

Distress, probably?

No. He wouldn’t be having that.

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

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

Blackpool Tower

🌚 👰🏼❌🧽🍽️🔄

🌝 🙈🖕🏼

👰🏼 😕

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

Rhys Oh for fuck’s sake.

George Whoops.

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

🍉 🤔👰🏼🥄🥄🍱🔄

👰🏼 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😠

🌝 😒🙄

🌚 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

👑 ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

Translation:

Harry Maybe George should cook dinner again…

George HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no.

Rhys Yeah right.

Abbie No thank you.

You Absolutely fucking not.

Why did all of you have such ridiculous headers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blackpool Tower

👑 👩‍🍳🍝 … 🌚🍝🌝🍝🍉🍝➡️🧊 … ❌🍝👰🏼

Harry snickered.

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

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

🌚 🍉➡️🍉❌🍉➡️🍉❌👑

👰🏼 🚫🚫🚫🚫

“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not fair.”

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Yes I can.”

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

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

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

“You can’t do this forever.”

Chop.

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

Chop chop.

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

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

CHOP.

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

He growled, frustrated. “Stop babying everyone.”

Chopchopchop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perfect man?

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

A man who cared about your wellbeing?

His bedside manner could use some work.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sex on legs.

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

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

Ridiculous?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s phone vibrated.

Blackpool Tower

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

👰🏼 You idiot

🌚 RHYS

🌝 NOOOOOOOOOO

🍉 Pay up dipshit

🌝 😭😭😭

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

Then

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shrugging to yourself, you opened it anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Friday was moving day.”

“Yes. Today.”

“No. Yesterday.”

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

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

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

Now

Harry often thought about that first day.

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

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

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

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

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

Until now, apparently.

“That housemate of yours here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because she isn’t interested.”

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

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

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

“Rhys’s friends are here.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“Yes but his idiot friends are here.”

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

“I don’t trust him.”

“Who?”

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

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

“Is he? I’m not so sure.”

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

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

Why not? You mouthed.

Harry pretended to drink from an invisible glass and grimaced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Worth a shot.”

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy ending?”

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

“They’re my favourite.”

You gawked at him then. “Really?”

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

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

“Not at all. Sad endings are rubbish.”

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

“Me too.”

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

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

“John Green.”

Harry scoffed. “He’s the worst.”

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

“Load of shit.”

“Exactly!”

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

Blackpool Tower

🌝 🍻🍻➡️🌃➕👰🏼

You were being left alone. Thank God.

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

“Wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna smash her face into a wall.”

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

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

His eyes were red around the rims.

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

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

You could do it. Nothing is stopping you.

You repressed a growl.

“Coming from you?” He retorted, amused.

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

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

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

“Always. What have you got?”

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

“That sounds dirty as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fell asleep before the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Explain, please.”

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

“How?”

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

“You were unconscious.” He argued.

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

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

“Do you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

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

You sat up and faced him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted but remained silent.

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

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

Harry pursed his lips. “Hugh Grant.”

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

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

“I see…” you mused.

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

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

“A fine woman indeed.”

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

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

“Sam Claflin.”

“The king of rom-coms.”

“Exactly. Very easy on the eye.”

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

Thank fuck you shaved, you little scruffy bear.

You mentally flicked your inner tormentor behind her ear.

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

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

You gasped, grabbing his wrist, wrenched yourself upright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are we doing?” You asked.

“Whatever you want.”

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.” You managed.

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

He swallowed thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

All you could do was nod.

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

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

You liked all of it.

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

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

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

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

“Neither did I.” You said breathily.

“Thought about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

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

“Keep going.” He practically begged.

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry!”

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

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

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

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

“This doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?”

“This,” you pointed between him and you.

“Why doesn’t it?”

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

“Many times.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

“I don’t know… some men are pigs.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that a good thing?”

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

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re very distracting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And me.”

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

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

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

“Pleasure.”

“Now go back to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

“You look different.”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“Right…”

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

Embarrassed heat filled your body.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not!”

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

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

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

“Okay.” You nodded.

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

Blackpool Tower

👑 ❌😃

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

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

👰🏼 🤯🤩🤯🤩🤯

🌚 🎉🎉🎉

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

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

“Right… will everyone come?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Bore.” She scoffed, and swished away.

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

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

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

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

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

“You never irritate me.”

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

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

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

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

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

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

“Did you?”

“Mhm. She’s not exactly subtle.”

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

“Did you give it to her?”

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

He smirked. “You getting possessive of me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Too far.” He pinched your waist

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

“How long left on your cycle?”

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

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

“Yes… why?”

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

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

“Oh,” you spoke, voice caught.

“You okay with this?” He asked hesitantly.

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

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

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

“Can we take these off?”

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

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

“Not in my jim-jams, no.”

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

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

“Sure thing, cutie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any time you like.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not joking.”

He gave you a challenging look.

“Want me to prove it?” You offered.

Was it even worth the question? “Always.”

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

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

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

“Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute. But…

Not Harry.

Your inner tormentor smirked.

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

“Um… Wonderwall.”

You gagged, and Dad scoffed. “Next.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll just change and be back down.”

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

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

Ah shit.

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

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

“Can I borrow some makeup?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was my plan all along, actually.”

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

“Noted, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was good having an extra nice body.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Not as ignorant as she appears, then.

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

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

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

“-We’re not having sex.” Yet.

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

“Loud and clear.”

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

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

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

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

“Because it’s obviously your favourite.”

“How’d you work that one out?”

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

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

He lifted a brow. “Did you?”

“No.”

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

“What’s going on?”

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

“Me too.”

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

“I like this, Harry. Us.”

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

“You make it easier.”

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

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

“That’s a very big compliment.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

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

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are filthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Filthy. Yes, I know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I like it.”

“Really?”

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

You hummed out a laugh. “Interesting.”

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

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

“I’ll let you go shower.”

“Okay.” You murmured, delirious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so sexy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touch me.”

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

“Like that?”

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

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

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

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

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

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

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

“Yes.” You grunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry,” you whimpered, “harder.”

He growled and obeyed, pistoning inside of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And boy did he fucking come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not recently?”

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

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I’m weird, but I’m not that weird.”

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

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

“Did you do anything a bit weird?”

“No.”

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

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

Haha. You totally did that, you creep.

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

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

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

“What one?” Rhys demanded. “Oh, yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In fourth place is… me.”

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

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

“Wait, is this the-,”

“You won, Jane.”

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

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

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

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

“You, or the bloke having an aneurysm?”

“Both.”

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

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

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

“Obviously.”

“Wait, I wanna see.” Rhys frowned.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, me too.” George nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, but who’s choosing?”

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

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

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

“Wait!” George screamed.

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

“What?” Rhys gave him a baffled look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But we haven’t been-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry leaned forwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be sorry.” Rhys frowned.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Rhys.”

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

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

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

“Scared?”

“Mhm.”

“Scared about what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want you to.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

Every morning was the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blackpool Illuminations

Rhys We’re nearly there…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~.~.~.~.~

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

#harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles smut imagines #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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haet-sal · 1 year

Text

BBGG(bad boy good girl)/biker!Sunwoo x fem!reader SMUT

Tags: sunwoo smut, best friend!kevin, juyeon and q feature, Nicknames (good girl, baby, little princess, etc), SPIT IN MOUTH, P in V, DEGRADATION (calling you a whore), choking, sort of VERY ROUGH, unprotected, implied PAINAL

Porn with plot. Having freshly moved into the suburbs, you invite your neighbors for a Christmas party, being that they’re singles far away from family, too. You meet Sunwoo, and… sparks fly.

It’s not even really mentioned that sunwoo is such a bad boy... intro is long but it’s cozy holiday times!

w.c.: 4.7k

If you enjoy this please consider reading my other tbz fic, a juyeon smut

😛

The winters were getting dark and snow had begun to fall—you’d missed the first snows driving into town, and now, a week into the move, snow has become an annoying, filthy and incredibly proverbial thing that had lost its magic.

Your housemate, Kevin—and best friend who you’ve been rooming with since you moved out, but we don’t mention that—looks out the window, both hands clutching a warm mug of cocoa. “We should do something for Christmas,” he says. “Why did I go through designing the decorations of our amazing, spectacular, show-stopping, never-attempted-before Christmas tree, if we can’t have guests to show it to?”

“You said you design to please yourself, not others.”

“Well I take it back.” Kevin tuts as he looks outside at the window. “Let’s have a party.”

“You’re insane—”

“YOU BOUGHT ENOUGH CHAMPAGNE FOR 10 PEOPLE STOP HOGGING IT—”

So Kevin convinces you to go over to the neighbors and invite them for a neighborly new year’s party, held between new year’s and christmas, just for the hell of it, and also because he wants bitches to see his bitchin christmas tree. It’s ego issues, honestly.

Kevin could not convince you enough to invite more than one house, so you made a deal: he does the other houses, you go over to just the closest neighbors and then you go home. As you set off, both at the same time, you keep looking over your shoulder at Kevin, just to see how far along he was.

You arrive at the door of the house adjacent, a house entirely painted black. You knew that its garage was also a make-shift workshop, because you had seen many bikers with machine problems park there. They seemed to be a trusted mechanic too, because you saw the people were overly friendly—the neighborhood didn’t seem to like them, though, thinking they were an eyesore and a fright to their area, but that’s the more reason you rooted for the three boys that lived in the dark house.

After you’ve rung the bell, you wait. You wait, and you look over at Kevin, just to see he’d gone over two houses already. Seriously? Kevin’s ahead of you and the one house you gotta invite won’t even fucking open?

You kicked at the snow. “FUCK!” You’d thought no one would hear it, because the cold vacuum of the snowy town tricked you into thinking you were in space, but the door immediately opens, that cold, dead-jet-black door. A boy with white hair and a smile pops out. “Uh, hello?”

“Hi!” you say, blood rushing more and more to your face in the cold, and you felt the heat coming—maybe it’s from embarrassing yourself in front of these boys, actually—”I just moved into the other house—number 13?”

The boy at the door opens the door wider so his roommates could see you, and you take their appearances in: one guy, standing close to the door, had these catlike eyes that bore into your soul. He wanted to know what you wanted, too. And meanwhile, the guy farthest from you, with thick fluffy hair and thick lips, stood on the stairway and stared you down. The boys looked barely interested, or at least they feigned it, with the guy with the intense stare zeroing on you. The guy that opened the door, though, tried to smile at you.

“Um, we were thinking of having a new year’s party, later this week, on Sunday? It’d be really nice if you could come—if you don’t already have plans. I’m Y/n—”

“Changmin!” The guy holding the door open introduces himself. “That’s Juyeon and Sunwoo. Is that all? New Year’s party?”

“Y-yeah, and—it’s on the 29th,” you say. “Between Christmas and New Year’s, the perfect date, isn’t it?”

“That’s nice! That’s for inviting us,” says Changmin. “Is that all?”

Damn, they really wanted you out of their hair, huh? You just nod, absentmindedly—dissociating because it was the only thing going to save you now—”Uh-huh. Yeah. So, well, see ya!”

When you came home Kevin was still inviting every house in the neighborhood, going door to door. You wait patiently for him, listing all the things you were going to say to him. No one’s coming to the party, you stupid slut. There’s not even going to be a party. But when he comes back he looks too excited you didn’t want to burst his bubble.

“Easily done,” Kevin says, as he shakes snow off his boots. “Those guys in that house—one of them’s in law school. What are your guys like?”

You shrugged. “Weren’t very talkative. I doubt they’ll even show up.”

“I invited the house in front of ours, too, but there’s a whole, like, little toddler there and I don't think we can count them in,” Kevin says. “We’re not exactly a child-safe environment—”

You hit his arm. “Of course we are! This party won’t be rated more than PG13, for the champagne drinking.”

“Is this what we’re really doing? Really?” You pull your velvet skirt down to cover the gap between your thighs and the skirt, but it just reveals more skin on your midriff. You and Kevin are in matching blue velvet.

“We’re matching velvet twins!” Kevin announces in joy. “Fuck. I’m getting static-zaps.”

“We look like the twins from the Shining.”

“You look killer,” Kevin reassures, trying to hype you up, but you simply rolled your eyes. “Kev… no one’s even going to show up.”

“Ah, but you’re waiting for no one to show up, so you get to keep all the liquor to yourself!” (It’s actually pathetic. He went and bought other kinds of booze, for ‘cocktail making’. Does Kevin even know how to make cocktails? NO!)

Surprisingly, your guys—the guys from the black house with the workshop garage—are the earlier ones to show up, and now it’s just the five of you, and you welcome them in, giving them appetizer plates. Kevin’s ecstatic, and wants to get to know them, but the biker boys were rather quiet.

The next guests to arrive were from house number 15, three boys, who introduced each other: Sangyeon, Haknyeon, and Jacob. Sangyeon and Haknyeon were the law school kids Kevin had been talking about, and Jacob was a photographer of some sorts, you didn’t ask further—although they had been eager to talk. You took a liking to Haknyeon, and as you served him appetizers, you broke into conversation.

“I really thought you’d invited more than these people,” Haknyeon says with a frown. You’re suddenly curious.

“Huh? You mean your housemates and the guys from number 11?”

Haknyeon leaned into you as he gave a side-eyed look at the other table. “Those guys are…” He hesitates, before he says: “trouble. Basically criminals.”

You frowned. It’s not like you could just tell Haknyeon ‘don’t be a snob,’ you didn’t even know him. Plus, if those guys actually were bad news, you didn’t want to start a feud with them, especially when they lived so close. So you force a smile. “Uh Huh! Well, the more the merrier—it’s Christmas, it’s time for… forgiveness?”

But Haknyeon looked over your shoulder at the arriving guests, all dressed in black, with a peculiarly mean set of eyes. You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

“Why are the two houses staring each other down?” Kevin whispered into your ear as you two were setting the table for dinner.

“You awakened a life-long feud between scholars and biker gangs,” you answered. “I told you the party was a bad idea.”

Kevin rolled his eyes at you, and well, you deserved it, you needed to stop shittalking a party that was already going on.

Kevin sets his Masterchef-style cooking onto the table, introduces the dishes—some of them french, some of them asian—and everyone starts to eat. And it’s silent in the dining room, because neither group wants to talk to the other.

Each of Haknyeon’s group compliments Kevin’s cooking, but only Changmin steps out from the bikers’ group to say the same. Kevin gracefully accepts the compliments.

It’s only when the drinks are served after dinner, and everyone was allowed to lounge around the living room, that the room didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

Juyeon was the one to approach you, talking about Christmas and a book he read and something or the other, you don’t really remember. His conversation had been completely overshadowed by how his friend was watching you, from the corner near the fireplace.

Sunwoo, was it? Thick dark hair and kissable lips.

You thought Juyeon was the one with the killer stare, but damn, Sunwoo. If looks could kill…

If looks could undress. You knew what he was doing right now, a man only stares that long and that deep if he wants to fuck you. He’s watching you, only because he’s imagining you underneath him, making the ‘o’ face, crying out his name… he’s imagining what it’s like to have his cock buried deep, deep in you. The warmth of it, especially since the weather was so cold. Tis the season.

Somehow, you didn’t mind it.

You only hold Sunwoo’s stare for a bit, before you’re going around the party talking to Haknyeon, Sangyeon, even Juyeon, who seems to want to talk to you so badly that he keeps following you around and joining in on the conversations. But whenever you look across the room, he’s still staring at you, still there, ignoring everything else and just sipping his champagne slowly. You start to notice after a couple times how thick and sweet his lips looked, how sharp his jaw was, everything.

Being the only girl in the party, it’s not unexpected that most of the six guests you have over try to talk to you, each cutting in one after another, like taking a dance card from you. And yet… Sunwoo hadn’t come over at all. He bides his time. He even talks to Kevin. But somehow it clicked for you that this had to happen, you had to talk to Sunwoo.

You finally approached him, at his little corner with his refilled liquor, because you concluded he was never going to come over to where you sat. Tiptoeing up to him in your tight little stockings, you catch eye contact, his eagerly finding yours, and you say: “hiiii. Sunwoo, right?”

“Mmm.” He just nods. Although the reply was lackluster, you knew he wanted you; his stare said everything.

“Y/n,” you told him.

“Heard it when you invited us.” He sets his drink down on one of Kevin’s boxes he hadn’t put away properly, and Sunwoo turns to you anew, not at all smiling but with a newfound interest.

He’s checking you out. A fool could be able to tell. As he takes you in, little velvet dress and the way your tight leggings hugged your body, he finally manages to smile at you.

It’s a lop-sided smirk. The last-laugh kind of smile, charming, heartstring-playing, impossibly good-looking smile.

You refill a new glass and hand him one, clinking glasses with him.

“Listen,” Sunwoo murmurs to you over the bubbling champagne, “I can take you right back to my house, right now, and show you my bike collection—I have a full garage, if you want to see?”

You nodded, feet already picking you up to go. You don’t even know if you actually expect for there to be bikes–and, also, what if Haknyeon’s right and all of Sunwoo’s riches had criminal sponsorings?

You didn’t give a fuck. You feel hypnotized, you hear nothing but him. “I can show you… more than that, too.” His hand snaked over to your waist, fingers conveniently tucking themselves under your bra, and resting in that tight space.

You’re starting to walk away with him, your hand in his, and you were already halfway out the door when Kevin pulls you back.

“I’m going to see the bikes,” you say.

“No, you’re not.”

“Kev—”

“y/n, you are not going off to fuck a guest, whom we have over, while we literally have other guests over we have to entertain,” Kevin says to you slowly, which you were thankful for as you didn’t think you could handle a spitfire speech. You nodded slowly.

“And,” Kevin says, “you’re champagne drunk.” Pulling you back into the house, he shoots a look at Sunwoo. “Don’t be that guy, man. Try seeing if you actually still want her tomorrow.”

Your skirt is so fluffy and cute, and it barely covers your ass. Thankfully, you’re wearing stockings. You hugged your white sweater to your body, the all-white color coding worked as a look but it was still cold.

When you rang the doorbell, you’re expecting the same old as before: it would take a long while until someone comes, you thought. And well, you hate to be right. There was about a full minute where no one came, and the second stretched as you were withstanding the horrible cold. You rang the bell another time, and out comes Juyeon.

He shoots a sultry smile at you. “Heeeey. What’s your name again, Y/n, was it?”

“Uhhuh!” You hop into the warmth of their home. “Is Sunwoo here?”

Juyeon faltered. “Uh. Uh… yeah… first door upstairs.”

That’s strange, because the first door upstairs is the one right next to the window of your room… you wondered if he ever saw you, undressing or something or the other, silhouetted by the curtains.

“Juyeon hyung?” you heard Sunwoo call out, “did you get the door?”

What could he be doing that he couldn’t get the door? When you opened it, he had his headphones on. His room smelled like Dior Men, and was actually tidy enough that it surprised you. The blinds were shut, and he was just sitting in a lamp light.

“Oh,” Sunwoo says, “it’s you.” You wondered if he still remembers your name or if it had slipped away with the effects of the champagne. Not so drunk anymore, he doesn’t fix lustful eyes at you and expect you to bend to his will. Instead, he looks… soft. But still there’s insane chemistry here, you just had to get into his bed and have him rearrange your organs from the inside.

Standing up from his chair, Sunwoo comes over to the bed, inviting you closer with a hand gesture. You inched closer.

“So,” Sunwoo says, “it’s the tomorrow your friend was talking about.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “And you still want me?”

“Baby,” Sunwoo breaths out, his lips barely moving as he said it–it was just a moan and a breath at the same time—”I want you, so fucking bad.” Maybe he was saying ‘baby’ because he couldn’t remember your name.

You take a step forwards to him, and he catches you, basically seizes you so you’re in the air with just his arms supporting you, and makes you kneel on the bed, pretty bowed stocking bending at the knee.

You’re kissing Sunwoo. He tastes like cigarettes, but also just… like him. Something bitter and addicting, like dark chocolate. Slowly, you see that his hands are inching up your pantyhose, and soon he reaches the garter, holding your stockings up. His hands kept wandering, trailing down between where the skin was exposed between the ribbons. As if he were dying for a feeling of your skin, and there was just so little of it, he was drowning in this sea of not-feeling-skin.

You know you look good, because Sunwoo can’t stop looking at you, not even just at your face—at your whole body. The way you’ve dressed makes you look like you came straight out of a holiday card… or, well, a holiday playboy shoot.

Not to mention the fact that you’re kneeled between his legs on the bed, like a pretty little doll.

Sunwoo positions you so you’re sitting, looking at him with your back against the headboard, and now he’s hiked your skirt up and spread your legs, looking inside as if it hid something so fine and precious…

Your pantyhose and garter are white, but, clearly, under the white lace, he sees your red panties, innocent but sultry. You’d taken care in dressing yourself today, not even with Kevin’s help. You were just happy you looked like any guy’s Christmas sexual fantasy right now.

Sunwoo notices the Christmas color-coding, of course. “Tis the season,” he says under his breath, and before you could protest he’s ripped the stockings apart like it’s a Christmas present he’s been waiting forever to open. You whined out, a long, emotional whine, and he chuckled.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says. His head was already buried in the soft supple skin of your thighs that the torn stockings exposed, as he continued: “def—” kiss—”fin—”kiss” —nite–ly.” To punctuate his sentence, he bites down on the skin, but once you try to move away because it hurts, he simply sucked a hickey onto it. “Cute,” he tells you. He’s feeling you up over your panties, maybe just to check if you were wet—you were, but not enough that it might soak through.

“I want you to think of me,” Sunwoo says. “Think of what you want me to do to you, and then we’ll start, okay? Lemme just get you nice and wet…” He kissed your neck with so much force you’re falling backwards into the mattress, and that had been his intention. While he kissed, the hand on your panties had moved them to the side and was now teasing your wet slit.

“I want—” you gasped as he nibbled on the skin, soft but sharp bites, “I want you to fuck me.”

You can feel Sunwoo smiling against your collarbone, but you can’t see him; your eyes are scrunched closed just feeling what he was doing to you, hands on body, body on body. One of his hands was now under your little sweater crop top, holding you steady but also touching you… in the most right way that got your knees weak.

“Is that it?” he says. “How do you want me to fuck you?”

“I—ngh—”He’s sucking love bites onto your clavicle. “No, like, I want you to fuck me, I want it, hard,” you say, emphasizing the vulgarity. “I think you’re the only one that can do me so rough I cry. I want to be bruised, Sunwoo.”

You only hear Sunwoo laugh; a dry chuckle, and he’s off your skin, at least his mouth was—he’s pulled back, and you look up, just to see what he’s doing—and he’s concentrated, both hands flying to your panties—

It rips under the force of his arms, you can just see the biceps flexing as he tears them to each side. With a loud sound. The panties were limited edition, holiday patterns, ugh, but you’re about to get the greatest fuck of your life so you don’t even care anymore.

Sunwoo is silent for a moment, looking at your pretty little slit that glistens for him, and he wets his fingers before he puts them in you, two fingers, slow and tortuous finger-fucking you. You love the pornographic imagery of his two long fingers… sliding in and out.

“Mmm,” Sunwoo goes, lips pursed together as he concentrates on the feeling of you. “This isn’t going to bruise you at this rate—beg me, properly. Beg me to bruise your pretty little cunt up.”

You clench around his fingers, hoping they’ll stay in and curl up to hit you in the right spot, but it’s not enough. “I—I want to you fuck me, please!”

“Mm, not even close to good enough.”

“I want you to bruise my pussy,” you say, basically a declaration, “I want you to hurt me, I need to feel pleasure from how hard your cock is tearing my little pussy up.”

Sunwoo just cocked his head to ask for more, but you feel the fingers going faster now.

“I want you to put your hands around my neck—leave it purple and blue, the way you bite love marks on me–I want you to mark me up, please, sir.”

Sunwoo breaks into a smile. “Good girl. You know to call me that, huh?”

He retracts his fingers from your pussy; you realize it had just been for show, he didn’t intend to fuck you this way.

Sunwoo pulls off his shirt, heated in the moment, and his sweatpants are lowered, and he takes himself out of his boxers. As he readies to put it in you, kneeled at your feet, he puts the wet fingers into your mouth. “Suck,” he commanded, and you went to work, tongue salaciously wrapping around his digits. It’s his spit, yours, and your slickness, all together. So lewd and dirty but hot. You realize now you like bad boys and rough fucks.

Sunwoo palmed himself getting himself ready to fuck you, “No condom,” he says. “You don’t care, do you?”

You shook your head—you should, really, but… in the moment it didn’t matter at all. Plus, you were busy sucking his fingers, cross-eyed like a hentai drawing. You wanted whatever he did to you.

Your sweater is cropped and low-necked that it gave him easy access to under your bra and your clavicle, but now it wasn’t good enough, so Sunwoo lifts the synthetic wool up, throws it over his shoulder across the room, and next he’s unhooking your bra with one hand, while the other supports him so he could tower over you with those intense eyes, lust written all over them.

Once you’re bra-free, he plays with your nipples, wetting them with his mouth and then rubbing it between his fingers until it hardens. You could feel the whole act getting him hotter and harder inside you.

You reach for your skirt, hooking your hand around the zip so you could slip it off you, but Sunwoo stops you with his hand, basically batting it away. In doing this, he grabs your hand and pins it to the side of your head.

“No, fuck,” Sunwoo cursed, “keep your little skirt on. I’m gonna fuck you like you’re a whore I don’t even want to take the time to enjoy.” It turns you on more than you could say, so you press your thighs together, mewling, and of course, he’s between your thighs, so you’re wrapping them around him. “Plus,” Sunwoo adds, “you look so cute in the fluffy little skirt.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you cooed through moans. “I wanna be your little doll, Sunwoo.”

“Fuck,” Sunwoo hisses, truly hisses, like he’s been burnt or something. “Fuuuck. Fuck you.”

You close your eyes and let him fuck you into the mattress, and you’re jumping up with every thrust from how powerful it is.

You arch your back and moan. Truly, Sunwoo must be trying to bruise your pussy, because he’s thrusting so rough and fast. Again and again, you’re crashing into each other, bones and all, and he’s just so hot and hard. You were going to be sore for days, you loved it.

“You got me—thinking of you the whole night, and all of today.” His voice would flatten out into hisses whenever he felt you all tight and warm around him, and the feeling goes to his brain rendering him unable to form words. But he continues: “I’ve been wanting to fuck you, you know that, princess? You’re a tease for keeping me waiting—yeah, you like being a tease?” He spits in your face, and you flinch. You see his bared teeth and sharp canines that have been biting you all day. “Been—thinking–of–ruining your little pussy–fuck—since last night.”

As the thrusts get more powerful, your hands rush to his shoulders to just hold onto something, and your hands fall at his biceps, nails sinking in. You gasp in pleasure, again and again, and it’s going to your head that you don’t even know how to speak, how to request anything anymore. What you do, is bring your slender fingers to your cunt, and rub your clit, just to ease the tension you felt there.

Sunwoo scoffs a small laugh. “You’re gonna be the type of slut that rubs herself while getting fucked?” He shoves your hand away, and you’re too fucked-out to say anything back. “Leave that to me,” he says breathily. “Let sir make you cum, okay?”

Now you’re getting pounded in your g-spot and having your little clit played with, you felt like screaming, but you bit down on your tongue, only letting little tortured gasps slip past your lips.

“Sunwoo,” is what you start off with when you can’t hold the sounds in any longer. “Sunwoo, Sunwoo, S—” You’re screaming, a teeth-gritted, muscles-tensed scream, hands grabbing his sheets in your fists. Sunwoo keeps rubbing your little clit, each roll on the pads of his thumb making you clench around him.

“F-fuck, you’re tight,” he swears. “Fuck, I think I’m close.”

Wordlessly, you let Sunwoo keep his fast paced thrusts into you, and every time he’s so deeply inside you, you know you’re closer than ever. It takes him to falter in pace, trembling in his knees because it was just too good, for you to finally release, pussy clenched around his cock. And Sunwoo rests for a moment, just to feel your walls spasm around him.

He’s overwhelmed by the lust, but he’s not tired. Once you’re done, he goes again, and you’re overstimulated at his point, especially from the way he’s flicking your little clit, but you don’t tell him to stop. You take everything like a good little girl.

“Where do you want my cum, hmm?” Sunwoo rasps, his deep voice hot against your ears. “Tell me, little princess.”

“Not in me!” you moaned out. “Please, outside—outside, on my thighs, on my stomach—!”

With a groan, Sunwoo pulls out, cock leaking already, and spills all over your stomach. For a while, all you hear are his tortured little groans—he wouldn’t make any sound louder than that, suppressing himself—and all you feel is him, even if his cock wasn’t exactly in you anymore.

Sunwoo gathers himself for a while, hovering over you with just his arms holding him up, You see beads of sweat form around his forehead, and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, as he bites down to control the rest of him.

Before you can ask what he wants to do next, he grabs your shoulders, turning you around on your stomach. You like him when he handles you like a ragdoll, so you plop down without resistance.

“I wanna try that pretty little ass.” Sunwoo’s fingers are now buried in your hair, and he grabs a fistful just to yank it back. You gasp with the pain, but then, this is what you wanted, and it hurts so good.

He bunches up pieces of your ripped stockings and your ripped panties, and shoves them into your mouth, rather harshly and carelessly, just to make sure they go past your teeth. It’s uncomfortable and it smells like your skin, but you do everything he tells you.

“Bite down,” he ordered, “it might be a little painful.” You brace yourself, and you’re biting down, canines against cloth, before the pain even comes. And it does come.

Out in the garage, Changmin stands with a customer who had a bike problem. They’d been fidgeting with the tools for a while, standing around and starting the engines again. Suddenly the customer erects his head, looking around. “Did you hear that?” he asks. “It sounds like someone’s crying.”

“Oh, it's just the house wailing when northern winds blow,” Changmin says. “This time I think the neighbors’ house is doing it, too.”

#the boyz smut #the boyz x reader #sunwoo smut #sunwoo scenarios #the boyz imagines #sunwoo x reader #the boyz scenarios #the boyz hard hours #tbz hard hours #tbz scenarios #tbz x reader #tbz smut #tbz imagines

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kamotecue · 7 months

Text

your first ‘i love you’ დ g. queiroz

pairing: gio queiroz x reader

summary: in which the reader says those three words for the first time.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

it was a night out for the arsenal girlies, you had just won the women’s league cup. a few of the girls decided to hang out at a bar before heading over to your shared apartment with gio.

think of it like an after-party, except it’s arsenal addition. they’ll be games, snacks, mixed with a bit of movie night. from the mirror you looked at gio who already had her eyes on you.

it hasn’t been that long since you’ve started dating, it’s actually reaching your sixth month with gio. you were actually housemates, before she had gotten the courage to ask you out on a date.

maybe it was the way you were the introverted one of the pair. you often found solace or comfort in the books you’d read, the music you’d listen to on a rainy night, or the movies you’d have a marathon on an off day.

either way, she was utterly in love with the way you are. how your nose scrunches when you see something you dislike, the way your eyebrows would furrow when you’re concentrated, how your hands would go in a circular motion when you’re about to sneeze.

it was the little things that made her fallen in love with you. she was the first one to say those three words. you had panicked because you weren’t ready to say those three words, and she understood that as you came from an abusive relationship.

“you look cute, love.” you said, as gio looked a bit flustered that she got caught. she had a hand on her neck, awkwardly rubbing it as you chuckled at her reaction.

“guess what the fans say is true, you’re such a simp.” you teased, as gio chuckled at your words. it was true, the fans would tease gio as she was very smitten by you.

they’d caught her asking if you need anything after playing a full game of 90 minutes, or how she’d give you a bottle of electrolytes when you’re both sitting on the bench. acts of service was definitely her love language, while yours was quality time.

“only for you, my pretty girl.” gio said, her voice was much closer as she wrapped her arms around your waist. you felt her breath hit the back of your neck, as you shivered.

“always so cheesy.” you said, placing down the blush that you used. you were wearing a high waist trousers that completed your look with a white blouse.

“but you love it.” gio said, placing a soft kiss on your neck as you hummed. you didn’t deny it, you loved it when she’d do this cheesy pick up lines, or when she’d say something that’s cheesy. it was cute, and it certainly made your heart skip a beat when she’d give you a gummy smile.

you turned around and looked in her eyes, that held so much adoration for you. it was like, if you were in a crowded room, you’ll be the only one she’d look for.

“i love you, gio.” you saw her eyes widened, as you gave her a soft smile.

“are you ready to say it?” she asked, as you gave her a soft nod. her smile had brightened as she peppered your face with kisses, you laughed at her affection.

“thank you for being extremely patient with me.” she gave you a small smile, before kissing the crown of your head.

“always.” she said, as she grabbed your hand swinging it.

“now i believe we have to get to the bar, our teammates would be wondering where we are.” gio said, as you gave her chuckled knowing she didn’t want to be late. even though you guys were already late.

“shall we?” you asked, as gio lead you out of the apartment, opening the passenger door as you gave her a kiss on the cheek.

the ride to the bar wasn’t that far, you were about to open the car but gio stopped you. she had swiftly gotten out of the driver’s seat and closed the door, before rushing to your door and opening it.

“such a gentlewoman, aren’t you” gio gave you a soft nod before kissing your forehead.

“do you even have to ask at this point, love?” she was right, she’d always help you. she’d carry your kit bag, open your water bottles if you can’t open them, give you her hoodie when you’re feeling cold and etc.

“you’re right.” she locked the car, before she grabbed your arm placing it around hers.

“cling onto me, yeah? i know you don’t like crowded places.” gio said, as you gave her a soft smile. she always knew the things you disliked.

the night was pretty fun, you had gotten a few drinks but it wasn’t enough to make you drunk. the team decided to skip the going to your shared apartment as they had enough drinks.

the day for the two of you ended up cuddling in your bed. you wore an old jersey of hers, followed by nike shorts.

“you look good with my last name on the back.” gio said, as she traced patterns on your exposed stomach.

“i always look good.” you gave her a cheeky look as she chuckled, you were right. in her eyes, you’re the most beautiful one she’s ever seen.

“let’s sleep, now? you have a long day ahead.” gio said, as you hummed. your head was placed on her chest, you heard the way her heart had beat a bit faster than usual.

“sure, love.” you were the first one to fall asleep, you had moved around in your sleep so she was able to see your face.

she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, before giving you a kiss on the nose.

“night, and i love you.” gio said, before she fell asleep as well.

#gio queiroz #gio queiroz imagine #gio queiroz x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #arsenal wfc imagine

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wooataes · 7 months

Text

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part Seven)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: angst, Hanahaki AU, crying, swearing. Sexual tension? Mentions of tattoos, piercings in questionable areas, Jihoon getting flustered over (insinuated) dirty thoughts.

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: Oh my goodness guys. Thank you all for 1000 followers. You’re all the loveliest and I can’t thank you all enough for enjoying my stories! 🥰 also dedicating this chapter to the love of my life Bada Lee because I’m obsessed with Street Woman Fighter rn can you tell 😂

- Tae 💜✨

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The very next morning, Jihoon stirs from his slumber to find a barrage of texts from Soonyoung, seemingly excited about his best friend joining him on the camping trip. He rolls his eyes with a little smile as he looks over the wall of text detailing when the crew will leave for the trip and what to bring. Jihoon makes a mental note to invest in a small tent for him and Ji-ah to share and some snacks to bring for the bonfire.

With a long yawn, Jihoon rises tiredly as the sunlight creeps in through his window, the time on his phone reading 7:47am. He sighs as he lets himself slip out of his bed and onto the carpeted floor to reach for a pair of shorts and a compression gym shirt. The weather is looking nice enough for a jog, he thinks. After sliding into his sneakers and putting his earphones in, he places his phone into the pockets of his shorts before taking off out the front door and into the direction of the city streets.

After a thirty minute jog, Jihoon finds himself stepping into an intriguing bakery with the intention for a bagel and a bitter black coffee. As he steps into Love Letter Cafe, his eyes widen as he sees none other than his soulmate sitting inside one of the booths on the right hand side of the Cafe surrounded by three others. Jihoon panics for a moment before slipping into an unused booth on the left side of the room, peeking over to see who was seated around you.

His eyes fall on both yours and his housemates, Seokmin and Mingyu with you, Seokmin by your side and Mingyu diagonally across from you. He observes the new edition to your group, his long dark hair tied up in a half up-half down style wearing baggy gray sweatpants and a white tank top, his left arm adorned with tattoos from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips, a black hooded jacket sitting over his lap as you seemingly laugh at a comment he’s made. You are also in the same outfit as the mystery man, your long hair pulled up into a high ponytail, your oversized jacket falling off your shoulders as you lean forward to take a sip of your hot chocolate in front of you. His cheeks flush pink as he takes in your new style; everytime he has seen you, you’re always in pastel colours, girly skirts and dresses. This new look suits you.

Jihoon feels slightly intimidated by the look of the man you’re facing, but is surprised when the buff man lets out the smallest airy giggle he’s ever heard. Oh dear god, it’s another Mingyu.

“How did he not get fired?” The new boy giggles between sips from his cup, your laugh echoing through the new empty cafe with the others.

“Because Eomoni is a good person, just like her son.” You wink at the boy, laughing as he rolls his eyes.

“You only say that because she was nice enough to hire you.” He huffs, jutting his bottom lip out.

“Yah, Jeon Jungkook!” An older lady over the counter scolds loudly at your table. Your smirk grows. “Don’t speak about my best worker like that!” She is waving her hand dramatically.

Jeon Jungkook. Jihoon’s eyes widened. Oh. He knew this kid. He was Mingyu’s best friend from high school. They parted for college after Jungkook left to start a tattoo apprenticeship, but the two boys always stayed in close contact. Mingyu always brought up stories of Jungkook at home, but this was the first time he’s ever seen the boy in person.

“And speak to your mother with respect!” You smack the table playfully, causing Mingyu and Seokmin to erupt with laughter.

“Ahh, this is why you’re my favourite!” Mrs Jeon grins at you, placing a cupcake in front of you as you squeal excitedly.

“Eomoni Jeon’s cupcakes are the best!” You grin happily, taking a bite of the treat while wiggling in your seat.

“Eomma, why don’t I get one?” The boy pouts sweetly, but she just smacks the back of his head lightly. He whines.

“Because you’re not nice to my honorary daughter.” She wags her finger at him before walking back behind the counter, your smirk still evident as you eat the cupcake gleefully.

“This is why you need to be nice to your elders, Jeon.” You winked, letting out a triumphant laugh.

“Watch it, Choi,” he huffs. “Remember who your dance partner is for Soonyoungie-hyung’s practice today.”

“How can I forget?” You clap back, leaning back against the wall. “Mingyu only reminded me thirteen times because of his whining.”

“It’s not fair.” He grumbles, poking at his croissant on the table. “I don’t understand why I had to be cut for Jungkookie to take over my spot.”

“Sweetie, I hate to admit it, but you have two left feet when it comes to partner work.” You smile at Jihoon’s housemate, who only groans.

“It’s not my fault I’m tall and uncoordinated!”

“That’s right.” You soothe him. “But think of it this way, you still get to film the promo video today for Soonie’s dance crew, and you’re still an amazing solo dancer.”

“Do you really think that, Y/Nie?” He pouts, as you laugh and ruffle his hair.

“I do.” You grin softly as he slowly nods.

“And think about it,” Seokmin chimes in. “You’ll be getting paid too!”

Jihoon raises his eyebrow. He knew of Soonyoung’s dance crew. It wasn’t anything special, in Sooyoung's words. It was just him and his good friends who wanted to join and have fun. He knew that Mingyu and Jun would go every second Saturday to go meet him and do some dancing, but he didn’t know you were in the crew too.

“This is true..” Mingyu nods, a little smile growing on his face.

“There’s the Gyu we know and love.” You encourage him, and Jihoon swore if Mingyu had a tail, he’d be wagging it right now. “I don’t understand why Soonie needs me for the video though.” You hum, a frown forming on your lips. “I only do this for fun. The boys group dance in my opinion is a lot better than our one too.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Seokmin raises his eyebrow.

“Isn’t what obvious?” You blink.

“He wants you to be the main feature of the video to get views.” Jungkook laughs, and your cheeks turn red.

“Don’t be stupid, Jeon!” You swat his hand.

“Oh sure,” he humors you. “He totally didn’t Bada Lee you up and get you looking like a meal to make you stand at the back.”

“Don’t you talk about my wife Bada Lee that way!” You pout, making the other three laugh. “And don’t compare her out-of-this-world looks to plain old me! That’s an insult to my queen.”

“Y/N, you don’t realize how hot you are, do you?” Jungkook leans back in his seat, eyebrow raised.

Who does this kid think he is? Jihoon scoffs. He clearly must have a thing for you. He is unsure if the grumbling in the pit of his stomach is from his hunger or something else brewing. No, Jihoon. Don’t be ridiculous.

“I’m not hot.” You roll your eyes, leaning your head back on the wall. “And you shouldn’t be talking that way.” You scold him again. “You have a soulmate now, and I’m pretty sure Namjoon-Oppa wouldn’t approve.”

“Yah, I may have a soulmate, but I can appreciate an attractive person when I see one.” He defends himself. “Even Mingyu and I had a crush on you in middle school- OW!” He yelps as Jihoon’s housemate smacks him.

“Yeah for about a week!” You frown, shaking your head. “That doesn’t count. You’re only saying that to make me feel better, and I’m flattered. Really I am, but you don’t have to lie.”

“But we’re not…”

The boys pause as they see you shrink in your seat, arms hugging around your knees. They give each other a silent look before nodding in agreement.

“I’m sorry, Bug.” Jungkook pouts as you nod your head slowly.

“Sorry,” you sigh, wincing and shaking your head at the icky feeling in your stomach. “Shouldn’t have snapped.”

Jihoon feels awful. He can feel the self-consciousness oozing through your body mixed with sadness and anxiety.

“Okay, let’s change the subject,” Jungkook offers, nudging you from across the table. “How’s the ink holding up?”

Jihoon’s ears perk up. Ink?

“It’s not too bad,” you hum, pushing your jacket down and sliding the top of your tank top over to the side to reveal a small galaxy of black ink drawn into your collarbone under the fabric. Your soulmate’s cheeks flush as he sees the new tattoo on your skin, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “A bit itchy now, but that means it’s healing, right?” You tilt your head at the tattooed boy, who only nods in response. He leans forward and runs a finger over the skin before nodding with approval.

“Yeah, it’s looking good.” He beams. “You do realize the secret will be out now once this video comes out.”

“I mean, yeah,” you shrug, letting the tank top fall back into place, a few stray stars peeking out from either side of the fabric. “But Cheol can’t do anything now. It’s literally embedded into my skin.” You laugh softly.

Jihoon never took you to be a rebel like this. He only ever heard stories of you being a well mannered goody two-shoes. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep this under wraps from him, Bug.” Seokmin speaks to you with concerned eyes.

“I mean I could be doing worse things like doing drugs.” You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “But I’m getting cute tattoos instead. And I love my brother, but sometimes he’s not very observant over things like that. I have done countless things with you guys that he doesn’t even know about.”

This piques Jihoon’s interest as you nonchalantly sip from your drink, a twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

“Does that mean I can still hold the blackmail of your nipple piercings you got 3 years ago over your head for you to do my bidding?” Jungkook smirks.

Jihoon is about to faint. He blinks the image out of his head multiple times. He needs to get out of here before he hears anything more that he isn’t supposed to hear.

“That was when I was drunk and stupid.” You hum, looking up at Jungkook. “But I mean, you can if you want. But do keep in mind I will let Eomoni know about how on the same day, you also got a piercing on your d-”

You yelp as you feel a swat on your arm by the flustered tattooed man before bursting out into laughter with the others as Jihoon steps out of the Cafe in a rush, cheeks flushed red and stomach growling. He immediately starts to jog again, needing to get his mind off the conversations he overheard in the Cafe.

It’s well after lunch time when Jihoon hears the front door open to see Mingyu and Junhui enter the living room. Jihoon lifts his head from his spot on the couch and nods his head in greeting to them, Mingyu’s soulmate emerging from the kitchen with a smile.

“Hi darling,” Wonwoo coos as he wraps Mingyu up in a gentle embrace. “How did the shoot go?”

“Tiring.” Junhui groans, falling onto the couch beside Jihoon. He notices that he was wearing the same attire that you and Jungkook were wearing in the cafe this morning.

“Not for me!” Mingyu grins. “But, Y/Nie did want to film a TikTok dance challenge with me so I didn’t feel left out.” He beams proudly now, eyes sparkling.

“Because she is a good person.” Wonwoo hums, nodding his head sagely. “How was she and the rest of the ninety seven crew?”

“They were good!” He smiles. “We had our monthly catch up at Eomoni Jeon’s Cafe and got to see some new designs Kookie was coming up with. I might get a little one to help him out.”

“You two are too alike.” Junhui laughs, leaning his head back over the edge of the couch. “Y/N and Soonyoung were ready to smack them both by the end of the shoot.”

“That’s because Jungkook kept wanting to fiddle with the video camera.” Mingyu whined. “That’s not my fault!”

“Of course it isn’t.” Wonwoo nods sympathetically, kissing his soulmate’s cheek.

Jihoon stays silent on the couch, listening carefully to the conversation going on around him, eyebrows furrowed as he took in the new information being fed to him.

“When is the video planning to come out?” Junhui lifts his head to the tall man, tilting his head.

“Let’s see… We did three choreos, the group dance, Y/N and Jungkook’s duo and Soonyoungie-hyung’s solo, it should take a week or so to edit. So like.. maybe two weeks max?” Mingyu thinks, lips pursed in thought.

Jihoon pauses for a moment as he hears the mention of you. A duet with Jungkook? Interesting. He makes a mental note to keep an eye out to watch the video when it’s released.

“Jihoon-ah,” Wonwoo calls out, causing him to blink back into reality.

“Hmm?” He hums in response.

“Soonyoung gave me a list for us for the trip. Did you want to come to the store with me tomorrow to go get everything so we only have to do one big shopping trip?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Jihoon nods. “What do we need to get?”

“Just stuff for the tents, really.” Wonwoo thinks. “Some sleeping bags, heat packs, blankets, towels for the beach…”

“Mhm, we’ll get it all sorted.”

Jihoon honestly doesn’t know how he is going to go during the trip. The fact he is bringing his not-soulmate around his actual soulmate for a prolonged amount of time almost feels cruel and borderline sadistic for him to flaunt his girlfriend around you. You have been feeling fine lately. Jihoon doesn’t feel much sad emotions from you lately, and he wonders if his hope is misinterpreted as you being able to hide the pain better.

Later that night, Jihoon finds himself once again absentmindedly scrolling through his instagram app and landing onto your profile. The first post he sees is a new Reel posted an hour ago by you. You caption the video in dedication to Bada Lee, with a short explanation about how you didn’t do the dance justice. He chuckles at the sight of the first comment on said post; your older brother simply asking “WTF IS THAT ON YOUR SHOULDER?!”

In the video, you’re standing beside Mingyu and doing the new trending Smoke dance, your newly discovered tattoo peeking from under your tank top, taunting Jihoon. His eyes are wide as he watches you and Mingyu (mostly you) execute the dance perfectly, impressed with how well you both hit the signature ‘smoke you up’ dance move. At the end of the clip, you both get cut off as Soonyoung struts his way into frame, pretending to blow out the fake smoke coming from your Thumb-Lighter, causing the three of you to erupt in laughter before the screen fades to black. Jihoon’s reflection stares back at him, smiling. Once he realizes, he forces his face to turn back into a scowl. He can’t be smiling about another girl while he still has Ji-ah.

When he views your Story next, his cheeks begin to flush like it has done too many times today. You’ve shared a post from Soonyoung’s crew’s profile, a video filmed from the side of the dance studio of you and Jungkook. You’re both placed in the middle of the room, Vanilla by Kai playing on the speakers. The clip is only for 20 seconds, but Jihoon studies it thoroughly. He watches as your hands reach around from behind Jungkook and skim down his front, followed directly by Jungkook using his right arm to control how your body rolls in time to the beat and his direction. What sticks out the most to your soulmate, though, is the way Jungkook’s arm reaches over you, and in turn your head follows his arm movement, a sly smirk on your face as you turn your whole body to face him and maintain eye contact.

In Jihoon’s opinion, Jungkook looks like he’s about to pounce on you, and you don’t look too far off from returning the sentiment. He feels a pit forming in his stomach once more. His intrusive thoughts are cut short when the chorus of dancers in the room all scream excitedly at the chemistry between you and Mingyu’s best friend, causing the both of you to break character and start laughing. Jungkook puckers his lips playfully, causing you to roll your eyes and push Jungkook towards the cameraman, Mingyu with a smile and a shake of your head.

Jesus Christ, Jihoon. He thinks to himself. You really need to get your shit together. You can’t get jealous over a girl you don’t even want.

This is bullshit. Jihoon doesn’t actually like you. This is some stupid soulmate related shit. He read up about feeling closer connections because of the soulmate bond; that has to be it. His mind is just playing tricks on him.

With a sigh, Jihoon locks his phone screen and places it face down on his bedside table, rolling over and pulling the blankets up to his chin. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to try and get some sleep and get the lingering thoughts about you out of his head.

“Do you think we should do the presentation as an essay or a slideshow debate style?”

It has been a week since Jihoon has last seen you, and if he’s honest, he’s been avoiding any place where you have been frequenting when he could. So far, he’s denied a morning coffee date with Ji-ah, a gaming night at your place with Soonyoung, and purposely showed up early to Film Studies class to sit at a random desk, leaving you to sit alone at the front. He’s decided enough is enough, he needs to keep this relationship strictly professional if he wants to maintain his relationship with Ji-ah. It’s now Friday afternoon, the only time where Jihoon absolutely has to be in your presence in order to get this project rolling.

“Hmm?” Jihoon blinks, looking up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. “Uhh.. you can pick.”

“Okay.” You hum quietly, looking back at your own laptop, continuing to work in silence.

Jihoon can feel the worry in your stomach, but he ignores it. He can be professional and cordial with you and not get feelings involved. He can’t, he won’t.

“What points have you made so far, so I can add them to my list to rebut?” Another bout of silence runs through both of you, and you notice that either your soulmate didn’t hear you, or is choosing to ignore you. “Jihoon-ssi?”

“Sorry?” He keeps typing, not lifting his head.

“Have I done something wrong?” You ask, closing your computer screen.

“What?” Jihoon stops now, looking up at you. “Why would you think that?”

“Because last week we were actually…” you pause, looking everywhere but at Jihoon. “I don’t know, at least getting along despite everything happening. And now, you’re acting like it’s a chore to be around me.”

Jihoon is floored for a moment. You’re a bit too observant for your own good. He opens his mouth to speak, but you keep going.

“And look, I get it. I’m the last person you would want to be around. I’m already jeopardizing everything you have with your girlfriend and everything else in this stupid situation, but I thought we were okay.” Your knee is shaking under the table, staring at the chipped wood instead of looking up at his face. “I know I’m already insufferable and you would prefer to be anywhere else but here. You know what…” you shake your head now, taking your laptop. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have put you in this crappy situation. I shouldn’t have been so stupid to think that we could be civil with each other. I will go see Professor Kim and tell him that we can’t work together and you can find someone else and I’ll just finish this project on my ow-”

Your soulmate cuts off your babbling by grabbing your wrist before you can stand up completely. His grip is firm but gentle as you fall silent, blinking the unshed tears from your eyes as you finally look at him.

This is the first time you have had skin to skin contact with your soulmate since that fateful day in the rain. You involuntarily shiver as you feel a zap run up the back of your spine, and your soulmate shivers in unison.

Jihoon is almost distraught at the sight of your heartbroken face up close. He, again, blames this stupid soulmate bond.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, keeping his hold on your wrist. “I am just going through some shit. It’s not you, I promise Y/N.” His gaze is intense as he looks into your eyes, your cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry if it made you think I was mad at you or something, I’m just in my own head right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you frown.

“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. Just exist.”

“That’s the point.” You whisper now. “I exist. I am a wedge in the way of so many people right now. I know Cheol and Hannie want to plan on getting married soon but I still live in that house. Seokmin and Soonyoung only invite me to things because they feel sorry for me, and I feel bad even being in the same room with you knowing you love someone else.” Jihoon feels another crack hit your heart. “I just exist and am an issue for so many people. I’m more than happy to do this project alone, Jihoon-ssi.” You move to take your wrist out of his grip, but he just holds on tighter.

“I can’t speak for the others, but if I had an issue with you being my partner for this project, I would have gone to Professor Kim myself. I’m fine to do this project with you, Y/N, and I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. Please, can you sit?”

You pause, watching your soulmate nervously before taking a long breath, slowly nodding and slipping back into your chair.

“I’m sorry for my outburst.” You mumble, rubbing at your eyes. “I get too far into my negative thoughts and…”

“It’s okay, I get it. And again, I can’t speak for the others, but from what I hear from Soonyoung, he and Seokmin are more than happy to have you around, if that makes you feel any better.”

You only nod silently, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Here, these are my notes.” He pushes his computer towards you, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

Jihoon may want to be civil and professional, but he’d be damned if he made a girl cry, no matter who it is.

“Have we got everything?”

Jihoon grumbles a tired ‘yes’ to Wonwoo, alongside Mingyu, Chan and Ji-ah as they carry their camping packs towards your house around the corner.

It has been two weeks since your supposed outburst in front of Jihoon. Since then, you have been quite reluctant and withdrawn when you have to speak with him, but to him, it’s expected. He chooses to just go with the flow when it comes to you, and let his instincts guide him, which seemingly has been going okay so far.

The sun is barely beginning to rise in the sky, Soonyoung lecturing all attendees for ‘Choi Seungcheol’s Birthday Bash’ to be at your house bright and early at 6:30am to be on the road by 7:00 for the four hour drive.

“The sun is barely up, I don’t know why I have to be.” Jihoon hears a groan from Seokmin as they see a large bus parked on the curb.

“Because you love hyung, and you want to be ready to have a fun trip with the people you love.” A tired, monotone voice coming from Jeonghan responds. There are three sleepy bodies standing outside, putting the camping gear in the luggage compartment underneath the bus. The three said bodies are Seokmin, Jeonghan and a chirpy Soonyoung, who happily waves when he sees his best friend show up.

“You made it!” He cheers happily.

“Mm.” Jihoon mumbles as he places his bags in the luggage area, Ji-ah leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Soonyoung,” she smiles. “Thank you for inviting me along!”

“Oh, it’s nothing!” He waves his hand happily with a smile. “Really, the more the merrier! Go hop on and find a seat, we’re just about to take off.”

Jihoon is the last person of his housemates to step onto the bus as he eyes the seats. As he expected, the usual pairs of soulmates are together. Mingyu is with Wonwoo, just behind a sleepy Seungkwan and Hansol. Ji-ah takes a seat across from Mingyu and Wonwoo, Jihoon slipping in easily beside her. He eyes the next row of seats towards the front of the bus as he sees Chan sitting alone, Seokmin and Soonyoung taking place across from him. His eyes widen as he sees his last roommate, Junhui, step onto the bus with a tall man behind him, cheeks pink as they walk hand in hand. Said tall man adjusts his glasses with his free hand, his long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Oh, that’s why he hasn’t been home lately.” Wonwoo grins, eyebrows wiggling.

“Minghao is his soulmate?!” Mingyu grins excitedly. “Oh my gosh, wait until Y/N sees.”

At the mention of your name, you step onto the bus with Kkuma in your arms, eyes scanning the seats. Jihoon takes in the floral yellow dress you’re wearing with your hair pulled back into two braids tied with a yellow ribbon, cheeks tinting pink.

When you make eye contact with Mingyu, you mouth ‘MINGHAO?!’ with exaggerated wide eyes, which only garners a giggle and aggressive nod from Mingyu. You shoot him an impressed look which makes him laugh again, before taking a single seat diagonally across from Jihoon and Ji-ah alone, placing Kkuma on the empty seat beside you.

Seokmin and Soonyoung take their seats in front of you, before Jeonghan steps on with the birthday boy in tow.

“Okay everyone, are we ready to go?” Jeonghan calls out, smiling as everyone nods or mumbles a yes. “Then we are right on schedule!”

“Birthday bash!” Soonyoung starts to chant. “Birthday bash! Birthday bash!”

You start to giggle as the others start chanting, Seungcheol shaking his head with a fond grin, taking place in the front passenger seat as Jeonghan takes the driver’s seat.

Dear God, Jihoon thinks as Soonyoung cheers loudly, causing Chan to burst into giggles. This is going to be a long four hours.

Real Eyes, Fake Lies taglist

@cinnamoroxie @enhacolor @mikachu-chu @jojowantstocry @changbinisms @scarlet789 @i-dont-give-a-fok @im-gemmy @shookyungsoo @ametheyistheart @friendlywraith @kawennote09 @coupddeongie @sunooschubbycheeks @zgzgzh @mar-627 @side-angel @kuleo26 @deltamoon666 @snowgirlfallen @lixiel0ver @phenomenalgirl9 @weebotakuboy @sumzysworld @vixensss @seokmatchu @etaerealboy @milopenne @jinyoungie0922 @chickenscoups @zadkielr @coveyland @sapphirehearthstone @sweetchelly @devinkelsey19

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