#plus i think i have alcohol intolerance

[cookiescr]

Amen to all redditors before us

It’s mostly only in big busy cities but the worst are Düsseldorf, Munich, Berlin cologne, stuttgart and Hamburg. Especially Munich, but no one likes them anyways

I mean yeah, today we all just argued with them because everyone was fed up. As a sorry they promised us tomorrow free alcohol 💀

Backbone of society

Damn :/ unfortunately it’s hard to avoid looking on those cities because of uni ig we’ll just have to try until we find a good affordable one

Is is that good kcmdmmd

#i never wanna get drunk ever again like i can’t #plus i think i have alcohol intolerance #thanks for the ask #anon #osa

[shinjukuppoi]

my celia headcanons! under the cut because there's a lot. a lot are very specific but... 😛

celia is a lesbian (no one is surprised by me saying this) and i don't think she has a preference when it comes to mascs and femmes.

celia would make several fake facebook accounts to make fun of people she doesn't like at work. she would be very deliberate as to not get caught. expert cyber bully

celia is a night owl. she'd have to be up early for work, obviously, but i feel like she would definitely feel safest to be herself and indulge herself at night

celia not only sleeps on her back, but she stays very still the whole night, like a rock

she has a very complicated skincare routine so she can keep herself staying "youthful" (not that she needs it 🙄)

celia's everyday perfume is delina (because she can afford it and i think she would like to smell a little fruity and like roses!). i think on nights out she would wear something a little stronger and more mature. going to meet the mc, i think she wouldn't put in the effort to freshen herself up or put on more perfume since it's the only space where she can be herself!

celia would definitely drink kale smoothies regularly (i'm sorry, i can't stomach these!)

celia would pick going to see the mc over going out to the club on most days

celia would have been so focused on her career that she'd have very little time to watch tv series or read book series. i think as a kid she would have played something like pokemon on the game boy, and gets confused when she sees things about the new pokemon games, but that's about it

celia is a high-functioning alcoholic and sometimes mixes her alcohol with coffee or energy drinks so she can stay more alert! sugar free vodka redbull, if an energy drink, but she doesn't like the flavor.

celia listens to house music and jazz so she can relax

i think lede is celia's maiden name so she and harold have different last names (he would have agreed to it reluctantly)

if celia gets tim hortons, she gets a double double and an old fashioned donut (extremely rarely), but she doesn't like tim hortons because they aren't canadian anymore

celia is 5'9 without heels, and she wears 3-inch heels for work every day, so she's usually 6'0 😆

i think celia came from a poor household and worked very hard her whole life to get where she is! this adds to why she is so stressed all the time. she thinks any slip up could cost her everything.

celia is lactose intolerant.

celia's ideal captive is plus sized

even on her days off from work, she is still dressed to impress!

celia's favorite makeup brands are Cle de Peau and La Mer

celia drives a luxury hatchback. the interior is always very clean and she gets it cleaned regularly. it smells like the black pine-tree car air freshener, although when she's very stressed she lets it get a little messy as long as no one sees.

i have headcanons for the "You ran away together" ending too, but i'm saving those for when i start writing a fanfiction in a few months. i want to see other people's headcanons, too!

#celia lede #tpof celia

[queendarkwolvescolby]

Warnings: slight mentions of intercourse(not detailed or much, just a funny comeback), drinking, alcohol shots. If you are underage please don't drink, it's really bad for you. (everyone in the story is over 21)  Enjoy the story.

"You should join us tonight with our live stream" Kat said getting up from the chair in front of your desk to go and sit by you on your bed. " I don't know, me and Colby just started dating and I don't know if y'alls fans will like me, I'm not that pretty and I'm awkward and I'm not great when I drink." You said trying to not freak out at the thought of hundreds of people watching you drink and get wasted. "Don't say those things about yourself babe.." Colby walks into your room and cups your face with his hand. "You're the most prettiest and coolest person I know, and if my fans can't see that then they are blind and they don't deserve to call themselves a fan if they don't support us." Colby said as he sits down beside you and kisses your cheek. You are blushing and tearing up happy tears. "Thanks baby, I needed that." You said as you looked at Kat. Colby gets up and walks out but stops at the door, "everything I said is true yknow?" he says as he walked out. You smile and nod at Kat "ok ok I'll give it a go" you finally said. What you didn't know was that you were the target tonight because you've seen everyone else drunk but they haven't seen you drunk.

You are wearing one of Kat's dresses which fits you PERFECTLY. You head to the living room and you meet eyes with Colby which is just staring at you with his mouth sightly open and with pleasure in his eyes. You head over to him and he just watches. "Is it too much?" You asked snapping him back into reality. "NO." He yells but then clears his throat, "no it's perfect and you look beautiful as always." He says as y'all hear your names being called. He grabs your hand and y'all head to the streaming room. Sam and Kat sit up front while you and Colby sit behind them. Colby behind Sam and you behind Kat. Kat does her intro and introduces everyone there. "Alright, let's play Truth or Drink" Kat said as she sets up the shots. "I'll go first I guess" You say picking up a card and looking at Colby. "Colby, what is your guilty pleasure you like to do that no one knows about?" You say smirking at him waiting for an answer thinking he's gonna drink but he knows your plan and he's not gonna let you win. He leans back smiling and puts his arms on the back of the couch. "Well you see," he says as y'all wait for his answer as he continues "I have a secret Spotify playlist that I actually like to put songs on and share with others." He finishes speaking and smiles at you letting you know that he wasn't going down that easy. "What's it called, because that isn't really a guilty pleasure" you said trying to keep it going. "That wasn't a part of the question-" he tries to say. "Judge." You said looking at the Judge with wide eyes. A guy off screen in the back replies "Answer the question and we will count it." Colby playfully rolls his eyes. "It's called The Night's I'm Left Alone." He finally stats with a sigh. Colby grabs a card and looks at you.  Oh no, you think. "What's the last thing you searched?" Colby asks smiling because he knows you and he has an idea on what it maybe. You sigh and take one of the shot glasses. "Bottoms up I guess" you say as you take the shot and everyone lets out a chuckle because of you not answering. "Next" you say shaking your head because of the burn of the shot. Kat grabs a card and looks at you. "Really me again??" You say as you lean into Colby because you are already feeling the shot hit. When you're around people you don't drink because of what might happen so you haven't drank in a while meaning your intolerance is very low.  "Yes you again, we need to get to know you better and plus it's your first time maybe if you'd play with us more we wouldn't have to ask you all the questions." Kat says as you sign and reply with "Ok ok, whats the damn question." Kat smiles and states "How was your childhood growing up?" You sit there in silence rethinking your whole childhood, which was so messed up and horrible. You haven't told anyone about it yet not even Colby. You sit up and take another shot. Sam grabs a card and looks at you, "not me again" you sigh knowing you can't escape now. "Who was the last person you stalked on Instagram" Sam said as he puts the card down. You get out your phone even though you know the answer, it was Colby but you wanted to look like you didn't know. You grab another shot and down it as all the other drinks are now hitting you. You grab a card fumbling it a little. Colby smiles as he notices and knows you're drunk. He's not gonna let this past without finding out if she's in too someone. Colby is jealous on how you wouldn't answer who you last looked at on Instagram. "Colby" You say snapping him back.

"What is one thing you hate about me?" You say trying not to sound out of it. He chuckles and smirks at you, he leans into your ear and whispers "I hate.. that you're not mine.." He says pausing in his sentence. You blush and smile as Colby grabs a card. "What is your type?" He says as he slowly inches closer to you. "Let's see," You say smirking feeling confident in yourself and not caring what could happen. "Rings, dark haired, dominant, tall, adventurous, etc." You said practically describing him without giving it away to others knowing that he gets it. Colby smiles knowing that he is the one she's been talking about all night. You are beyond wasted and you start messing with Colby's belt. He stops you and holds your hand. "We're gonna head to bed, she drank too much already." Colby said picking you up and carrying you to his room. He lays you down on his bed, he goes to walk away but you grab him. You pulled him closer and kiss him passionately, trying to get him in the mood. He kisses you back and starts rubbing your sides up and down. He snaps out of it. "Not tonight babe, you are drunk and I don't want it to be like this our first time together ok?" He said laying by you cuddling you. "But.." You try saying but he kisses you softly. "In all good time, I promise" he said kissing your forehead. You admit defeat and cuddle up to him as he holds you close. "Goodnight handsome," you say falling asleep. "Goodnight baby girl," He said kissing your forehead again and going to sleep next to you. 

Hi guys sorry it took to long, I got busy and didn't know what to write about so request something for me. Hope you enjoyed and if let me know what you think (pls be nice). Have a good night or day! <;3 

(1230 words) Request something for me to write :)

#colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock fluff #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby x reader #sam and colby #fanfiction #xplr #colbyxyn #fluff

[yoke9494]

(Actor) Tokyo Revengers/Reader crack. (The party before the zombie apocalypse started.)

Read pts 1-4 on Wattpad

Reads pts 1-4 on AO3

17+ (suggestive sexual themes/mature language)

I was on crack and sleep deprived when I wrote this. (Not really the crack part but I felt like it)

I made this photo, printed it out, and put it on a candle. 😂 Taiju's next....

Sanzu and Draken are in love but the reader is living her best life.. ♥️

You held back Sanzu's strands from falling into Ran's toilet. The loud music pulsed through the walls. But they were mainly drowned out by Sanzu's dry heaving.

You really didn't understand why this man decided to keep his hair long. He could have just worn a wig or hair extensions on set like Baji and Ran but he claimed the glue they used on the wigs made him itchy.

Drama queen much.

You held back your own vomit when Sanzu threw up the rest of the alcohol he consumed throughout the night. It was his fault for getting drunk on an empty stomach. Or was it yours since you sort of forced him to come?

"What did I eat that was purple? Y/n... Am I dying?"

You snorted. "No you're alright Zu. You had a grape slush that Draken tried to give to me. It was mainly vodka..You were buzzed already so that's how we ended up in Ran's bedroom."

"We aren't home?"

"Nope.."

"Ugh!"

You laughed at your poor boy who was groaning face down in the toilet. Over the long year of filming Akashi Haruchiyo had become your ride or die/roommate. He didn't get much screen time for season 1 but he was always around. Especially since he had a talent when it came to rigging up all the wires for the lights and sound.

He was the shyest out of all the cast members and usually kept to himself off set. One day you decided to strike up a conversation with him after one of your scenes together. It took time to break him out of his shell but it did him some good and he eventually opened up to everyone.

Plus he needed to get used to talking to everyone since he would have to channel some crazy psycho energy for when the next few seasons started filming.

"Why are you laughing at me Y/n? I saved your ass.. Fucker was just trying to get in your pants again."

You shook your head and clicked your tongue. He was always stingy when it came to you, he respected your whole 'No life but the hoe life' lifestyle, but that didn't mean he liked it..

"I would have let him without the drink. All he had to do was ask."

Sanzu scoffed.

"Disgusting. You know he slept with both Hina and Emma right? They were sure he was the one to give them something.. and there's a rumor he slept with Hanma too."

"You know I make everyone use protection right? Even you. What kind of hoe do you think I am?.... Plus, who hasn't slept with Hanma?"

Sanzu stood up and flushed the toilet before washing his face and hands. "I sure as hell haven't. I don't want to have to get a rabies shot or the clap.."

You snorted but before you could say a word, the devil himself must have heard you talking about him. Hanma barged into the bathroom and eyed the both of you.

"First of all...I don't have rabies! Second, You guys done fuckin in here or what? I need to take a shit!"

You and Sanzu both got pushed out before you could say a thing. Hanma grumbled something about being lactose intolerant and the devil coming out of his ass cheeks.

"There's like 6 bathrooms in this house!"

"And?! If you freaks want to watch then be my guest! I always wanted a blow job while I took a shit... Y/n you down?!"

....... Silence........

"Well fuck me then!"

----------

While Hanma was talking to himself you both returned down stairs. The house seemed to have gotten more crowded since you and Sanzu left to the bathroom.

The first thing you noticed was both Takemichi and Tetta standing on the coffee table. Tokyo by Dwin/Kid Kush played while Tetta tried to twerk with Takemichi. You felt the second hand embarrassed creep up on you.

You already knew Tetta Kisaki was a shit dancer but with Takemichi's dump trunk you figured he knew how to at least move it.

"I need another drink... I hope the twins can make me something strong enough to forget this nightmare.."

You agreed with Sanzu but before you could walk after him, a pair or arms snaked themselves around your waist. By the deep chuckle and smell of their cologne you could already tell who it was.

"Can I help you Keisuke?"

Baji nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. He was a touchy drunk, usually Chifuyu or Mitsuya would keep an eye on him but when he got too cuddly they pushed him toward someone else.

Judging by the snicker coming from Chifuyu, he was the one to throw you under the bus this time.

"You feel so warm! And you smell so gooood! You wanna dance?! Show these armatures how the real ones do it."

Your eyes scanned the room to look for Sanzu. You spotted him with a drink in his hand standing by the back door. He motioned to you that he's stepping out for a quick smoke break.

You nodded your head towards the coat rack and gave him your 'listen to me' face.

Sanzu rolled his eyes and mouthed back "Okay, mom." and grabbed his coat.

It just started snowing outside when you both arrived that evening. The start of the winter season brought early snow and you didn't want him to catch a cold. You all only had a few weeks off before all the production meetings started up again.

"Y/nnn! Love me!"

Once Sanzu was out of sight you turned to Baji and dragged him towards Takemichi and Kisaki.

"Come on Edward. Let's show ThiccyMitchy how to pop his pussy right."

*Gag* "... I bet it smells like Doritos and fish sticks."

------------------

What happened?

Dancing around with Baji turned into you and Sanzu sneaking back up to Ran's room. You both saw his playstation before you left the first time a decided to later on raid his Minecraft world. It's all he talked about off set..

When you both stepped into the room you found Mikey and Draken already messing with it. Somehow that turned into you all playing and having to take a shot each time you died. Two if you got blown up by a creeper.

Poor Mikey was out like a light after a few shots and fell asleep on your lap... He got emotional when he drank and tried to constantly give creepers a hug because he thought they were just shy.

That was the last thing you remembered before the sun coming through Ran's purple curtains burned your eyelids.

A small shake was what brought you out of the darkness. When you squinted at the person, Rindou gave you a bored look.

"Y/n... Is my brother under the covers with you?"

You looked around and noticed you were indeed under the large blanket that once covered the older Haitani's bed.

You felt a lot of weight on you, also you noticed your pillow was breathing...

Looking back you  noticed you were laying on Sanzu's stomach while he laid horizontally at the head of the bed..

Under the covers was Draken cuddled up on you, clinging to your left side, Mikey was between your legs and his head was on your stomach, and you had no clue when, but Hanma was cuddled up on your right side drooling on your arm.

"The fuck? Uh... Sorry Rin, no Ran here."

Rindou clicked his tongue. "Did you see him at all last night? I turned away for 10 minutes and lost him. Haven't seen him since.."

You thought back to that evening. He was the one to greet you and Sanzu first but after that he was gone..

"Not since--"

Draken groaned. "He passed out so me and Kazutora had to put him in one of the rooms down the hall. The one with the fish tank.. Too many jello shots with Pah and Peh.. Now, Rindou shut up and quit moving Y/n. I was having a dream about our wedding day."

Draken rolled over and mumbled something about giving you 6 kids and a cat.

Rindou rolled his eyes and began to walk out.

"Wait Rin..."

You whisper yelled after him, he stopped to look at you.

"Hm?"

"... Help me get out of here. I have to pee."

You just wanted out of there since you were getting hungry. You knew where Ran hid the good snacks when he had a party.

Rindou huffed but walked back to the bed.

"... Okay... Wait. You all have on clothes right?"

You honestly had to do a double take on that one. Thankfully you all still did, the only weird thing was you noticed Hanma had two dark hair extensions stuck to the side of his head. They were obviously Baji's.

Speaking of ...

While Rin helped get Mikey off of you, a small thud made you both freeze. Baji had rolled off the edge, you didn't even see him under the blankets. He groaned from the floor before he started snoring again.

Rindou gave you the most judgemental look. "Ran's going to need a new bed.. I'm a little offended that I wasn't invited too Y/n. I thought you had a good time with me last weekend..." 

You wanted to laugh but just shook your head. " Nothing happened... I think?... I'm sure we all just passed out.--"

"Then... *Snort* why is Baji missing his pants?.. Fuck, he's a hairy motherfucker.."

You looked down and snorted. Baji's butt cheeks were full on display for you and Rindou.

"Oh... Uh, God damn that's a jungle..."

You both started laughing. It only woke up Sanzu and Baji while the rest told you both to shut up with their grumpy voices.

Sanzu looked around and made a face at all the dudes laying below him. He relaxed when you and Rindou waved at him when his eyes landed on you.

Baji got up and yawned before scratching his stomach while you and Rindou tried to keep your eyes off his thang-a-ling.

"Morning guys..." He looked back at the bed and chuckled. "Sanzu, why are you all pink?"

Sanzu covered his eyes and shook his head. "Why's your hairy ass dick out Baji! Y/n's in here with us!"

Baji shrugged before he turned to you and Rindou. He laughed because you both were staring at something interesting on the floor.

Why were you being shy all of a sudden? He noticed you were struggling to keep your eyes above his waist. You bit your lip and looked up at the ceiling just to avoid it. 

Smirking he looked around the room for his boxers. They were laying on the lamp that was on Ran's dresser.

"Not like she hasn't seen it before. Made her shake like she was having a seizure last time. I still have the scratch marks on my back to prove it.."

You looked up while Baji winked at you.

"Ain't that right babe?"

Before you could say anything Mikey must have woken up from all the noise. He threw a pillow at Baji.

"All of you shut up! Baji put that damn thing away before it bites someone! You and your fucking 80's porn star bush. Manscape that shit.."

Baji snorted. "It's not even that bad! You're all just made you have baby pubes. And you all know I like to sleep naked. We've woken up like this before." He clicked his tongue when everyone groaned.

"Whatever I have to pee anyways." 

Sanzu had gotten off the bed and stood next to you. He and Rindou shared a "good morning" before the younger  left to go find his older brother.

While you looked for your shoes your stomach started growling. It was so loud that it nearly woke everyone up again.

Sanzu turned to you and chuckled. "Wanna go out and eat? I think there's a diner or something near by. We'll call an Uber after so we don't have to walk the rest of the way home?"

You nodded while he took your hand. As long as no one saw you two leaving he'd be able to spend the day with you uninterrupted.

A few bodies laid throughout  the Haitani's house. You noticed Takemichi was still here, along with Kisaki, Kazutora, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Pah, Emma and Hina. Everyone else seemed to have gone home at some point, safely you hoped..

---------------

Sanzu was right and there was a small diner nearby. It was only a 10 minute walk and you couldn't wait to eat then go home and take a shower. You smelled like sweaty men and tequila.

Settling on a greasy breakfast to help your small hangover, Sanzu did the same but he was mainly focused on his pancakes and drowned them in syrup.

It was quiet for a few minutes until he spoke up. "I wanted to ask if... If you wanna hang out today? See a movie or something?"

You looked up and just nodded since your mouth was full. He waited for you to finish chewing.

"Sure! I don't have anything to do today anyways. What do you want to go see?"

Before he could say anything a few police sirens interrupted him. 3 police cars raced by, followed by a few EMT vehicles.

The diner was quiet while the customers watched the scene from the large windows.

Someone hummed beside you and Sanzu, the waitress had startled the both of you.

The older woman placed down a new cup of orange juice for you before she started refilling Sanzu's coffee cup.

"Sorry sweethearts, I didn't mean to scare you.--"

A firetruck flew by with 3 more cop cars following it. The woman looked up and fixed her heavy framed  glasses. She furrowed her brows and frowned while she looked out the window.

"Oh no. That can't be good..."

...................

#tokyo revengers #actor au #attempt at humor #sanzu x reader #draken #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers hanma #baji fluff #tokrev baji #tokyo revengers takemichi

[seancekitsch]

Master of Puppets: Part one of an Eddie Munson fic

warnings: vol 2 spoilers, mentions of unhealthy coping, angst, mother hen steve, alcohol, hospitals, mentioned violence

Eddie’s been awake in a hospital bed for a week now, covered in tubes and stitches and staples and other gnarly looking shit he doesn’t want to think about. It’s pretty good here, three square meals plus jello cups on demand, and everyone he knows visits. Well, except for one person. It’s been a week since he’s seen his girlfriend. Since the night in the upside down becoming bat-chow. He would have thought you’d at least call by now, but the absence of you is stifling. He misses you so fucking badly, wants to hug you like he’s never hugged before, tubes and wires be damned. He wants to kiss you until his lips bleed. He hasn’t gone this long without seeing you since he was thirteen, and your mom took you to see family in the Catskills. He’s seen you almost every single day for almost eight years, until all this happened.

It’s when Steve Harrington comes to pick up Dustin that Eddie finally loses it and asks.

“Hey Harrington, is y/n okay?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Steve stops for a moment, and Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“Haven’t seen her, man,” he replies, his voice guarded and Eddie just knows he knows something.

“Can ya check on her? Something? Don’t ya work at the same place? Get her schedule!” Eddie pesters, straining the IV tube stuck in his arm when he gestures.

“She changed shifts, man!” Steve exclaims, but then flattens.

“Fine, I’ll check on her.”

Steve starts walking to the door, as if being in the room with Eddie is now intolerable, as if the three of them were not just laughing before Eddie brought you up.

“Ready to go, Dust?”

“Hold on a second!” Dustin exclaims, and then runs to the side of this uncomfortable excuse for a bed.

“I’ll try to sneak your guitar in next time,” he whispers, and Eddie strains to pat him on the shoulder.

“Thanks kid,” he whispers back.

And then Steve is all but dragging the fourteen year old out the door.

I may be stupid, Eddie thinks, but I’m not dumb. Steve Harrington was hiding something.

“When are you gonna tell him?” Dustin asks in the car as he fiddles with the radio.

“Tell him what?”

Steve shifts the car into gear.

“About y/n!” he practically shouts, “About how no one’s seen her!”

Steve flinches at the boys screaming, but peels out of the parking lot anyway.

“I’m not. I’m gonna go check on her.” He says and it’s final, white knuckle grip on his steering wheel driving the point home.

It’s not awkward for the rest of the car ride, though, because that answer satisfies Dustin and after a few quiet minutes he changes the subject.

To say no one’s seen you would be a lie. Kieth has, at the video store, and so has Steve. Just once. You were coming in to tent an entire stack of video tapes, and to tell Kieth you’d have to take some time off of work.

When Steve followed you to the parking lot, you had snapped at him, given him a look that could kill; Steve knew it best to leave it at that.

“Go check on her NOW, okay?” Dustin presses as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing,” Steve mumbles.

“Do it, now!” He urges again as he gets out of Steve’s car.

“Yeah, alright! Jesus dude,” Steve finally relents, and as he leaves he makes sure to do a k-turn to head to your place instead of his.

You were the first of the scoops troop to move out of your parents house, which means you have a new apartment all to yourself; the complex was meant to be new living spaces to go with Hawkins modernization with Starcourt mall, but then all of that went to hell.

When Steve gets there, he notices all of your lights are out. Maybe you’re not home? Maybe you finally went to visit Eddie. But something in his gut tells him that isn’t the case.

Steve gets out quickly, barely bothering to lock his car before he half jogs up the flight of metal stairs to your front door. He fumbles around at the edge of your welcome mat, feeling for the key you told him you stash there in case you leave yours at family video.

He’d only been to your apartment thrice, twice after work for drinks with Robin, and once after the Starcourt incident to fill out job applications together. But all three of those times, it was bright, colorful, you always had music on and snacks ready. It was very inviting, and Steve can only hope to have a place that feels this nice one day.

He pushes open the door, careful to hold the key so he can pull it out, and the apartment is bathed in light from a tv screen. Re -Animator is on (Steve only knows this from being around the tape so damn much) and over the dialogue of the movie he can hear you sobbing. Quickly, his instincts kick in and he hurries into the apartment to find you laying on the couch, crying your eyes out with a bottle of wine. Two other wine bottles litter your coffee table, as well as a bag or tortilla chips. Whaaaat the actual fuck did Steve just walk into?

“Steve?” you ask incredulously, as if him being in your apartment were somehow the outlier in the situation.

“Y/n, what—? What’s all this?” He hurries to sit next to you on the couch, and you basically throw yourself onto him, crying harder than before.

“Everything’s fucked,” you sob, “Eddie’s gone.”

“What? No, no he’s alive. He’s been asking for you at the hospital,” Steve insists, awkwardly pushing your tear-soaked hair out of your face.

“He left me,” you clarify, evening out your breath to explain yourself, “I told him not to go, and he did. He’s gone.”

Steve recalls how you begged and pleaded for him not to be a hero, how you screamed and cried and tried to stop Eddie. And he remembers Eddie not looking back for you at all after he made his choice with those bats. Steve can’t recall where you even were when they brought Eddie into the hospital.

So Steve decides to follow the very little advice his mother gave him years ago, and shuts up and listens. You prop yourself up, sitting up straight as you swing straight from the bottled and continue.

“You know we planned on getting engaged right?”

That was news to Steve. You rarely talked about life plans or goals at work.

“He was gonna finally graduate, move in here, and then boom! Engagement, probably eloping like a week later, we both find better paying jobs. That’s our little life, our family.”

Steve stays quiet, you notice, and you’re thankful for it.

“So when this fucking—“ you hiccup, take another sip, “Vecna shit goes down and I tell him, beg him, to fuckin, to stay. To choose me, and he doesn’t? It’s like all of those plans he made with me are… are..”

“Bullshit,” Steve finishes.

Your brows furrow in confusion, but then you’re nodding.

“Yeah, bullshit. Exactly.”

And then you break down into sobs again, only pausing to drink more from the bottle.

He understands. He now knows someone else understands how he felt when Nancy got drunk on Halloween. Someone else knows the heartbreak he knows. He wishes you didn’t, that this was a feeling unique to Steve Harrington, that he was special some way in his pain. But this isn’t about him, it’s about you and your pain.

“He wants to see you,” he offers, while wrestling the bottle away from you.

You shake your head, like a toddler having a tantrum.

“Nothing to see,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to! I should have started with that. He’s worried about you.”

“Wasn’t worried when he was abandoning me.”

Damn, can’t argue with that, Steve thinks.

“Was—“ another hiccup, “—only thing keeping me here.”

Steve sits with you for hours and three more horror movies that Steve could barely stomach until you fall asleep on the couch covered in your own tears, then takes a pillow and blanket from your bedroom and arranges you with them. He takes the time to remove all of the trash and alcohol from your apartment, and to set out water and advil for you on the coffee table. He thinks about bringing a bagel by the next morning so there’s something in your stomach, but decides against it when he sees dawn peeking over the horizon as he gets into his driveway.

“Did you get ahold of Y/n?” Eddie asks, throat sounding sore from over use. Lucas, Mike, and Dustin had been talking his ear off all afternoon before Steve came to pick them up.

“Okay!” Steve calls out, “Kiddie time over, out of the room!”

Not a great sign. The gaggle of soon to be sophomores all complain and whine and argue, but Steve pushes them out the door and locks it behind them. They’re definitely all standing there with their ears pressed to the door, but it’s nice Steve even feigned the dignity of privacy.

“Bad news first, always the bad news first,” Eddie insists, running his hands through his flat and uncharacteristically lifeless looking hair.

“What is it, Hair?”

Steve doesn’t know where to start, so he just says,

“You said you were going to marry her?”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and his eyebrows get lost in his fringe.

“So you talked to her?! I’ve already got her a ring, I’ve just gotta get outta here, and then Eddie’s ending ‘86 on top, it’s—”

Steve scoffs, and stops Eddie from ranting further.

“More listening than anything. She’s a wreck.”

Eddie deflates.

“She’s drowning herself in wine saying you abandoned her. She’s acting like you’re dead, dude. She’s not coming.”

“She has to…”

Eddie has that same broken look in his eyes that you did.

“She doesn’t, but YOU have to make this right,” Steve asserts.

With his hand on his hips, Eddie realizes he’s doing the mother hen routine… on him.

“Hey dude,” Eddie raises his voice, “I’M the one who’s swiss cheese here, I’M the one who risked my ass for all of us!”

“Well SHE thinks you threw her away to end up like this! SHE took your Master of Puppets routine as a break up!”

Both of their head whip to the side as they hear banging from the other side of the door that sounds suspiciously like Dustin shoving Mike.

“Listen,” Eddie whispers, nearing a hiss, “That’s my woman, and I would never abandon her.”

Steve leans in closely over the edge of Eddie’s hospital bed.

“You broke her heart, Munson, even if you didn’t mean it,” Steve watches as Eddie’s face contorts from anger to despair, “And between you and me, if you don’t fix this I think she’s leaving Hawkins.”

And with that, Steve leaves the hospital room, taking the kids and all of the air in the room with him.

Eddie panics, as much as he can without ripping his stitches or his IV out. He smacks the heel of his palm against his forehead hard enough to bruise.

Fuck, he thinks, he needs to get out of here now.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader

[despicablebisexual]

Depravity, part I (18+)

Hol Horse x f!reader, modern! AU, detective noir, no stands

masterlist

Hol Horse is drawn back to a city he tried so hard to let go of. You face the man you hate the most.

content warnings: murder, alcohol consumption, tobacco use, cursing

[Universe #139] Location: [REDACTED] Year: 20XX

Hol Horse stepped out of his car and onto the rain soaked pavement. His hand lingering on the top of the door as he looked up at the dark sky to find the small relief that it had stopped raining. The gloomy city he begrudgingly called home had finally been freed from the torrential downpour that lasted for the past few hours, but with the clearing of the sky came the full force of the sinister underbelly once again active.

“Hey, Horse! Over here,” a voice called. Looking away from the sky, Hol Horse cursed to himself as he saw Mista waving him over, and his hand itched to grab at the cigarette pack in the inner pocket of his coat. He was trying to quit, but each day was a new test of his personal conviction.

Regardless of his dislike for the detective he routinely worked with, he made his way over. His mood was further soured as Hol Horse caught sight of Mista’s partner, one he also had an intolerance for; Leone Abbacchio. 

There’s nothing wrong per se with either of his coworkers, but Hol Horse strongly preferred when he’s assigned cases where the two Italian dickheads, as he likes to call them, aren’t joining him. Mista is too energetic and jumps the gun quite literally whenever they work together, and Abbacchio walks around with what Hol is convinced is probably the world’s biggest stick up his ass. They’re unnervingly smart and work well together, but something about them just rubs Hol the wrong way. He also doesn’t appreciate how Mista insists on calling him by his surname, thinking it’s entirely too funny that it matches his “cowboy aesthetic” as Mista determined.

“Hey,” Hol Horse said gruffly, making his way toward the pair, ducking under caution tape. “What do we got?” 

“Twenty-one year old female. Dead for barely an hour. No ID or personal effects on her either,” Abbacchio replied with a cold voice, hardened by years on the job.

Hol Horse peered around the crime scene investigators as they inspected the body of the woman and surrounding area. Behind him, Mista, and Abbacchio, a group of civilians had gathered to watch, morbidly intrigued by the commotion.

Hol Horse sighed in frustration. These dump and dash murders were getting out of hand and although the city claimed to have been “cracking down” on 24 hour surveillance and police presence, the crime rate seemed to only be getting worse. Too many years on the job had taken any faith Hol Horse had in the criminal justice system and warped his days into never ending spirals of frustration.

“The sick fuck cut off her right hand,” Mista said, angered by the unknown perpetrator’s disgusting actions. 

His comment caught Hol Horse off guard, whose breath caught when he heard him. 

“Her right hand?”

“Took it with him, most likely,” Mista nodded, face visibly displeased. “Shot her in the knee too, but we might have caught him on video.”

Hol Horse breathed a very, very small sigh of relief. There’s no way it was him again. That case was over two years ago, and was considered cold. He hadn’t been active in two years, plus, he was always careful to cover his tracks. If it was the same guy, he would have never been caught by a camera in an alleyway.

“Who found her?”

Mista nodded his head toward a woman near the ambulance, currently being sat down and evaluated for injuries. “Shopkeeper on the corner. Said she saw someone run off not long before she found the body behind the dumpster. The cameras around her shop are pointed toward the alleyway, and we’re getting an order to seize the footage.”

Some time passed between the three detectives as they silently stared at the bustling crime scene around them. A few foot officers were yelling at the growing crowd to disperse so the investigators could properly find and label any pieces of evidence. 

“Where’s J. Geil? You never fly solo,” Abbacchio commented with a judgemental tone, lighting up a cigarette as if they were anywhere except a crime scene.

Hol’s fists clenched in his pockets but he let the comment pass. It was true, he didn’t work alone often. 

“Got shot in the arm last week. He hasn’t been cleared to get back out in the field, yet.”

Both Mista and Abbacchio nodded their heads in understanding. Between them, they were happy that J. Geil wasn’t there, despite having to deal with a grumpy Hol Horse. Whenever those two were together, they were an unfortunate mix of showboating and overconfidence, despite working in one of the worst parts of the city.

“I’m interviewing the chick,” Hol Horse said suddenly, not giving the other two a moment to process as he already walked away from them and toward the ambulance. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with blonde hair tucked into a low bun, was still speaking to the EMTs, a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

“Good evening ma’am,” Hol Horse said with a tired voice, not bothering to look up as he took out his notepad and flipped to a blank page. “What can you tell me–” he looked up and froze. The woman was beautiful, green eyes shining with the reflection of the police lights around them. She seemed lively despite the rather upsetting situation she was in, and Hol Horse couldn’t help but chuckle.

“How did a pretty lady like you get caught up in something like this, Ms..?” he asked, making a show of his southern drawl that he was told added a certain finesse to his Japanese.

She smiled and turned away. “Call me Holly, and I was doing some inventory in my shop after hours since my husband couldn’t get to it this morning.”

He let out an airy chuckle. “That’s a beautiful name you got there Ms. Holly. Listen, I’m sure you already know this, but you shouldn’t stay out late in this part of the city.”

She nodded and tucked some loose hair behind her ear.

“Now, what can you tell me about what you saw?”

She deeply exhaled for a moment before starting. “Well, like I said, I was in the shop doing some inventory. It’s a music shop and we sell a lot of vintage stuff. Vinyl records, 8track, cassettes, all that sorts of stuff, so we always do inventory to make sure nothing’s out of place.”

Hol Horse nodded and wrote a few details down. 

“I heard a yelp and a banging outside, followed by a gunshot. I rushed to the door immediately to make sure it was locked, but I saw someone rush by the window.”

“Just one gunshot?”

She nodded her head. “Just one.”

He shook his head but wrote it down. If he had to guess, the shot to the knee wasn’t what killed her, at least not immediately, judging by the streaks of blood on the ground from when she presumably crawled. The woman continued speaking before casually dropping a fact that made Hol Horse snap his head up.

“Wait, you knew her?” he said, pointing over his shoulder to the body.

“I’ve seen her around before.” Holly suddenly got quiet and looked around before leaning in closer toward Hol Horse. “I think she might have been caught up with the wrong crowd.”

Hol Horse huffed. Yeah, no shit.

“And you mean?”

“Well,” Holly wrung her hands as she spoke, “I’ve seen her around here before. I noticed she looked hungry once so I gave her a dinner I packed for my husband one time.”

Hol Horse raised his eyebrow toward her. 

“Okay… I gave her dinner several times, and we talked. She told me once her name was Roxanne –I think that was fake, though– and she claimed she was from Hell City.”

A shiver ran through Hol Horse’s body at the mention of Hell City, a place notorious for its nightlife and tech scene. In reality it was named Genesis, but was given the moniker for how hellish the tourists who visited there acted. Once upon a time, he was intimately familiar with that place, but hadn’t stepped foot in that town in over two years. 

“Hell City, you’re sure?”

She nodded in confirmation. “Yes.”

He grimaced but wrote down the information, making a mental note to grab a picture of the girl’s face before he drove the hour it took to get there. 

“Holly!” “Mom!” two voices suddenly yelled. Hol Horse and Holly both looked up to see two tall Japanese men yelling and pushing their way past the crowds to get to them. The younger one, the taller of the pair, looked especially distressed as he bullied his way through the police barricades.

“You know them?”

“That’s my husband and son.”

---------------

Genesis Hell City. The city that prided itself on its bustling tech industry and sightseeing. What had once started as a coastal city that had pristine beaches, eventually grew to be the home of some of the world’s finest technology developers. As the tech scene rose, so did the portion of the population who chased after it. A long, long time ago, Hol Horse had been a uniformed officer here who prowled the streets while working his mandatory night watch shifts. He’d been placed there after graduating from the academy and spent the better part of four years of his life working these streets. 

Life was okay then. For the first two years, he had a partner that was pretty good and did most of the paperwork between them. Hol Horse coasted on his success until said partner was promoted to detective and moved to narcotics across the city. Hol Horse then went on to have a series of partners who he’d long forgotten their names. He enjoyed the lifestyle of Hell City as much as a police officer could, entertaining the men and women he met around there during his free time before being promoted to detective himself.

You see, up until that point, Hol Horse would characterize himself as someone who got by in life by knowing who to hang around. If you find the right person, you’ll get carried to success with little struggle, that was his life motto. If there was one thing Hol Horse was good at, it was finding that person. There was his first partner; a girlfriend he lived with for about six months who had a lot of inheritance to spend; a young man who recently moved to the city and looking for a ‘guide,’ you get the jist. Wherever there was someone in need of a right-hand man, perhaps even a devil on their shoulder, Hol Horse was there. 

Although he had a great setup going, the demands of his job and the city had sucked the life out of him until one case in particular was enough for him to send in a request for a new location. Back once again, driving through the streets of Hell City made Hol Horse’s stomach churn, as they reminded him of a bad time in his life when he cared too much about his job. While the city was only an hour away from where he lived now, he had made a point of never coming here again. Of course, fate would make sure he failed that goal. Why was he here? Because old ghosts needed to be put to rest, despite Hol Horse vehemently spending the last two years running from them. 

Being away from here for the past two years, Hol Horse wasn’t entirely familiar with the subtle changes made to the city, but he still managed to find the oh-so familiar bar he was looking for. When he pulled into the parking lot of Stardust Saloon, Hol Horse turned off the engine of his car and sat in silence for a moment. He cursed himself for so eagerly going to talk to Holly Kujo, as Mista and Abbacchio told him he might as well head to Hell City since he was “already ahead of them” in terms of the case. It had been two weeks since they found Roxanne’s body, and the further Hol Horse investigated, the more each sign pointed towards a serial killer Hol Horse had lost track of back during his days in Genesis when he was freshly promoted to detective. The Genesis police department was no help, claiming that even though it pointed to one of their old suspects, the case was in Hol Horse’s hands since it occurred in his city. 

All Hol wanted to do was turn the car back on and hightail it out of there, maybe go and stop at one of his flings’ apartment instead of returning to his own. Midler was back in town after going on vacation, she might be up for a little fun. 

As much as his plan tempted him, the picture in his coat pocket of Roxanne weighed him down. Deep down, part of Hol Horse did still care about his job and wanted to get the girl some sort of justice, but he didn’t have high hopes. Things like justice don’t happen in either of these cities.

With a sigh, Hol Horse got out of his car and slammed the door shut. Before he went anywhere, however, he reached into his coat for a cigarette and his lighter. He’d gone the past two days without a smoke, he reasoned he could have one now. As he lit up the stick and tucked his lighter away, his boot clad feet dragged him toward the glass door of the bar as he contemplated his last few moments alive, because surely, once he opened that door and walked inside, he’d be as good as dead. Afterall, that’s always what you promised he would be if you ever saw him again.

---------------

“There you go,” you said as you sat the three mugs of beer on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be behind the bar, so just flag me down.” 

The group of salarymen thanked you and politely dismissed you. With a heavy sigh, you turned around and walked back to the bar. For a Thursday night, Stardust was surprisingly busy. 

Stardust Saloon was your pride and joy. When you were twenty, after moving out of your family’s home when you had a falling out with your mother, you had landed on the doorstep of Daniel J. D’Arby. He’d found you tucked away in the booths of Stardust, half-drunk and half-depressed as you failed to keep a steady job after having lived in Hell City with your little sister for seven months by that time. The city had been swallowing you whole, and you could see why it was nicknamed what it was. 

Daniel first approached you with his brother at his side, ready to throw you out and call the police for not paying your tabs, but they halted when they saw the mess of a person you were. Telence, the younger of the two, got Daniel to calm down just enough to listen to your sob story, and when you were finished, he immediately offered to let you pay off your debt by working for them. With no other option, you took their offer and started.

 That was over eight years ago. Since then, you've managed to work your way up and get promoted to manager. Daniel and Telence trusted you enough to run the place for them, so much so to the point where they only stopped into the bar about twice a week when they came to collect their cash. Honestly, the whole thing was a win-win situation. Their bar was being run for them and you had enough money to find a decent apartment and not have to hustle for money. 

Tonight was a night like any other, complete with you coming out of the office for the evening to help on the floor. Tonight’s staff included several of your good friends and best workers. Behind the bar was Polnareff, an eccentric French guy that was a great barkeep. He could get anyone to buy any drink, and he earned the bar a huge amount of sales. When Polnareff wasn’t working, he was flirting with Avdol, one of the cooks in the back. The two had been dancing around admitting their feelings for each other for several months at this point, which frustrated everyone on staff as Polnareff made it everyone’s problem when he was feeling discouraged about the situation. On the floor with you was Bruno, a kind-hearted man that kept the regulars returning for his great service, and Ermes, your fiery waitress who had a knack for somehow getting the most tips every night. How she did it when all she did was yell at her tables, you’ll never know, but you reasoned it was fine. She always ended up splitting some of them with Weather Report, the resident bouncer of Stardust Saloon, at the end of the night, so you assumed they had some sort of deal going on there. Whatever it was, you turned a blind eye to it. 

“Y/n,” Polnareff exaggerated, putting his hands on your shoulders as you returned back to the bar. “Can we close up shop yet? I’m tired,” he cried.

You laughed and shrugged his hands off. “Tired my ass. You were just in the kitchen nearly bouncing off the walls as you talked to Avdol. What happened?” He scoffed. “I was not talking to Avdol! He’s in there training the new kid.”

“Narancia isn’t a kid, he’s nineteen.”

“I’m twenty-five! That’s a kid to me!”

You laughed to yourself and pushed past him and toward the sink to wash your hands. Polnareff got back to wiping off the glassware he had been towel drying previously. As you finished drying your hands, you leaned your back against the bar and looked at him. Behind you both, the door chime rang indicating someone stepped into the busy bar.

“We’re only a couple hours into the shift. Why are you so tired?”

“I didn’t sleep well,” he huffed. “Can’t we close early just this once?”

“Jean, it’s only,” you paused to look at the clock on the wall, “10:30pm. We can’t close.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You would let us close early if–”

Polnareff paused, staring at something in the corner of your eye in surprise. 

“If what?”

“Can I help you?” Polnareff suddenly seethed, causing you to turn around in shock at whoever he was speaking to.

Whoever you had been expecting to be on the other side of the bar, was nowhere near close to who actually was. A fury suddenly ignited inside you, causing your brow to pinch as you glared at the man on the other side of the counter. Standing there in all his stupid, cowboy-aesthetic glory, was none other than Hol Horse. A man who had run from your life over two years ago.

His hand reached up to take off his signature hat as he exhaled a puff of smoke, his blonde tresses fell around his face in loose waves. “I was hopin’ I could talk to your boss lady here,” he said, nodding his head toward you.

“Je t’emmerde!” Go fuck yourself! “We should have you thrown out of here,” Polnareff yelled.

“Come on now, Polnareff, no need to get so worked up. I got business with y/n, nothin’ more.”

“We’ve got no business,” you scoffed. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it,” you spit, turning away from him. “Get out of my bar before I have security throw you out. Shouldn’t you be in your new city now with your new life?”

“Y/n–”

“Leave! I’m serious!”

You started to walk away, hoping to make it to the kitchen for escape, but he called your name gruffly and slammed something down on the counter.

“A girl wound up dead in an alleyway two weeks ago and she was missin’ her hand. She was from here.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Memories from three years ago when you first met Hol Horse started washing over you, a familiar ache working its way back into your heart.

“I need to speak with you. Please. I want to help this girl.”

Hol Horse held his breath as he watched your back. There was a tension in your shoulders that he could visibly see, and if wasn’t so sure that you would slap his hand away, he would have reached out to massage the stress away like he used to.

“I thought you gave up that life. I thought you don’t help people anymore,” you said bitterly.

He sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out in the ashtray on the counter. “Call it a change of heart.”

He watched your shoulders rise as you took a deep breath in. Turning to Polnareff, you pointed to the floor.

“Make sure Ermes doesn’t burn this place down. We’ll be out back.”

Polnareff was visibly shocked as you so easily gave in to Hol Horse’s request. He had been there two years ago when the two of you had your terrible break up after Hol Horse informed you he put in for a transfer and claimed he “wasn’t the type to do long-distance.” He had rushed to your apartment that night to keep you from killing Hol Horse as you threw various objects from around your shared apartment at him. And he had been there for the following two years of pain as you struggled to get over being so suddenly abandoned.

“Come on, I don’t have all night,” you said to Hol Horse, gesturing for him to come around the bar and follow you through the kitchen. With one final nod of courtesy to Polnareff, Hol Horse gathered the crime scene photos and walked to catch up to you.

---------------

The outside air was cool compared to the heat of the kitchen and you would have found relief in the temperature change, had Hol Horse not been there with you. As soon as the two of you stepped outside, you turned to him and held out your hand.

“What?”

“I know you’ve got cigarettes on you. Gimme one.”

With a sigh, he reached into his coat and pulled out two sticks, one for each of you, before flicking open his lighter. Both of you leaned in together to breathe in so the flame caught hold, and memories of doing so post-intercourse flashed in Hol Horse’s mind. 

You exhaled your initial puff before taking one more. Hol Horse swallowed hard as he watched the smoke curl past your lips and into the night air. You were so damn beautiful, especially since it had been two years since he saw you, and he struggled to think as he watched you.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Are you gonna get on with the pictures?” you asked with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh,” he realized, taking the photos and shuffling them around a bit. He took the one of Roxanne laying on the morgue table, blood and dirt brushed off her face, and gave it to you. You held the picture for several moments as you sucked on the cigarette.

“Never seen her before.”

“A witness who had seen her before explained that she claimed her name was Roxanne and she was from this area. When we found her, her right hand was missing.”

You were quiet as you studied the photo. Hol Horse grimaced as he could feel the tension rising in the air, and he leaned against the wall so he wouldn’t have to directly face you. 

“Our working theory is that it’s him again…” Hol Horse whispered.

You remained silent, continuing to flip through the pictures. 

“He fucked up this time, y/n. We’ve got a lead. There’s camera footage this time.”

He watched you with bated breath as you studied the photos. The scene was oh-so familiar, almost exactly like that of the one where they found your sister’s body three years ago. Your hands shook violently as you were stuck on one particularly morbid picture; a close up of her severed wrist. Your grip was so tight on the photo that it creased the edges and caused you to drop your cigarette. 

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” you advised him, shoving the photo back into his chest and stomping out the cigarette on the ground. When you turned to go back through the door, Hol Horse’s hand raised over your head and shut it back in place.

“Hey,” he said, firmly pushing on it so you couldn’t get through.

“Let go, Hol Horse! I’m done with this conversation!”

“Y/n.” He placed his other hand on your back, his touch burning you through your shirt. “I’m going to the station tomorrow and requesting all the files be brought from storage. I’m opening your sister’s case back up.”

“I can’t do this again,” you shook, tears falling from your eyes. “I can’t let you get my hopes up that you’ll find who killed her.”

Hol Horse was unsure of what to do. He’d seen you cry plenty of times, hell, this moment wasn’t that different than when you first met, but now, he wasn’t sure what to do. He knew if he tried to comfort you like he did back then, he’d get a swift slap to the face.

---------------

Three years ago

When a blonde haired man dressed in a dress shirt and suit pants knocked on the door of your apartment, you were utterly confused. Despite being in a loose band t-shirt and biker shorts, you answered the door anyway.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Ms. y/n l/n, ma’am? My name is Hol Horse and I’m with the Genesis Police Department,” he flipped open his wallet to show his badge quickly before stuffing it back in his wallet.

You scoffed. “You don’t need to be so formal, y/n is fine. What’s this all about?” you asked, crossing your arms to lean against the doorframe. There had been a robbery at the gas station a block away from here, but that had already been a week ago.

He nodded and stood a little straighter, pulling off his strange cowboy hat to look at you. “I’m very sorry to inform you Miss, but your sister Diana has passed.”

Your stomach dropped as your eyes widened in shock, not quite sure of what exactly he just said. “W-what?”

“We found your sister’s body on the bank of the river early this morning.”

Everything else he said was muffled by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Diana was dead. Your little sister was dead and you had just seen her the day before. 

He might have been a stranger, but he was the only thing you had to support you. So, you fell into his arms as you sobbed. Hol Horse was taken by surprise, but eventually wrapped his arms around your shoulders. This wasn’t his first death notification, nor would it be his last, but something seeing the spirit break in your eyes made his own heart clench.

“I’ll be working as the lead detective on your sister’s case…” You raised your head to look up at him, and saw the dark determination in his eyes. 

“I promise you, I’ll bring your sister justice.”

---------------

“Listen, I know I made mistakes back then,” Hol Horse whispered, taking his hand from your back to turn you by the shoulder. “I promised some things I shouldn’t have and I let myself get too close to you. I fucked up, I know.”

Bravely, he let his hand come up to cup your cheek. He was surprised that you didn’t immediately remove it, so he took it as his sign to continue. His thumb swept over your cheekbone to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen.

“My mama raised me to be a church-going boy, and you of all people should know I didn’t turn out to be one of them.” He half-heartedly smiled and looked deep into your eyes. “But I know I got some sins to atone for, and I got some forgiveness to earn. I’d like to do both of those things by finally closing your sister’s case.”

“Holden Horse you’ve got some balls for coming back here,” you whispered to him, tears still flowing. “I’ll be damned if I let you screw me over again.”

Hol Horse prepared himself for you to berate him, so he removed his hand from your face. Just as it lifted off, your hand came up and snatched his wrist, pulling his hand to you. 

“You better be right about being able to find this guy.”

#hol horse #hol horse x reader #depravity series

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #16:

Roger McGuinn's Cardiff Rose

At some point in 1974 Roger McGuinn must have really pissed off Kris Kristofferson and Bobby Neuwirth.

The details are lost to time and alcohol, which is great because it leaves us free to fabricate the events. Maybe Roger made a pass at Rita, or praised Stephen Stills, or claimed that his Dylan ripoff Mr. Spaceman is a good song based on an original idea.

Whatever McGuinn did, it was bad, because it led to the song Rock and Roll Time.

What other explanation could there be for a song this awful? Neuwirth and Kristofferson are listed as co-writers, along with McGuinn, and even at their drunkest neither Bobby nor Kris ever even dreamt of a song this intolerable.

The thing is, Kristofferson, in my experience, is pretty incapable of open cruelty. Kris is my sixteenth cousin, or something, so I've occasionally spent time around the guy at family reunions. He's always dazed, humble and smiling, more eager to talk about the greatness that was my grandmother than his own accomplishments, which he calls meager. And his wife of 40+ years accepts no nonsense and is incredibly kind. So he's gotta be a good guy. Plus we all know that Kris was the only ethical person in the room when New Yorkers laid into Sinead O'Connor at Bobfest.

So what the hell did Roger do to Kris that made him so angry that he helped McGuinn with this intolerable anthem, which opens with Roger asking the question, "Do You Think I'm A Loser?", to which we all instantly answer with a very strong "Yes!"?

But hold on. Maybe it wasn't anger after all. Yeah! Here's what I think actually happened:

I'll bet Neuwirth was a joker. After all, Dylan, the original jokerman, loved Neuwirth until he grumped off to Woodstock in 66. So I'm guessing that in 74 Roger, Kris and Neuworth were all very, very drunk when Neuwirth decided to play a joke on good old McGuinn.

All it took was a paper napkin. McGuinn famously bugged the hell out of Dylan for a song idea in 69 until Dylan relented and scrawled the first mediocre thing that came in his mind onto the nearest napkin. The result was Ballad of Easy Rider, the last great song McGuinn ever wrote.

(Yes, I just claimed that McGuinn did not write a good song after 1969. It's true. Have you listened to Car Phone recently?)

So I'm guessing Neuwirth wrote the following on a napkin then surrepticiously left it on the bar for Roger to gobble up the moment he and Kris stumbled out into the evening:

Great song idea from me and Kris when Roger was off draining the main vein: "Rock and Roll Time." First line: Do You Think I'm a Loser?

Then McGuinn, who was forever in need of a hit song basically from the moment Gene Clark first left the Byrds, thought he still had the magic touch when it came to ideas from discarded napkins, so he hustled home, finished the song, credited it to all three of them, and then sold zero copies of his 1976 album as a result.

Smooth move Roger!

Indeed, the album, Cardiff Rose, is a collection of terrible miscalculations. Let's make a handy list that McGuinn is welcome to claim that he wrote himself for the upcoming reissue's liner notes:

Jolly Roger believed that what the world needed in 1975 was Soft Rock Pirate Music. So he wrote the title track and covered Pretty Polly as well. The world needed a lot of things in 75: for example, we needed someone to give us a firm heads up on climate change, as well as another someone to interest a young Donald Trump in a one way ticket to Uranus, and a final someone to punch Stephen Stills solidly in the nose. Soft Rock Sea Shanties were not on that list.

McGuinn failed to take advantage of a top notch band on this record. If you made it to the guitar solo, you'll have heard that Rock and Roll Time is partially salvaged by none other than Mick Ronson. You know Ronson. 75 found him in-between Bowie's Spiders and Dylan's Rolling Thunder Review. Ronson plays all over the record and gets a producer credit. Mick and everyone else was so impressed with the resulting record that Cardiff Rose is not mentioned in any way whatsoever on Ronson's Wikipedia page. I'll bet Mick's grandkids dedicate a few hours each week to hunting the web, seeking out and destroying any links they can find between grandpa Mick and this album.

Roger managed to swipe yet another Dylan masterpiece on this record, Blood on the Tracks' outtake Up To Me, which was entirely unheard by the public at that point. Score one for Roger. But he listened to Dylan's quintessential take and felt that the song needed to rock. ¡Jesus Christo Roger! Buy a frickin clue.

Ronson isn't the only Dylan regular to appear on Cardiff Rose. Our favorite bass player to name drop, Rob Stoner, is on the record as well, plus drummer Howie Wyeth and multi-instrumentalist David Mansfield, who was a teenager at this point. Stoner hopefully did not corrupt Mansfield's youth by explaining the origins of his surname.

The funny thing is that much of the iconic Rolling Thunder sound arguable comes right from these misguided sessions. That's because Neuwirth played a second joke on McGuinn immediately after this record by grabbing Ronson, Stoner, Wyeth and Mansfield and jumping off Roger's pirate ship of fools and straight into Dylan's Rolling Thunder Band. Dylan's ship had come in once again, and they were all eager to don white face and perform some far superior piracy by helping Dylan blow our minds.

If Dylan had decided to make Up To Me into a Rolling Thunder screamer we'd probably all love it.  But Dylan knew better. He'd listened to Cardiff Rose.

#Youtube #roger mcguinn #bob dylan #stephen stills still sucks #rob stoner #soft rock sea shanties #kris kristofferson #bobby neuwirth #rolling thunder #mick ronson

[pie-of-flames]

Beatles Break Up

New here, nobody knows me but I have opinions, so I'm answering this question.

10. If you were going to blame a single person for the Beatles' break-up, who would it be?

I'm new to the fandom and not the most knowledgeable person, but my current opinion is mostly John. (#something happened in India). Brian's death plus John's marriage falling apart plus whatever happened in India sent John into a downward spiral. We know he was deeply depressed in the latter part of the India trip and after his return to England. I think everything he did after that was his attempt to deal with his emotional pain, including hooking up with Yoko, doing heroin and latching onto Klein as a savior. Those things lead to the breakup.

I think that he probably had borderline personality disorder. (Caveat: not a psychologist, but I have personal experience that informs my conclusion.) People with BPD latch onto a "favorite person" on whom they're dependent for mental well-being. PAUL, then YOKO. They have no internal sense of self or identity, so they depend on others to create it. (PAUL and THE BEATLES, then YOKO) Consequently, they easily feel rejected based on imagined slights. Their psyche can't tolerate their favorite person (or others) rejecting them. Once they feel rejected, they have to do a 360 and reject the favorite person in turn to protect themselves from that all-consuming feeling of rejection, which is a threat to their sense of self. They find "evidence" to support this rejection story and fully believe in it even if it has no basis in reality.

Does this sound like anybody we know?

John - see his comments all through the 70's and his continuing obsession with Paul years after the fact. Also fear of abandonment is a common obsession of those with BPD. You can easily see how this fits John. (Parents rejecting him, always afraid of being abandoned.) People with BPD commonly suffered childhood trauma. They also commonly use drugs and alcohol to self-medicate and fill the emptiness inside. They take absolutely everything personally. And they can't put themselves in other people's shoes at all. They're incapable of it.

They also feel emotions intensely, way more intensely than most people. It's difficult for average people to understand. The emotions can be overwhelming, sometimes to the degree that every day life is difficult. (and drugs are a great way to dull those emotions). They just can't handle things the way most people can. Also they have no boundaries because they need to fully mesh with someone to feel OK.

Something happened in India™ that made it intolerable for John to keep Paul as his "favorite person." It could just have been that Paul left early and John read that as personal rejection when he wasn't feeling well mentally. Someone with BPD could definitely have reacted that way and justified their emotional reaction with a bunch of made-up stuff. Or maybe he did approach Paul sexually and Paul rejected him. John was probably also threatened by Paul's engagement to Jane. Whatever it was, it's reasonable to interpret his subsequent behavior as trying to move on from Paul as his "favorite person."

Yoko had been pursuing John for a long time after she didn't get anywhere with Paul. Here she was, offering herself up as a way out of John's dilemma. He immediately latched on to her like a lifesaver. Which she literally was. He couldn't tolerate the situation he was in emotionally. She could provide him a new identity, apart from Paul. I mean, John and Yoko spent one night together and suddenly were soulmates and creative partners? Who does that? Someone with BPD.

Then she got him hooked on heroin. Heroin allowed him to escape the Paul and Beatles situation and mesh more fully with Yoko. And once he was addicted, it took over his life. He was literally incapable of fully engaging with Paul and the Beatles, and it made creating music more difficult. He grew more reliant on Yoko to navigate life for him and to be a partner in addiction. (eg speaking for John in Get Back meeting) The other Beatles couldn't understand him any more and he'd cut himself off from them with his Yoko and heroin obsessions. In Episode 1 of Get Back, he's not really there. He looks totally out of it and barely interacts. He definitely looks high at some points. He rebounds in the later episodes - the change is remarkable and I wonder if he's taking some other drug to counteract the effects.

He wanted Paul to save him, but Paul decided he wouldn't/couldn't. It's not clear what exactly John wanted Paul to do, but bringing Yoko to the studio etc, was a clear provocation. Having her right next to him constantly while they were trying to work? Who does that? Someone with no boundaries who has insatiable emotional needs. who wants to show their former "favorite person" that they can survive without them with a new "favorite person." Maybe Paul was tired of dealing with John's needs after a dozen years. Dealing with BPD people is difficult and exhausting. I suspect if Paul had "saved" him, the Beatles wouldn't have broken up in the way they did. But maybe it was too late.

"Walking on eggshells" is a common experience for people close to a BPD sufferer, who often explodes and has temper tantrums caused by their overwhelming, intense emotions. Maybe Paul didn't want to confront John about Yoko or anything else because he was afraid John would blow up or quit on the spot. Drug use exacerbates the emotional rollercoaster.

A healthy person could've stayed in the Beatles and had a new relationship at the same time. But John couldn't because being in the Beatles meant being confronted with Paul's perceived rejection of him, not to mention his jealousy of Paul's musical ability and feeling bad about himself. (Paul has a million song ideas, creates Get Back, Let It Be and Long and Winding Road practically instantaneously, while John has almost nothing, Paul always asking him for songs.)

Anyway, I think John's heroin addiction is crucial to the break up. An addict isn't emotionally available, they only care about the drug (and for John, Yoko by extension), they feel lousy when they're not high and they don't have good judgment.

Which brings me to Klein. Klein knew how to flatter John and appeal to his needs but in addition, John needed to be rescued. Klein promised to do that. Brian had always taken care of everything and now he wasn't there. (These guys had never had to be functioning adults! They went from being teens to gigantic superstars who had everything done for them. Their accountant bought their houses! They never carried cash!) The combination of intense emotional need plus addiction got in the way of John being able to see Klein for what he was; he ignored the warning signs that Klein couldn't be trusted. Yoko supported this because she seems to have never even liked the Beatles and wanted John to go out on his own with her? (Just surmising. I don't know much about her.)

Obviously, things happened over time that made the situation worse, but John caused the trajectory towards breakup, IMHO. I think he suffered from serious mental illness made worse by drug use. He became unmoored when his pillars of semi-stability eroded - Brian and Cynthia and (something happened in India™} Paul. His mental illness made the situation emotionally intolerable for him and he had to extract himself, leading to Yoko and heroin. Those things, in turn, lead to further separation from and difficulty communicating with Paul and the band. Etc etc. etc.

#the beatles #Beatles break up #john lennon #paul mccartney #borderline personality disorder #amateur psychology #this is possibly stupid and I don't know what I'm talking about #something happened in india #Brian epstein #yoko ono

[sagemoderocklee]

do you think any naruto characters would have allergies to any foods? i have so many family and friends with food allergies but almost no tv shows or stories have characters like that.

anon you have come to the right person because i have food allergies and i treat lee's reaction to alcohol as a food allergy! im allergic to alcohol when ingested as a drink but if it's cooked into foods i am typically fine--which is fine cause i was never much of a drink anyways. im also allergic to wheat and soy, and am currently struggling to figure out if--thanks to long covid--ive developed an allergy to some fish or if its something else as ive been having reactions to some things but it's not consistent

i have two fics where lee's alcohol allergy is featured--Plus One and RtS--and the reactions he has to it are just pulled from my own experiences.

i haven't thought about this for other characters per say, but one thing im sort of vaguely aware of is that allergies are more prominent in america/the states because of the way our food is processed. there's an article i read recently about gluten intolerant folks in the states not reacting/having such mild reactions to bread made in europe just because of the processing of grain there vs the states. i did not try this out when i was in ireland because i was 1. anxious and 2. didn't want it to actually work and then come back to the states and not be able to have bread

anyways you didn't ask me about MY medical/food history, im just rambling, but the reason i bring this up is i guess i wonder how common food allergies would be. obviously dangerous allergies that result in anaphylaxis aren't going to be eliminated just because of how food is processed so it's very possible that other naruto characters could have or develop allergies.

sometimes allergies develop because you eat soooo much of something, so maybe like naruto develops an allergy to something in ramen lmao

i def think the only time i do see food allergies in media is when it's being used as a contrivance to create a situation where a character almost dies because of food--sometimes it's done for comedy, sometimes it's used in a more series fashion, but i think i really have only ever seen it used in that context (recently watched My Best Friend's Exorcist which was... a film. honestly disappointing but i hear the book is very good. but the point is there was a nut allergy in that and it was, again, presented early on so that down the road when one of the characters was possessed she could essentially poison the person with teh allergy)

it would be really nice to see media shift and acknowledge the seriousness of food allergies outside of as a plot device. it would be like cool to see something where it showcases that food allergies are a disability and can make you feel very isolated. like your friends all go out to eat but you cant join them--ive had situations where ppl have picked a place for a con tradition and been like 'oh sorry i guess you can just sit there' and i think ppl don't realize just how shitty that is!

anyways rambling again! sorry anon! thank you for the question!

#having food allergies is truly so tragic #i would feel bad if naruto developed an allergy to something in ramen #like what a betrayal

[tj-crochets]

If you don't want to answer this, I understand, but I'm really interested in allergies and I have a question. Are you also allergic to wine? I might be wrong but I'm p sure vinegar is made from wine, so I was wondering if that also triggers your allergies.

The short answer is yes, kind of? The longer answer is, I *think* the thing I am allergic to is acetic acid, and vinegar is made up of acetic acid and water. Some vinegars are made from wine, but not all are - Wait, okay, I googled this and ended up calling my mom (who, among her many other jobs she's had, has been a winemaker) and you were totally right. Wine has acetic acid in it, just in a lower concentration than vinegar, so I am allergic to wine. Very good to know!

Separate from the vinegar allergy, I also can't really have alcohol. It's not an allergy, exactly*? I have a mast cell disorder**, and alcohol is both very high histamine and a histamine liberator, so this means wine is the trifecta of thing I shouldn't have lol I'm on high enough doses of daily antihistamines*** that on good days I can tolerate a very small amount of alcohol when cooked into a sauce, or a very VERY small amount of vinegar (also only when cooked into something), but I still avoid them, and will be bumping wine up my list of "things I should avoid" right next to vinegar. *there's a difference between histamine intolerance, mast cell degranulation, and IgE mediated allergies, but I'll be honest I'm fuzzy on that science. I just know most if not all of my allergies are not IgE mediated (there's no allergy test for vinegar so I can't say for sure one way or the other about that one) **idk which one yet, but probably MCAS. Tests are inconclusive but the allergists are pretty sure something ain't right with my mast cells lol ***do not take the level of antihistamines I am on without talking to a doctor. Mine are prescribed and keep me from being covered with hives 24/7 but I am taking twice the recommended dose of two different antihistamines, plus montelukast

#ask away! #creakingpines #allergy mention #alcohol mention #food mention #medical mention #this is probably the weirdest way I've ever learned about one of my own allergies. Thanks! Genuinely thank you I appreciate it #I avoid wine anyway for histamine reasons (and also because I think it tastes bad) but I did used to cook with it. Good to know I shouldn't #I am very very very glad to have figured out the vinegar thing #it's been three and a half years since I ended up in the hospital for allergies! #the previous four or five years I'd end up in urgent care or the hospital twice a year every year #every april and late june/early july #because I was allergic enough to the pollen around those times it lowered the threshold of what it took for me to have a severe reaction #or as my allergist would say #it filled my histamine bucket almost to the brim #my allergist back in california was really awesome #idk if or how it impacts my allergies but I also have unspecified adrenal issues #as in: doctors know something is wrong but not what

[rewiringwithpsilocybin]

DAY 31

Up with purpose and energy. Routine completed. 

I’ve also come to the end of the first month of my microdosing program so I thought I’d look back and reflect on the pros and cons. 

Overall, it has been a very positive experience with the major plus being the amount of energy that I’ve observed. 

Interestingly, this energy doesn’t seem to diminish over the three days between doses but remains more of a constant. I wonder what will happen when I stop the microdosing? 

For the most part, I’ve managed to do what I set out to do: 

Publish this daily blog 

Consistently exercise and meditate

Live more in the moment

Listen less to the voice in my head

Focus more on what people are actually saying

Fast for ten days

Drink less alcohol

Eat more sensibly

Lose weight

Begin and continue memory/learning program

Take more action

This is a promising list to have attempted all at once and I think the psilocybin has contributed massively.  

I’ve noticed that I’m more focused on these positive actions and I’m wasting less time so therefore addressing my procrastination issues which was one of my major goals. 

On the less positive side: 

A few super bursts of energy

Some alcohol related hiccoughs where I indulged

Suffered a stomach ache for the best part of a day

Pins and needles in my toes (this has subsided)

Of course items three and four may have nothing to do with psilocybin and item two counts as a failure on my part.  

I intend to continue for another month, or just under, since I’m going abroad and trying to smuggle illegal substances past intolerant customs officials could end in disaster.  

After that I will take a break for a month as directed by the Fadiman Protocol. Depending on the results I may then resume microdosing for another eight-week period. 

One item of interest to report today. Late morning, I experienced a super burst of energy not unlike drinking too much coffee. However, unlike caffeine, it didn’t lift my heart rate which i checked.

It persisted for about 30 minutes before subsiding. Where it came from I have no idea. This is something I would expect on dose day but not on the second day. Just an observation.

This was the last day of my fast. 

[meetmymouth]

the intimacy of little things: II

PART ONE

au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc

notes for this chapter: mature content, smoking and alcohol consumption, dysfunctional families, a wedding that goes wrong, past child abuse (mentions of burning) right after the two plus signs (++)

WORD COUNT: 32k | PINTEREST BOARD | PLAYLIST 

“Guys–” Harry sighs for the umpteenth time that morning, fingers fumbling with the buttons on the printer. “Which one of you used the printer last? I need another copy of the invoices but nothing’s coming out.”

“It wasn’t me,” Jo’s voice comes from behind him as she walks towards where Harry is standing behind the front desk with a blue folder.

“Well, just– fix it. I need it before I leave.”

“Excuse me, do I look like I have time to fix a printer? Now, get out of my way– this is bleach water and you’re wearing nice clothes today.”

February is just around the corner, and Harry thinks he would be miserable, dreading turning thirty in a few weeks if it weren’t for Taluah. Yes, this very thought might come off as unhealthy, but every day spent with her, she was making sure to leave behind a very permanent mark. It was merely a mark, maybe more like air, he reckons. Yes, an air, fresh– maybe smelling of easy peelers and jasmine, or something very springlike; apple cider or the refreshing smell of watermelon. She was good. She was so good to him, for him.

If he were to describe his previous relationships, ‘a never-ending rollercoaster’ would be an appropriate choice of words. When he left home and started making money and renting, Harry felt content living alone. In his first home–a tiny studio flat above a kebab shop–he couldn’t even fit a double bed let alone another human being to share his space with. He remembers the back pain he’d suffered for months before he could afford a somewhat decent mattress, or the nights where the four walls became so suffocating that he had to spend the night roaming the streets until he was nearly robbed at a knife point.

The thing was, after that storm in the shape of his dad, Harry thought living alone would bring him an incredible amount of joy. And it did, it certainly did in the beginning, but as he grew up, got into a relationship here and there, he found that he preferred waking up to a sweet presence rather than waking up alone. Sure, he enjoyed being alone, the solitude and stillness it brought him, but at the end of the day, he would love to have someone there with him, someone who shared the same views on life, and someone who preferred to be left alone from time to time, just like Harry did; but, just someone, someone he knew was around the corner, under the same roof.

He remembers the days –almost everyday– he woke up to screaming matches, cupboards slamming shut and fists slamming on the table or any surface his dad saw fit at the time. It was painful, to live and exist with him breathing down his neck, judging his every move, and when his mother passed away, Harry recalls an incredible amount of emptiness, as vast as the space itself, consuming him, making it harder to breathe each passing day. It was most improbable, the loss of her, and despite the man being intolerable, awful and an abusive piece of crap even when she was present in their lives, Harry feels as though she was his shelter, someone he looked up to every single day. Perhaps, the void came when Harry realised he would no longer be able to help his mother get away from the trainwreck that was their house –and life–, and look after her just like she did to him and his sister, when she was alive despite the circumstances. He felt guilty… inadequate.

At that very moment, inside his new shelter, a place full of hope and colours he’d never dreamed of seeing again, Harry turns his face to the sun. With the wind shaking the trees outside, it comes as a surprise when the gleaming ball of light remains put, warming up Harry’s face for a moment longer before it puts a tiny, barely there smile on his face and disappears behind a cloud, yet Harry’s cheeks stay warm and his smile is still present before he turns to the voice calling his name.

“Y’all right, mate?”

Harry turns to Finn, taking in his creased apron and wonky glasses sliding off his nose. He looks tired, and sweaty despite the early hours of the morning, and when Harry looks down, it all makes sense considering the dirt on his trousers and the mud under his wellies. He smiles at him first, then his eyes slowly dart back at Finn’s dark green wellies, eyebrows furrowing and he thinks it’s enough for him to read the expression on Harry’s face.

Finn gives him a sheepish smile. “I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

“That’s okay, mate,” Harry touches his pockets, just to check if he’s got his phone. “Are you still okay with covering the workshop for me today?”

“Yes. You can trust me.”

“I do, mate, I do and– thank you. Really.”

“Harry,” Finn calls behind him. “I got what you asked for, it’s in the back– in the kitchen.”

“Oh. I forgot about that,” he scratches the growing stubble before giving him a smile. “Tell Peter I said ‘hi’ and thanks for letting us knick a rose– I know they’re pretty hard to get,” he bites his lip, then fishes his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“No worries, man. I won’t keep you,” he waves his hand and smiles, both men already walking opposite ways.

Harry meets up with Jeanette –the name, now a new pronoun; Talulah’s mother– at Sibton Park Estate in Suffolk, where the wedding would be held, and as soon as he parks his car, he is filled with all sorts of emotions, varying from excitement to anxiety. He’s excited, thrilled, because it’s work– it’s what he loves the best, adding colour to a couple’s most special day. And he’s also anxious, because, well– this is Jeanette, Talulah’s mother. She’s someone Talulah almost despises, someone who broke beautiful, kind Talulah in so many ways Harry couldn’t even fathom.

Before Talulah, Jeanette was just a client.

But now, Harry thinks, he can’t look at her face without thinking about Talulah when she was younger, broken and unimaginably alone when she decided to leave her behind. Of course, she still is a client, Harry knew how to separate his work from his private life. But as always, when Talulah was the subject in question, Harry’s thoughts– and judgment seemed to become clouded and he wanted nothing more than to put her somewhere so deep and special inside him, to protect and cherish her if she allowed him to.

Walking through the gate, it’s only greens and browns, and the birds tweeting in the sky that welcome Harry. Sibton Park seemed to represent some sort of holism, a representation of organic unity in which a Georgian estate found life in the midst of nature. Harry wonders if it’s always sunny and green in this realm –for some foolish reason, Harry seems to find that word appropriate for this particular location–.

“Harry, you’re here– hi,” comes a chirpy voice from his right.

It’s Jeanette, her auburn hair perfectly styled and blowing in the wind as if each strand have rehearsed that same movement over and over again, and Harry thinks it’s unbelievable how put together and perfect she looks giving the very uncomfortable looking high heels her feet are supporting. She’s got her sunglasses on, a designer tote on her shoulder from what Harry can tell, and she adjusts her blazer while walking towards him without any trouble despite the pebbled path crunching underneath her feet.

“Hi, Jeanette. How are you?”

“I’m great! Wonderful, even. Happy you’re here,” she sends her sunglasses back, and gives him a bright smile, and a tiny, almost-there dimple appears on her upper cheek. “Lewis and I are so grateful– so, so grateful that you’re helping us, Harry. I appreciate it so much,” she nods, but opens her mouth again when she notices Harry looking around. “Lewis will be a bit late. He’s working today– he’ll join us shortly…”

It feels like a question, as if her tongue is twisting and burning with hesitation, but Harry gives her his best smile as he tries to get the image of little Talulah crying out of his head.

“Shall we go in?” He motions at the manor behind them with his head and smiles, his feet working before his brain as they carry him up the stairs with Jeanette following.

Freya, Jeanette’s wedding planner whom Harry spoke on the phone and emailed back and forth so many times, meets them in front of the estate’s beautiful orangery with a bright smile on her wrinkled face. They shake hands, and the short woman introduces them with Jon, who is in charge of the manor, the orangery in particular. The tour lasts for about thirty minutes as Freya talks about what goes where and Harry agrees with most of it.

“So just to confirm,” Harry writes down a few notes for himself and turns to Jeanette and Freya. “White lilies, limonium and cocculus for the tables. Same lilies and salal for your bouquet.”

“I feel like a pop of colour would be nice for your bouquet, Jen,” Freya chimes in, lifting her own head from the notebook in her hand. “What do you think, Harry?”

“Up to you, Jeanette.”

“I wish we could’ve done the wedding in summertime. I would’ve gone for–” Harry notices her eyes sparkling. “I would’ve gone for sunflowers. My– my oldest… loves sunflowers.”

“Niam?”

“No, not Lewis’ son,” Jeanette turns to Freya, a frown appearing on her face. “No, my daughter. Ah,” she ponders for a minute, a minute too long. “Talulah.”

There, Harry thinks. It feels strange, so strange and unfamiliar, almost shameful and overdramatised. He doesn’t like her name in her mouth, he finds himself thinking, it doesn’t suit Jeanette. It feels distant, and deep down, he knows it’s not in the way she said it and perhaps, it’s the grandness the name holds in Harry’s heart. It’s an important name, full of meaning, and whenever Harry says it– or thinks of it, his heart only expands more and more, and his insides grow, filling with an incredible amount of happiness and light. Talulah was all that. Happiness, light, all the good and bright things. But here, in this moment, the name only brings sorrow and shame, at least in Jeanette’s case. It feels that way.

Harry can’t help but swallow once, twice, until the lump in his throat goes away, leaving behind a heavy feeling in his chest.

“That’s nice,” he hears himself saying before he can control his mouth. He feels brave. “How old is she?”

The purse in her lips returns, and her eyes become smaller. The only sound in the grand room is Freya’s keyboard clicking and the bubbles in Jeanette’s drink fizzing away.

“She’s… she’s twenty-six.”

‘Twenty-five!’ Harry wants to chime in. But he leaves it alone. For now.

“She really is your oldest one, isn’t she,” Freya chuckles, eyes still on her phone screen.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is. She’s a bright one. Very smart. Knows what she wants. Gets whatever she wants.”

“She will be here, won’t she,” the other woman chimes in again, her thick accent detectable.

Another pause fills the room, with Harry and Freya both buried in their laptops and iPads. Harry’s fingers work the keyboard like clockwork, but his mind is somewhere else, still hooked on the fat, meaningful pause. He shakes his head and looks at the words he’s been typing, and can’t help but smile in defeat when he realises what he’s been typing has been nothing but nonsense, incorrect letters and mispronounced words.

He looks up at Jeanette, now more assertive waiting for her much anticipated –in his case– response. The lines on her face now seem deeper, more noticeable, especially on her forehead. 

Before the woman can say anything, all three of them turn their heads to their left, where the loud footsteps are being heard. Harry first notices his shoes, Oxfords, and shinier than anything Harry’s ever seen that day. They’re awfully clean, considering the mud outside, then his eyes move upwards, to the tall man’s trousers. They look expensive, sharp, carefully ironed so that each line in the middle of his trousers looks as if they’re straight out of a catalogue. Paired with are a white, crisp shirt and a suit jacket.

“Lewis,” Jeanette basically cheers, her features relaxing now as opposed to her worried expression prior to Lewis’ arrival.

Though it’s relaxed, she recovers quickly, the frown returning as quickly as it disappeared. As the man walks towards them, two phones in hand, Jeanette stands up.

“You’re late,” she quips, but not before she leans in for a kiss. “Hi, honey. Come, I’ll introduce you to Harry.”

It feels weird, unsettling, watching Talulah’s mother kissing a man. It shouldn’t, seeing how they’re adults, taking that step to marry soon, but nevertheless, it still feels off considering what Harry knows about her.

“I know, I’m sorry, darling. Traffic– hi,” he walks towards Harry, ignoring Freya, and Harry figures they’ve met before. “Lewis. Nice to meet you.”

He shakes the hand that’s being offered. “Harry. Nice to meet you as well.”

“Hi, Freya.”

“Hi, nice of you to join us.”

This makes the man shrug, and he lifts his arm in the air as if he’s surrendering. His smile is blinding, teeth pearly-white, and he notices a dimple forming with the smile he’s giving the petite woman. He has broad shoulders, clearly works out, Harry thinks, and when he walks closer to give Freya a hug, he notices a scar on his cheek. He’s handsome, hair perfectly styled, and he can’t help but wonder what his own hair looks like at the moment. Probably greasy, and messy.

“We were just talking about my bouquet.”

“Oh? Nice.”

“And the… ah, the plants– what are they called again, Harry?”

“Foliage.”

“Yes– that. For the tables, honey.”

Lewis quirks an eyebrow. “Tables will have plants?”

“Foliage,” Harry chimes in, voice quiet, and Lewis turns his attention to him. “I’m sure you guys went over all that together but–” he looks down at his notes. “White lilies, limonium and cocculus for the tables. They’re very beautiful– all year around. It’s going to look beautiful but still simple, as per Jeanette’s request.”

“Right,” Lewis nods, and touches Jeanette’s shoulder, rubbing it there before he turns to Harry again. “You know the best. I won’t interfere.”

“Is there anything you would like to add? I’m in touch with both Freya and the lighting crew as you all are, you can trust us, it’s going to be a beautiful wedding.”

“Dreamy!” Jeanette cheers. “Thank you, Harry. Freya. You guys have been the best, getting all this done in such short notice.”

“Not a problem at all, Jeanette.”

Lewis’ phone goes off and he excuses himself, walking away from them to take the call but before he does, Harry can’t help but notice the frown on Jeanette’s face, eyes watching like a hawk as Lewis walks off.

When Harry finally gets back to his car, it’s around four o’clock, and the warmth of his car makes him sigh in content as soon as he closes the door. It doesn’t take him long before he’s taking his phone out of his back pocket, finding Talulah’s contact name, contemplating whether to call or text. His eyes find the clock on the radio once again, and decides a text would suffice for now, knowing she’d be at work still. He doesn’t hesitate as his fingers move swiftly and confidently, and a smile takes over his whole face when her face pops up in his mind, and how good it was the last time they were together.

For Harry, Talulah was like… she was his April. That time around when the weather got warmer and warmer to the point where the only thing people seemed to consume was either Fabs or Calippos. That was exactly it, Harry thought, she tasted like the first ice-cream of the summer, the first beer at your favourite beer garden as the wind blew out your hair, and she was like the cold grass under the April sun, and the shade under a willow tree. Harry found himself smiling whenever he saw sunflowers, remembering the way her eyes gleamed when she noticed the sunflowers outside the shop, or when he got her her own in a pretty bouquet. From there, whenever new sunflowers were delivered from a local farm in Essex, Harry would fill with such joy, the vibrant petals looking as if they were smiling, reminding him of Talulah and her beautiful face.

It doesn’t take Talulah long to get back to Harry. He’s just turning right onto A12 when his phone goes off, signalling a message from Talulah. He knows, because he was so whipped that his ears could pick up her special text tone no matter what. He knows he can’t really look at the text, with his navigation still on, so he waits patiently until he finds the nearest petrol station. When he finally arrives back to London, he finds himself humming along to Delegation’s ‘Heartache No. 9’ drifting from the radio, heart full and feeling all fuzzy inside.

After about twenty minutes that seemed oh-so-long to him, he’s parked in front of her flat, legs shaking and palms sweating as he tries to shake the feeling off, wiping his palms on his trousers while he lets the breeze caress his flushed cheeks. Forgetting about the outside world for a minute, Harry misses Talulah leaving her flat, still trying to fix the collars of her borg jacket, but seems to be struggling with the strap of her bag catching on her hair and the zipper. When she finally makes it to the car, she’s all smiles, eyes twinkling under the soft hue of pinks and oranges from the setting sun somewhere behind the trees.

“Hi,” she chuckles, seemingly noticing Harry staring longer than necessary, but still, her voice is silky, soft, and beautiful. “How are you, did you wait long?”

Harry leans into her touch when she leans forward to kiss him on his cheek, then presses her hand where she kissed him.

“No, not at all. I’m good, how are you? You look lovely.”

“Thank you, I’m good. Wasn’t expecting you to text, thought you said you’d be busy all day.”

“Change of plans,” he smiles. His hand reaches out and brushes the soft flesh of her nose, then her cheekbone, smiling at the way she looks down at her lap, crinkles appearing by her beautiful eyes. “I wanted to see you. Thanks for meeting up with me.”

“Ah,” another smile, but this time, her eyes are focused on him. “I’m glad you texted. Where are we going? I hope I’m not too… dressed up. Or down?”

He turns the key, the car coming back to life. “You look perfect. And, it’s a surprise.”

“No, I hate surprises!”

“Well, too bad, babe. You’ll see. Seatbelt on.”

London evenings in March were no different than January and February– it’s still pretty chilly, and some would argue that the nights in March were even frosty. It wouldn’t matter how cold you felt –even wrapped up in warm layers of clothes and a scarf to match– because the view as soon as you reached Tower Bridge was simply breathtaking. It didn’t matter whether you were a local or were only visiting– it never ceased to amaze people even though most Londoners found it in themselves to hide the very fact. The sunrise, pinks and blues and oranges, the sunsets, big, fluffy clouds peeking out from in between the big chunk of metal as it turned round and round in the air; everything seemed magical in London, even something as simple as a sunset. He didn’t know if London was just a consumerist paradise where everything seemed picture-perfect. For the time being, though, Harry didn’t care about the enchanted fantasy that was London but Talulah.

Talulah in her cosy winter coat and her blinding smile.

The two reach the stairs leading up to the bridge hand in hand, the bridge illuminated by a string of lights and the buildings around them, and Harry finds himself staring at their intertwined hands. Despite the cold and the breeze, her hands were now warm as opposed to Harry’s cold, dry, and calloused hands. For a moment, he feels bad for her, having to hold onto a work-roughened hand, but when he looks up to her smiling face, the worry fades away.

“So,” she says, thumb stroking his skin, but he doesn’t think she’s doing it consciously. “What’s the plan?”

At her question, he remembers the plan, and feels the weight of his backpack. “Night picnic.”

“You’re crazy. It’s freezing!”

“Was that– is that bad? Should’ve thought this through–”

“–No, don’t be silly,” she squeezes his hand. “I fucking love that. I’ve never had a night picnic.”

“Really?” Harry asks with eyebrows raised. They’re now standing right where the Jubilee Gardens is sat on a large, very large land.

“Why is that surprising?”

“I don’t know, you just seem the type to like spontaneous, quirky shit.”

“Oh, shut up,” she says, but the smile never leaves her face.

“I’m just teasing.”

“What are we eating, what’d you bring? Should’ve told me, I’d bring us some food… I could’ve baked us cupcakes… people always say that, right? I actually don’t know how to make cupcakes.”

“So sweet, aren’t you,” he mumbles, and places his hand on the back of her neck, bringing her into a sweet kiss. It’s short, but it’s the sweetest. “It’s okay. I… I didn’t bring much,” the well-mowed grass swishes underneath their feet as they walk further into the park. “Nothing fancy. Popped down to Tesco, got wine and a cheese platter too.”

“Happy days,” she looks around before turning back to him. “Thanks for this, you’re a dream.”

“Taste the cheap Tesco cheese first before you put a ring on my finger. Come on, I even brought a blanket. Just let me know if you’re too cold and we’ll leave.”

With a nod, she once again reaches for his hand as they both stare into the large expanse of damp grass, eyes searching for a decent enough spot for the both of them to perch on. There’s not many people on the grass, only a group of friends laughing as they chat, cheap plastic champagne glasses in their hands. Harry guides them to a spot he’s got his eyes on, and he reaches for his backpack. It’s packed full, so full that the zipper looks all wonky when closed, and as soon as the bag is fully open, the contents of it spill, nearly falling to the grass by Talulah’s feet. He recovers quickly, and she helps take everything out one by one carefully.

There’s a decent-sized blanket, food, and a glass of red accompanied by two red party cups. He lays the navy blanket on the grass, hoping there aren’t any rocks, and extends his hand for Talulah to hold as she kneels down, then tries to find a comfortable position on the blanket. It’s when she finally lets out a satisfied hum that Harry finds the opportunity to take a look at what she’s wearing.

Of course, Harry knows he complimented her when she first got in the car, because yes, she looked lovely. Perfect, even. But he didn’t need to see her clothes to compliment her. And yes, that sounds extremely cliche, lame even, but Harry thought Talulah would look good in whatever she was wearing. First, she had the most beautiful smile, and the most gorgeous face that lit up whenever she smiled and laughed, which made Harry swoon. That was all it took for Harry to think she looked good. Just her smile, her adorable laugh, and her soul, warm, friendly, these were all the things that made her pretty.

As he sits down, trying to find a comfortable spot for his arse, he notices her jeans, pink with hearts embroidered in every inch of the fabric. He thinks it’s the perfect choice for someone as lovely as Talulah. He’s glad she’s got a thick, cosy jumper underneath her coat so hopefully, he thinks, she wasn’t going to get too cold.

“Ooh,” she hums, bringing Harry back from his thoughts, and she reaches for the plastic package laid on the blanket. “Is this bacon sarnie?”

“I got two of each, bacon and… chicken and mayo.”

“I’m eating this one. Hey,” her delicate fingers, adorned with rings work the plastic as she speaks. “You got meal deal? I hope you got Pom Bears.”

“So you like Pom Bears,” Harry’s lips turn upwards into a knowing smile. “Noted. Though… I didn’t get Pom Bears, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Here, let me open yours.”

He watches as she opens it, fingers tearing apart the material as if she’s trying to be as gentle as she can while trying to save the bread from the awful object. She opens it at last, and she looks up at him with a beaming smile as if to say, I did it, I did it for you, and Harry looks down at his knees, trying not to turn into a puddle of love-sauce, eyes teary and face a grinning mess because, how could he not– she was perfect. Under the dim lights of London and the sweet breeze, she was nothing but a perfect companion for Harry.

She hands her his now-open sandwich with a smile, and he takes it from her, thumb stroking her skin briefly before he retracts his hand, bringing the sandwich up to his mouth.

He takes a bite, then meets her gaze. “How’s your day been,” he asks after a beat, foregoing the obvious statement he was about to make; telling Talulah about his day which of course included none other than her mother.

“It was all right.”

“Work all right?”

“Yeah,” she takes a moment to swallow, then gives him a smile. “Same old. Hey– how’s Bo?” The smile only gets wider as soon as she asks about Bo.

Harry smiles at her enthusiasm and watches her wipe the corners of her mouth with her napkin that he’d hand her moments ago.

“He’s great. Probably on the sofa, enjoying his freedom.”

“Do you think he’s hungry? What time do you usually feed him?” She frets with a crease between her eyebrows.

“He’s grand, don’t worry. I’ll feed him as soon as I get back…” he reaches for the plastic cups. “Wine?”

She nods, and extends the cup. He ends up filling half the cup, the size considered, and they take a tiny sip at the same time while the gentle wind blows, occasionally entering through their thick layers of clothing and making them shiver briefly before it’s gone. It’s silent, except for the other group chit-chatting quietly, and Harry thinks this is one of the best nights he’s ever had in a long, long time. It wasn’t uncomfortable, the silence. Quite the opposite really.

Harry realised how much Talulah appreciated the quiet hum of their movements and the silence around them as opposed to when they actually talked. Don’t get him wrong, he knew Talulah liked talking, she liked talking to and with Harry and it was wonderful when you mentioned something she was extremely passionate about: he noticed when he did, her lips would part, and eyes would get bigger. There appeared crinkles by her eyes briefly before she began talking about whatever it was that made her this awe-struck and excited. She was expressive; she loved using her hands while talking, Harry realised. But when the subject was one that interested and inspired her a great amount, he noticed the hand movements significantly increasing as she waved them around and let out a giggle here and there whilst talking. It was amazing, and heartwarming.

But silence.

She seemed to treasure it when it fell upon them, which was exactly what she was doing at this moment.

“What’s on your mind,” Harry drawls before bringing the cup back to his lips.

Talulah doesn’t look startled when his voice pierce through the silence. Instead, she lets her mouth turn upwards into a lazy smile, her cup pressed against the corner of her lips as her other hand holds onto her food. For a while, she doesn’t speak. She just watches the green grass just exist under their bodies. Before she speaks, she takes a moment to sniff once, then takes a big gulp of her wine which makes her wince a little at the sour taste.

“Jeanette,” she breathes out. “Do I go to the wedding, or do I just ignore the whole thing like I always do?”

Harry thinks the question isn’t necessarily directed at him; it sort of sounds like a question Talulah is asking to herself. Thus, he doesn’t jump to answer it and instead, he watches her for a while as her gaze, once again, is focused on the grass.

“Do you want to go?”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. I mean, even if I wanted to go, I wouldn’t want to go because I wanted to go.”

“I,” Harry starts, but can’t go on before a laugh escapes his mouth. It’s loud, and he’s certain that a few heads turn their way, though he can’t seem to give a fuck considering the smirk on Talulah’s beautiful face.

“Okay,” she laughs along with him. “I know that was weird–”

“No… no– is it weird that I know exactly what you meant by that?”

“Well, yeah, a little but– you really know what I mean? Like,” she clears her throat, the half-eaten sandwich long forgotten by her feet. “Even if I did go, it would be just to… just to have closure, kind of. Or maybe ruin her wedding day, I don’t know, I’ve yet to decide.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I don’t care. Plus, I would get to dress up, right?”

Harry recognises the tone. He does, because it’s the exact same tone his sister used to use when she wanted to change the subject. So, he lets her. And goes along.

“What would you wear,” he entertains the idea. He smiles when she smiles at the question, clearly feeling grateful.

“I don’t know really, but something extravagant. Something she would probably hate. Something… orange?”

He chuckles, and looks down for a moment. “Orange?”

“Orange,” Talulah confirms with a shrug. “I feel like that’s a colour not everybody likes. She hated it, though, she might like it now that she has a new life.”

They sit in silence for a minute, both of their half-eaten sandwiches now discarded on the ground, in the middle of their bodies. He chuckles, more to himself, and she looks at him with raised eyebrows, though a grin follows close behind.

“What?”

“She doesn’t like orange.”

Talulah’s brows furrow, lips becoming a thin line. “How d’you know?” She asks, clearly protective and weirded out.

“You know how I’m working with her… she created a Google Doc for us of colours and flowers, fabrics she didn’t like. For the wedding…”

“That sounds like her.”

He takes a deep breath, then extends his arm so he can touch her cheek with his free hand. He strokes her cold, but soft cheek, smiling when she leans into the warmth of his touch.

“You would look absolutely breathtaking in orange.”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“I hate when you use that– that voice and compliment me!”

“Why,” he’s laughing now, and he pinches her ear playfully before retracting his hand. “I like seeing you all hot and bothered. Get shy on me at the smallest compliment… so sweet.”

“You’re doing it again!”

It’s another thirty minutes when Harry mumbles quietly, ‘come back to mine’, and they walk to his car, bellies full not only with food but also butterflies, and Harry feels the imaginary weight of the framed rose in his bag. Despite the nerves, he keeps walking, hand in hers while the other is gripping the empty wine bottle in his hand. It’s silly, how he’s carrying it around instead of stuffing it inside his backpack, but he doesn’t want to stop walking with her hand in his, and wants to keep walking as much as they can before they finally stop and their hands break apart. When they reach his car at the car park near Waterloo Station, they stop and Talulah watches Harry stuff the bottle into his bag, careful not to break the glass of the photo frame. Once in the car, they both can’t help but smile at nothing in particular.

Harry finally pulls the car out of the car park, both their cheeks hot with both bliss and the sudden warmth that comes as a surprise when they enter the car. For a while, neither of them speak, and from the corner of his eye, Harry sees Talulah reach for the radio. It comes on, and Harry has to hold himself back from singing along to the advertisement. Feared by the bad, loved by the good, Robot Hood. He doesn’t though and instead, takes a deep breath while waiting for a song to come on.

“I love this song,” Talulah’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Is it okay that I turned the radio on?” She stops swaying gently in her seat and looks at him, even though he can’t turn his head her way.

He smiles. “Of course it is,” he pays attention to the song, but he doesn’t recall ever hearing it.

For a brief moment, he catches the text on the screen of the radio, only making out ‘Something Good Can Work by Young–’.

“Thanks for tonight,” Talulah turns the volume down a little. “No one’s really done anything like that for me before, it was very sweet.”

She places her hand on his thigh, and Harry feels his skin burn despite the layer in between. It’s sweet, her touch, and it sends chills down his spine that travel all the way to his tummy. He smiles, because of course he does, and places his free hand on hers on his thigh.

It’s ridiculous, he thinks, how Talulah thinks this is something big, something so important, what Harry did tonight. It was the least he could do, really. How could anyone not cherish and spoil someone as sweet and precious as her? It’s bizarre, and as foolish as it sounds, it annoys him.

He squeezes her hand, and turns his whole face to her when they conveniently stop at a red light.

“You deserve it. You deserve picnics, and you deserve everything good and beautiful, Talulah. You really don’t have to thank me,” he insists when he senses an objection coming. “You do. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Well,” her thumb strokes the back of Harry’s warm hand. “Thank you, anyway. It was really sweet, and I loved it.”

“I love spending time with you.”

“I do too… you’re just– something else,” she looks down, a breathless chuckle escaping her mouth.

It makes him smile, because all he seems to do whenever she is near, seems to smile and giggle like a lunatic. Like, someone who is–

Harry doesn’t know how to carry on that particular stream of consciousness, so he brings the hand up to his lips and presses a long kiss there. Her hands smell like grass, and leftover perfume. Something spicy, yet relaxing, and he can’t help but press another peck, making her sigh, and hold onto her seatbelt tighter.

When they arrive at his, Harry has to park a few cars down from where the entrance door is, and has to stop himself from cursing out loud at whoever decided to park in his space. The fog is beginning to show itself, and he watches with squinted eyes as Talulah wraps her arms around herself in hopes of protecting herself from the sharp, cold air. She waits for him to catch up to her as they walk to the entrance, and when they’re side by side, she reaches and interlocks their fingers despite the short distance they’re about to make. It makes him smile regardless, and they look at each other with beaming smiles before Harry uses his fob to open the main door, hand still in hers as he ushers her inside the building.

“So glad there’s a lift,” Harry hears her mumble when he presses the button, and it’s so cute that he wants to reach and pull her into a mouth-bruising kiss.

Once inside the lift, Harry realises how long it actually has been since he last kissed her properly save for a few pecks here and there. Too bloody long. He thinks it would be too pathetic if he just grabbed her right then and there, and pressed their lips together as the lift took them up. It would be worth it, well worth it, seeing how cosy she looks in her big coat and hair a little disheveled from the ruthless wind. He would have to wait.

When the robotic voice announces his floor, they get out, still hand in hand, and Harry guides her through another door before they’re finally in front of his door. As the key turns, he can already hear Bo’s breathing on the other side of the door, and he knows he’s probably sat there, tail wagging, waiting for Harry to enter and give him a cuddle. And he’s right. Because as soon as the door unlocks, they’re met with Bo, a ball in his mouth as he sits proudly, but eyes so big and telling that Harry knows he’s hungry.

“Oh my god– hi, Bo,” much to his dismay, Talulah lets go of his hand, already on one knee as she pets the Labrador.

“Great, once again, my dog steals my thunder.”

“Oh shush… hi darling, hi!” she keeps stroking the matte fur of the dog, then scratches his head as if giving him a massage.

Of course, Bo looks absolutely smitten and in love, which, Harry thinks, is no surprise.

He smiles at the sight, because it looks so natural. As if Talulah fits in with the flat, and Bo, and ultimately, Harry’s life. She looks like she belongs there, as if it’s an ordinary thing for them, coming from outside and finding their dog waiting for them. And Harry thinks he wouldn’t mind having her here whenever she liked. He would certainly love that, he thinks.

He walks closer to them and strokes the exposed skin of her neck, making her gasp at the sudden touch. She’s ticklish, Harry notes.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he moves his hand to her shoulder. “May I take your coat? Would you like a cuppa?”

“Oh,” Talulah gets up on her feet, and gives him an appreciative smile, letting him take her coat and bag. “Thank you and– yes, please.”

“Of course, darling. Come on, Bo. Dinner time, mate.”

They walk to the living room, Bo already catching up to them with tongue hanging out of his mouth, clearly excited at the mention of dinner.

“He must be so hungry, poor lovey.”

“Do you want to give him his food?” Harry asks.

“You sure?”

“Of course! If you want to, that is.”

“I would love to.”

Harry nods, guiding her towards his kitchen as he opens one of the cupboards and takes out a large bag of dog food. Talulah watches as he measures the smelly food with a cup and hands it to her with a smile.

“His bowl is right there,” he points to the porcelain bowl by the kitchen table, earning a nod from her, and he watches with arms crossed as she calls for Bo to follow her.

He doesn’t need to be told, though, seeing how he was so alert as soon as he saw Harry open the familiar cabinet and take out the measuring cup. He still watches with a smile as Talulah pours the food into his bowl, and sing-songs ‘Bon appétit’ which makes him bite his bottom lip because could she get any more precious than that?

“Did you just say ‘bon appétit’ to a dog?” he quips, but the smile never leaves his face.

“What,” Talulah shrugs, already standing in front of him by the oven. “You don’t?”

“Not really… should I?”

“‘Course you bloody should.”

He finds himself erupting into a laugh, the laugh leaving behind a soft smile as he tries to locate the teabags.

“You’re a very weird girl, Talulah.”

“Thanks. Look who’s making tea for that weirdo, though, eh?”

“I suppose it’s the least I could do, hm?”

As soon as the teabags are placed in their mugs, Harry takes a step closer into Talulah’s space, and his hands find her waist, pulling her into him. He squeezes there, eyes locked in hers, looking for an answer to his silent question. It’s her who pulls him in by the neck, fingers tickling the skin there, making goosebumps appear on his skin, and she finally presses their lips together like they have been hungry for each other for centuries. It’s as if they haven’t been touched in years, lips moving in harmony as if they’re citing a heartfelt poem. Instead of words leaving their mouth, it’s silent pleas and pleased sighs, mixing in together with saliva and the beat of their hearts.

She’s holding onto him for dear life, hands travelling every direction, from his neck to his chest, and he pulls her into him even closer, pressing their fronts together as he parts his mouth and lets her take whatever she wants. What she wants, it seems, is to invade Harry’s mouth, and his tongue, and she does so by slipping her tongue into his mouth. If Harry wasn’t too far gone, he would have a laugh at the way their hums and wet noises are accompanied by Bo’s chewing at their feet. 

Instead, he refuses to acknowledge anything but her and the sweet, velvety sounds she’s making while they kiss. He lets her have her way, wrapping her warm, wet mouth around Harry’s tongue as she sucks on it before Harry places his hand on the back of her neck, pressing their mouths closer and it doesn’t make much difference, given the distance between them.

Though, as Harry brings his kisses down to her neck, kissing and grazing his teeth across her pulse, right below her ear where he knows she’s sensitive, Talulah decides to pull away, hand coming up to his chest as if to distance themselves. A gargled, throaty groan leaves his mouth, clearly frustrated considering the tingly feeling at the tip of his cock, and he stops his kisses.

He looks at her, her shy gaze focused on their feet, and presses his thumb on the corner of her mouth, wiping off the remnants of their kiss.

“Sorry,” he decides to say, voice coming out quiet and croaky as if he doesn’t want to startle her. “Sorry. Got way ahead of myself there, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay,” hands find the side of his neck, stroking the now-flushed skin of his with her thumb before she gives her a lopsided smile. “I did, too… oh! Tea.”

Harry follows her gaze, and finds the kettle, the steam now going up and up until it reaches the ceiling, then disappears downwards almost like a volcanic eruption.

“I’ll pour the water– can you get the milk?” Harry points at the fridge with a smile. He tries to ignore the ache in his pants.

Talulah reaches for the milk that was hiding behind a large tub of greek yoghurt, and opens the lid. Despite knowing how Harry takes his tea by now, Harry can sympathise seeing how big of a responsibility it seems to get someone’s tea preferences right. As he watches her pour the milk with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, he smiles, and Talulah’s eyes find his as if to ask if she’s doing it right. It doesn’t last long of course, her pouring the milk, seeing how Harry likes only a dash of milk. But still, she’s doing it with such concentration that it makes him bite his lip so he doesn’t let out a delighted chuckle.

They pass Bo with mugs in their hands, the dog never once lifting his head from his water bowl, and Harry tells Talulah to sit wherever she wants. It sounds funny, he realises, after it leaves his mouth because there is only so much space she can choose to sit. As he tries to find the second coaster for his tea, Talulah takes a seat on the far left of Harry’s soft, white sofa, knowing full well he would join her on the other end of it. It reminds him so much of the day he visited her in her home, and the way her lips looked wrapped around a blunt. When he recalls the events that followed, Talulah on her knees, Talulah’s hands all over him… he feels his cheeks flush and a tiny, barely-there smile paints his features. He seems to be caught red handed when his gaze catches hers, and the smile on his lips seem to get wider and prouder.

“What? Why do you look so smug for?” A giggle leaves her mouth, eyes travelling across his face as she does so, and he locks their gaze for a moment, not wanting to take his eyes off of her.

“Nothing– nothing at all.”

“Now, that’s bullshit.”

Harry smiles. “It’s really nothing. Just remembered something, ‘s all,” his gaze wanders to Bo for a moment when he enters the living room, and goes straight to his bed by the window. “The time when– we were at your place.”

She smiles, clearly recalling the events. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and Harry feels anxious that he’s gone and cocked it up, and made her angry by bringing it up. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, she didn’t want to remember the time they were so close, so intimate. Maybe Harry was making a big deal out of it and maybe, Talulah didn’t like Harry as much as he did her. But, that would be mental, surely, considering the way she pressed their mouths together just a moment ago, and the date they had near the Eye… it surely wasn’t nothing to her. Harry surely wasn’t just a random guy for Talulah.

Then, Harry senses her blush. He does, because she looks down with a tight-lipped smile, then it turns into her biting her bottom lip just like she seemed to do when she was deep in thought.

She hums in agreement. “I remember,” she says, eyes still on her lap. “Yeah. And…” after the mug finds its place on the coffee table, she locks her gaze with Harrys, a grin appearing on her face. “I feel like you owe me something.”

“I do, don’t I…”

“Mhm,” Talulah wrinkles her nose in an adorable manner.

Neither of them make a move, and Harry drops his gaze to Talulah’s lap. The smile never leaves his face though, and it’s good to see Talulah smiling as well. He doesn’t want to initiate anything. But, Talulah doesn't seem to share that thought when she begins scooting over to where Harry is sitting. He can see the sweat glistening her forehead and her chest keeps rising up and down, as if she’s harbouring a bird in there, and that bird is now trying to break free and fly away.

Harry finally makes a move, and places one hand on her neck, stroking the delicate skin there as Talulah tilts her head, leaning into his touch. He brings her closer by the neck, the movement harsher than his previous ones, and he feels himself sigh when she gives in to the touch so willingly; head tilted, mouth parted and eyes closed. So, of course, it doesn’t come as a surprise when she ever so gently licks the calloused skin when she feels Harry’s thumb pressing down on her bottom lip. It’s a hesitant lick, like she’s tasting the waters, so Harry presses harder to let her know.

She gets the memo, she does because she takes his thumb into her mouth so willingly and in such fervour, teeth grazing the skin as she sucks on it briefly, eyes never leaving his while she does so. Harry can’t help but blink slowly, mouth parted just like hers was a moment ago, and watches as she devours his finger like it’s her last meal. It shouldn’t be this hot and arousing, someone sucking on your finger, but God, the feeling of her warm mouth around his finger, the skin getting pulled with her sucking which immediately sends shivers down his spine and the tingly sensation is back in his stomach, later travelling to the tip of his cock as he feels himself twitch in his underwear.

“Fuck, baby” is all he can muster out, and as soon as he finishes his sentence, the pet name makes her perk up, and Harry doesn’t know if it’s possible for her pupils to grow any larger than they already were.

She looks ethereal, is all Harry can think of. It’s almost as if they’ve switched the roles, and Harry is now behind the lens, capturing such beauty, feeling enraptured at the fact that he’s now in a moment where he can enjoy her to the fullest, just like Talulah had mentioned on their first date while talking about why she loved being a photographer. It’s silly, how he can think back to such pure moments while she’s here, right in front of her, looking all obscene with her mouth wrapped around his finger. At that, he closes his eyes for a moment and his lips turn upwards in a grin, completely fine with the fact that she’s the one who’s got him wrapped around her finger.

She pulls away from his fingers for a minute, just so she can look him up and down, taking in Harry’s enlarged pupils and sweaty face, with his stance weak as he watches her with eyes unblinking. He catches as the corners of her mouth lift in a smirk, eyes full of mischief, and she finally brings him closer by his neck, pressing their lips together in a bruising, filthy kiss. It’s wet and with every breath, their chests rise and touch each other softly before she moans into his mouth, then bites his bottom lip, sucking on it before she pulls apart without even letting Harry have any say.

With fiery eyes and shaking hands, Harry whispers. “No, come back,” he says, eyes squinted and forehead chasing hers, but she doesn’t.

“I need something,” she whispers back, and lets him press their sweaty foreheads together.

Her breath hitches when Harry places his hands on her waist underneath her top, and brings them up until he reaches the side of her boob. He can feel the shape of it, and it makes his mouth water at the thought of feeling her hard nipples grazing against his skin, his hands, and he finds himself fantasising about them in his mouth as he licks them and bites them, and finds himself groaning at the image in his head, her boobs painted with reds and pinks, marked and bruised, just the way he knew she would like.

“Harry,” she repeats herself when he doesn’t answer her. “I need you to touch me– please, I need it. So bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, please.”

Harry clears his throat, hoping to get rid of the grogginess, and places a hand around her neck. He doesn’t make any effort to tighten his hold, only strokes where he knows the vein is with his thumb before he leans in, and presses a gentle kiss on her forehead. The sweat burns his lips, then tongue, but he doesn’t mind it. He would never. He looks up at her, and smiles because she is too, her eyes basically shining and she finds herself leaning into his touch.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he decides to take her hand, knowing her patience is wearing thin. “Bedroom.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees her stumble over her own feet but she recovers quickly, and grabs the offered hand before following him to the bedroom. It’s small, the flat, so luckily, they reach his room in no time as Harry guides her to the bed, and gets on his knees before her without bothering to close the door. It takes her a few seconds before she’s comfortable on the bed, and Harry watches as she sits up on her elbows, eyebrows raised as she waits for him to do something. She’s wearing too many layers, Harry finds himself thinking, but one look at her parted mouth and fiery gaze watching him, he decides to place his hands on her hips and help her get out of her jeans.

Her baby pink underwear comes into his view, and he wants nothing more than to just rip it off of her body, and devour her right then and there. With his heart in his mouth, he leans forward and presses his lips to where her skin meets the side of her underwear, and leaves a gentle kiss before he looks up at her. When he’s satisfied with the fact that she’s watching his every move without even blinking, he presses another kiss to her soft skin, humming at the lovely smell of her body wash and a smell that is so Talulah. 

He can’t get enough of her, so he allows himself to part his mouth and graze the area with his teeth, then sinks into the flesh, earning a throaty moan from her. At the sound, Harry feels his cock twitch and pulse in his underwear, and he needs to rid himself of the restraints of his clothes as soon as possible so he doesn’t cum as soon as something as faint as a moan leaves Talulah’s mouth.

“Harry,” she says, and Harry can see her struggling to hold herself up any longer with the added pressure of his hot breath hitting her skin. “I need you, please.”

“Yeah? You’re wet?”

She doesn’t answer though, and instead, she thrusts her hips so that Harry can linger his gaze on her clothed pussy. He notices a darker spot in the middle, in such perfect hue with the light pink colour, and it makes him crazy, knowing how wet and needy she is under the fabric.

He groans, forehead resting on her inner thigh before he moves up and up, until he can practically smell her; not exactly sweet, a smell so comforting and Talulah, mixed with sweat but intoxicating nevertheless. It’s hot, the sight of her wetness coating the fabric, so it’s not exactly surprising when he leans forward and gets his mouth on the material, teeth grazing her pussy ever so softly over her underwear and she finally breaks, a startling moan leaving her mouth as she thrusts into his mouth. Without wasting any longer, he begins sliding down her underwear and she tries to help to the best of her ability, and as soon as the tiny underwear is on the floor, Harry launches forward to get his mouth on her.

He can see a bit of her wetness coating between the lips of her cunt, and it’s such a filthy sight that he feels a painful tingle at the tip of his cock, begging to be touched. Though, before he can even think of pressing down at his cock, or even unzipping his trousers, Talulah’s hand finds his hair and pulls harshly. He hisses, knowing there’s no time for him to do anything but get his mouth on her. Her skin is warm against his mouth, and he allows his tongue to lick around the skin, before he remembers to use his fingers to part her cunt and finally get his mouth on where she needs him the most.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he can’t help but mutter into her wetness, tongue darting out to lick the slippery mess she made.

“Just, please– fuck…”

“You made a mess, baby,” he blows on her cunt, and she whines at the unexpected feeling.

He licks her cunt like it’s his last meal, devouring her salty skin, and he opens his mouth wider, sucking on the lips of her cunt before he sinks his teeth in, grazing the area while she keeps writhing under his touch. Harry can feel her wetness coating his chin and all over his mouth, and the thought of her making such a filthy mess of his mouth makes him lose it all, and he flattens his tongue on her cunt, hand finding its place on her belly as he starts moving his head, hoping she takes the hint and finally moves to the rhythm Harry has created. She gets it, of course she does, and starts moving her hips, helping Harry fuck into her cunt better with his tongue.

His small bedroom fills with profanities and filthy sounds that they’re both making, and Harry’s tongue begins to feel worn out at the friction, but he never once dares to stop his licks because he knows it’s all about her, and he wants to give her everything.

After a moment though, her hips stop moving and she retracts her hand from his hair, leaving him confused and frustrated in return.

“What– are you okay?”

“I am… I just– I need more.”

At that, Harry feels like someone’s just ripped his heart out, and stepped on it numerous times before it stopped beating. He can’t help but frown, gaze focusing on a stain on the carpeted floor because he doesn’t think he can make eye contact with her. The pain in his cock, one that he loves feeling, disappears, and he can feel himself get softer and softer as the seconds pass, thinking he’s done something– something bad or… worse; he’s been doing a shit job at making her feel good.

Talulah’s hand on his shoulder interrupts the cursed thoughts running through his head, and he dares to look up, finding her looking at him with sweaty face, disheveled hair and chest rising up and down as if she’s been running a marathon.

“Hey,” her hand presses on his cheek, and he leans into the touch. It’s warm, a bit sweaty. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I swear. You’re so good… so good, Harry.”

The words, as if wrapped in silk and honey, reach his ears first, then his cock, and he practically preens under the complement.

“Can you– can we take these off?” She strokes the side of his neck, then touches his shoulder softly. “Then, you lay on the bed… I want to try something, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah… yes. Anything you want.”

He stands up with her, and lets her take his top off, along with his trousers. They pool around his ankles, along with his briefs, and he can’t help the hiss that leaves his mouth as soon as he feels the air on his cock. It hurts, just like it did before, and he looks down at it pathetically, waiting for her to just do something. He’s selfish, he knows, but he would love it if she took him in her hand and gave it a good stroke before she opened that beautiful mouth of hers to take him in her warm mouth, and sucked until Harry was a moaning mess, spurting thick stripes into her mouth. 

But he waits. He waits for her to take his hand, and guides him to the bed, lets him sit before she motions at him to lay down. He’s not entirely lost, knows where this is going, so he can’t help but look down at his lap again, at his nearly-leaking cock before he presses his palm against himself, trying to take the edge off as pathetic as it sounds.

“You good with that?” She asks, and he wants to shout, you’re not even telling me what you want! Though, he only nods, and watches her smile briefly because concentration washes over her features, and she goes to straddle his hips.

He sends his head back with a groan at the contact of her wet ass cheeks with his hard cock, and he senses her relax, trying hard not to touch him any more because if she did, he would explode. But, she seems to have changed her mind when she moves her hips back and forth once, very slowly, and it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad that he has to grab her hips with a bruising hold, and she looks down at him, lips wet and bitten, trapped between her teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” she whispers, and strokes his chin, then travels her fingers to his nipple. “So, so pretty, I don’t know how you’re real,” the pad of her finger circles the brown nipple that is now hardening under her touch, and she grins when Harry grits his teeth, clearly enjoying the attention on his nipples. “I want to make a mess on your face. Can you– please, can I?”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum…”

“Hey,” without hesitation, she slaps his chest, and it takes only a second for goosebumps to appear on his skin. “No. You’re gonna make me cum first, aren’t you? It’s my turn… stop being so greedy,” beautiful fingers tweak one of his nipples, smiling at the reaction before she goes and pinches it, hard, and watches as it gets harder and darker.

“Fuck. Yes– yeah, okay– okay, just– please, come up here.”

She nods briefly, though Harry thinks it’s more to herself than anything, and she begins her body up. With each movement, he can feel her wetness leaving tiny and barely-there trails on his body, belly, chest, and with Harry almost panting now due to adrenaline, she finally reaches his face and straddles it, her cunt now covering his mouth and nose much to Harry’s satisfaction. It’s like she’s everywhere, and she really is, at least her pussy, and Harry feels his cock twitch up, and he knows precum is already oozing from the little slit. His hands, now shaking, find her hips and adjust her lower body so she’s completely pressed down on his face, his mouth already parted as he mouths at the little hairs there, wanting to taste her more because he just didn’t get to do that properly before.

She moves a little, cunt stroking against the stubble and his mouth, and a melodious moan escapes her mouth.

“I’m gonna,” she mutters, and Harry sees her eyes close, clearly as frustrated as Harry. “Make me feel good, please,” a whisper reaches his ears, and he knows she’s not directly talking to him.

It’s exactly what she wants, and it’s so hot how she’s so far gone and wet that she’s willing to tell him what exactly it is that she’s expecting from him. He doesn’t want to disappoint, so with fingers bruising her hips, he begins licking her cunt, getting his tongue in there so he can find her clit where he knows she needs him the most. It’s so hot, having her overpower him at this moment, and Harry goes in to suck the slippery skin into his mouth as much as he can and her hips buck up in surprise. As he sucks and licks her wetness into his mouth, she begins sliding up and down his mouth, using him like a toy to fuck herself, clearly wanting more and more with each passing minute and he thinks he’s about to pass out.

“Go on,” he manages to say, words coming out muffled. “Fuck yourself on my tongue. Get what you want.”

And she does. Oh, she does.

Harry feels the blood rush to his cock every time he hears her moan and thrust her hips faster, and with eyes closed and mouth wide open, he lets her move up and down. He can feel her warmth on his tongue, and a beautiful pain shoots through his body when he feels the soft nub of her clit against his tongue, and from there, her movements increase and they become more erratic. She’s a sight. She’s so beautiful and fucked out of her mind it makes Harry whine, and he finally retracts one hand from her meaty hips and finds his needy, leaking cock. He can’t help but moan into her cunt when he feels just how hard and hot his skin is, veins feeling like they’re ready to pop any minute now.

He can’t exactly reach for the lube or his mouth, so he makes do with fondling with his balls, a pathetic excuse of a groan leaving his mouth at the touch. He’s sensitive, and if he keeps touching himself, he’s going to finish. But he can’t seem to care. So, he keeps squeezing his balls, then drags one finger up to the leaking tip before he smears the precum all over his slippery tip, then begins thumbing at it, squeezing gently as he strokes his tip.

He takes his mouth off of her for a second, and murmurs something about being almost there which she responds similarly, hips never stopping their movement as she keeps fucking his tongue like her life is depending on it. It happens too fast, and he knows Talulah is feeling the knotting in her stomach too from the way her upper torso seems to lean forward in an attempt to hold something together. Harry thinks it’s to hold the feeling in, not wanting this to end, and he can sympathise, as he cums, the thick, white stripes of cum paints a crude, messy picture on his stomach and he’s almost certain that some of it manages to land on the lower part of her ass.

They’re quiet except for their quickened breaths filling the room, chests rising up and down frantically as they try to come down, and come to their senses. His thumb stroking her back and waist, Harry helps her move lower until she’s sitting on his chest, eyes almost shut, her face an embodiment of bliss and ecstasy.

“You good,” he whispers, and tries to make eye contact.

She finds his gaze, and a tired smile appears on her face. She just hums, and her hand finds his on her waist, thumb stroking the back of Harry’s hand while her other hand wipes the sweat off of her face, then neck.

“D’ya want to clean up? I’ll bring you some towels and you can also take a shower?”

She knits her eyebrows, and bites her lip. “I’ll be fine… though, I wouldn’t say no to a towel.”

“Of course, love. You good to stand up?”

“Yeah,” she begins working her legs, and sits in the middle of the bed, waiting for him to bring her a towel.

She’s still very much naked, and Harry can’t help but let his eyes wander for a second before he leans forward, without even thinking, and he presses his lips to her damp forehead, then the corner of her mouth, smiling so wide when he hears her sigh.

It smells awfully like vanilla and canned peaches in the room, accompanied by a continuous snoring coming from the living room. Steam is coming out of the freshly made tea sat on Harry’s bedside table, disappearing after a second, leaving behind a lovely smell. With a lazy smile on his face, Harry turns to his side, finding Talulah, back pressed against fluffy pillows, now dressed in only her jumper while the bottom half is still naked except for her underwear and a yellow throw blanket covering her feet.

She cracks her knuckles and turns to Harry, copying the smile on his face before she reaches for the mug on her side carefully, and takes a big gulp. Even though the bedroom is dark, except for the floor lamp in the corner, Harry can make out a tiny, barely-there frown, and he fills with worry despite the fits of laughter and a packet of bourbon biscuits they shared half an hour ago.

He watches as she takes another sip, then places her mug back on the bedside table, hands reaching for Harry’s. She grabs it, and turns to him, lips turned upwards in a smile where a frown painted them a moment ago, and she offers it to him. It’s sweet, and it makes his insides hurt in the best way possible.

He grins, and lets the hot beverage warm him up. “Ta,” it comes out quiet, and muffled with the way the brim of the mug is pressed to his bottom lip. He takes a big gulp, just like her, and sighs as the warm drink leaves him cosy, and satisfied. “I’ll make us some food,” he says, and begins straightening up in bed, extra careful not to spill his tea, but is stopped by Talulah.

“You don’t have to, I’ll go anyway.”

“What? No,” he finds his phone under one of the pillows, and taps the screen a few times until it lights up. “It’s nearly dinner time. I’m cooking something for us.”

“Harry, you really don’t have to. We can order takeaway.”

“I’ll cook, it’s fine,” he chuckles at her puzzled expression. “I know how to cook, don’t worry, you’re safe.”

“Well, if you say so.”

“Stir-fry? I have some chicken breast in the fridge. And veg. What d’ya think?”

“Sounds lush.”

They walk to the kitchen, mugs in hand, and it’s surprising how Bo doesn’t even stir in his sleep when Harry hits the table with his hip and Talulah lets out a snort.

“You eat chicken, right?” He opens the fridge, and rummages through the vegetables. He turns to her with some spring onions and three sweet peppers in hand. “Or… onions?”

“I’m not picky. Hey,” she spots the JBL speaker on his counter. “Can we put some music on?”

He’s now putting the pan on the hobs, and goes to open a cabinet, presumably searching for the oil.

“Sure.”

Once she’s got her phone from the living room, she comes back in the kitchen with Spotify already open, and fingers scroll through numerous playlists before she finally taps on one. She thinks of scrolling more, selfishly wants to find a song she likes, but is interrupted when Harry’s speaker comes on, so she exits the app to connect her device. It doesn’t take long for it to connect so she’s on Spotify again, finger already hovering over the shuffle button.

Aretha Franklin’s ‘You Send Me’ comes on, and she smiles, Harry abruptly abandoning the task before him to turn his head to where she’s standing beside the fridge, and he chuckles, sending her a private smile.

“Good song,” his fingers are back to what he was doing before, dicing the onions into perfect shapes while the oil is sizzling in the pan.

“I love it.”

“I do, too. A legend.”

A moment passes, the chopping sounds increasing when he places the peppers on the chopping board. He’s careful, she can see that much, and she wonders if cooking is as therapeutic to him as it seems from where she’s standing. She steps closer to him, just so she can watch him in a better light, watch his long, ring-free fingers work the colourful vegetables as if he’s performing, like painting or something as delicate and mesmerising as that. He’s got his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, and she feels her neck and cheeks warm up at the images from before, how good his mouth felt on her burning body as he fed on her like it was an earned prize, his last meal.

“So you like cooking then,” she muses, and watches as his lips turn upwards in a sheepish smile, dimple forming on his cheek, and she wishes she could just lean forward and press a kiss there.

He begins chopping the mushrooms that he’s gotten out presumably when she was searching for her phone.

“I do. Went through lots of mud cake phases. Then uncooked spaghetti because obviously, I wasn’t allowed near the stove. I love cooking but I think,” the mushrooms are spared into a separate bowl, then he starts working the chilli. “I love watching my friends enjoy the food I cooked for them. If that makes sense.”

“It does! Can I also just say, it’s so fun watching this. I’m really enjoying it.”

Harry looks up at her, messy strands of hair framing his beautiful face, and he grins. “You like watching people cook or you like watching me cook for you?”

“Oh, stop being so self centred!”

Standing while doing nothing, she starts feeling weird, so she gets closer to him, leaning forward to get a closer look at what he’s doing. At the lack of distance between them, he looks up again, lips drawing into a small smile as he watches her inspect his work. Her head now in Harry’s way, he closes the small gap between them and she feels his lips on the back of her head. He presses a series of kisses there, making her tilt her head in surprise.

She straightens up again, and a bashed smile paints her features. “Kissing the student… highly inappropriate,” she bumps their shoulders, earning a laugh from the curly man whose focus now seems to be on the vegetables.

“Didn’t know you were trying to learn. Wait,” he rubs his temple with his knuckles, and Talulah holds her breath when she notices he’s still holding the knife. “I forgot about your Sunday roast fiasco.”

“Hey, I trusted you!”

“Watch and learn–”

“–No, that’s–” she watches as he tears the plastic with two large chicken breasts inside, and purses her lips as he places them on the chopping board. “You have to wash the chicken first– let me do it.”

Harry looks up with a smirk. “You sure?”

She knew how to cook chicken. She did, and she might even be a bit cocky about it considering how you would rarely catch Talulah in her kitchen with an apron on, cooking a proper meal. Her repertoire was limited to chicken, potatoes, and of course, all thanks to her dad, chicken haleem. Her dad being an amazing cook, it would always come as a shock to some people that she didn’t have the same culinary skills as him, and really, had no desire to learn more than what was necessary to survive.

Her lack of involvement in the kitchen had always been the subject matter with Dan, ending up with him complaining about how she only knew a handful of meals to cook and that she should try and learn more, because ‘what are you going to do once you have kids, Talulah?’. Of course, at the time, they would both laugh at how unskilled she was next to Dan, or anybody for that matter, and it would always end up with Dan making her sit on the counter and watch while he cooked her favourites. She didn’t mind his teasings back then, it was all banter. But now, every little comment he made back then made her skin crawl with anger and it would give her the ick, thinking back to his arrogant comments.

She doesn’t realise she’s already by the sink, one large chicken breast in hand as she tries to take all the tendons off while Harry watches, hand placed under his chin with his gaze intense.

She lets the white bits fall to the sink, into a dirty plate, and turns to Harry. “Do you by chance have any fresh lemons?”

“Oh,” Harry looks up at her, as if he was too caught up in a daydream, and nods, walking towards the fridge.

He comes back with half of a lemon and Talulah thinks it’s good enough. The large lemon is being rubbed all over the chicken breast, coating every area before she repeats each step all over again on the other chicken, and finishes off with placing them on the chopping board before she walks back to the sink and grabs the sponge.

“You don’t have to wash it, T, leave it.”

“It’s fine, it’s just one plate.”

“Didn’t know you were so passionate about chicken,” he waits for her to look at him before he sends her a smile, and turns to the chicken again.

He looks so relaxed in the kitchen, and it’s a weird thing to say because she’s known him for only a minute it seems, but Harry somehow looked relaxed and content in every situation. That one time aside, Harry looked incredibly happy around his flowers and his shop. Then the cafes they’d been at, Harry had always fit in, looking happy and thrilled to be there. Then she thinks back to when Harry visited her in her flat, when they shared a blunt while drinking cold tea. He looked right at home. Always smiling, always making eye contact so he can catch you off guard and smile at you as if you’ve given him the whole world.

If she were to close her eyes right now, or any time Harry was in her space, a never ending line, much like the one on a heart monitor, would appear before her eyes; stable and never changing. It was nerve wracking for Talulah. It made her anxious, knowing things were stable. It was just the fact that she didn’t know what would come after that. How would things go wrong from there, or, how would or could she make things worse? She waits, and anticipates the worst. That’s the way it always has been for her.

For weeks, she would watch Jeanette get her treats, and things she so desperately wanted for years but could never make her voice heard to her mother. But, one day, Talulah would wake up to a massive dollhouse in the middle of her room. Then a breakfast on the table –rather than having it on the sofa with feet up on their beat up coffee table–, with a special guest that was her mum. She would pour her milk for her, and give her a tiny squeeze on the shoulder as she took her seat in front of her, and stirred her plain black tea with nothing but sweetener. Instead of burying her face to her phone, her free hand would itch on the table as they made eye contact while Talulah bit into her cold toast. A week would go on like that and Talulah wouldn’t notice the screaming coming from downstairs as she watched her dolls with a smile on her face with her new shoes on her feet and her usually messy hair now in two sloppy braids.

“You do that a lot,” Harry’s deep voice cuts through her thoughts, and she startles.

She looks down, then looks up at him, and a surprised gasp leaves her mouth when she realises he’s already put everything in the pan, noodles boiling in a separate pot. So she walks up to him, and gets a closer look at the contents of the pan. The peppers look wrinkled and soft already, and the noodles look like they need to take things slow with the way the water has already risen to the brim.

“Do what?” She tilts her head, and turns the heat down, watching the water surrender.

“Get lost in your pretty head. Go to places, it seems.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” he grabs her by the wrist until she stops fiddling with the buttons, and when she looks at him, he brings the hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss on her wrist. “Don’t apologise. Just wanted to make sure you’re all right, you know?”

“I am. I’m okay. Just a little sleepy.”

Once the food is ready, they bring their plates to the living room and Harry tells Talulah to get comfortable on the sofa when he sees her sit uptight, shoulders tense and eyes darting from place to place. They sit next to each other, feet up on his coffee table, and eat while Bo snores underneath Harry’s legs. Family Guy plays in the background while they make small talk about the food, work, and Harry’s loud neighbours, and they pass the time until it’s nearing midnight, which is when Talulah starts to become jittery.

At Harry’s request, they leave their dishes in the sink to soak, and Talulah is stripped away from the kitchen as he tells her she doesn’t need to do tidying up or clean their messes. He watches with a smile while Talulah gets her clothes back on in his bedroom, and suddenly, it feels very unfamiliar to her, the scenery and the atmosphere. She’s hit by a wave of sadness, and she can’t recall anything upsetting that had happened that night to cause her to feel that way. The opposite, really, she finds herself thinking as she gets her socks on. Tonight was good, fantastic even. She had fun, so much fun that even the thought of what’d happen on that bed makes her cheeks heat up, suddenly feeling nauseous at the happy feelings.

Once at the door downstairs, her Uber waiting close by, Harry looks hesitant, deep in thought, though when she reaches and grabs him by the strings of his hoodie, he seems to relax and give in at her touch, lips already on hers as they share a peck, then another one, and then another one. It’s sweet, he’s sweet, and Talulah can’t help but smile so big at his red cheeks, presumably both from the sudden temperature change from warm to cold and the kiss they just shared.

“Thank you for tonight…” she mumbles into his neck, and Harry squeezes her waist tighter. “Thank you for the picnic… thank you for everything, and the food. It was delicious… I don’t deserve all this.”

“Hey,” Harry nips at her clothed shoulder. “None of that. You deserve more than a picnic and a mediocre stir-fry. Thank you,” he squeezes again, and pulls them apart so that he can look her in the eye. “Thank you for coming, I enjoyed spending time with you. So much.”

“I did too.”

They both look at the sound of a window being rolled down, the driver leaning across the seat to give them a stare.

“I should go.”

“Okay… good night. Text when you get home, yeah?”

She smiles, and strokes his chin. “Will do. Night. Thanks again, H.”

It was simply idiotic, to feel this nervous, his stomach tied in knots, when today was just an ordinary work day for Harry. He starts his day with a cold press from the bakery down the road, and he sips the green juice all throughout his morning while he gets ready. It’s embarrassing really, how he makes sure to look his best, hair almost rigorously styled with each strand carefully placed over each other, and he takes longer in front of his bathroom mirror plucking a few unruly eyebrows here and there, then a few peeking from inside his nose he’d attempted but failed miserably when tears began rolling down his face.

His hands, almost shaking, apply his moisturiser which he usually forgets most days, and then reaches for his SPF. Once back in his bedroom, his fingers tap on his phone, double-checking the time before his gaze darts from jewelry to jewelry placed neatly on the dresser, and once he finds what he’s looking for, his hands unclasp the cross necklace around his neck and replaces it with a jade cross, then takes his appearance in in the mirror. Jeans and a jumper would do. As he’s adjusting the red, knit jumper, Bo comes in, head low and tongue out as he struts. The labrador sits at Harry’s socked feet and looks up at him, eyes unblinking as if he’s trying to let his disappointment known.

“Sorry, Bo, I’ll feed you in sec,” Harry mutters. Bo whines.

When Bo’s kibbles make a satisfying noise as Harry fills the dog’s bowl, he feels the rumbling noise echoing in his chest, his heart, and it reminds him so much of how he feels whenever Talulah is near, whether it be a thought away or at arm’s length. As cliche as it sounds, Talulah consumed all his thoughts, from the time he closed his eyes to the first cuppa of the morning. Harry was needy. He wanted her all to himself, and he wanted to constantly see her, be near her. He wanted to hold hands, press a tiny kiss on the corner of her mouth in public or stroke her cheek, and he wanted to read to her, wanted her to read to him, prepare breakfast side by side in the kitchen and blow into their hot teas with gleaming eyes as they checked each other out on the kitchen table.

Sure, he’s only known her for such a short period of time, and they didn’t have the chance to share a lot in that timespan, only a few dates here and there, but Harry already felt himself letting all his guard down once again, and fall uncontrollably without knowing when and where he would land. It was scary, and Harry would much rather die than make Talulah uncomfortable or make her feel trapped under his fondness. Fondness, Harry finds himself dwelling on that word, shaking his head in disbelief as a snort leaves his mouth. Was it only fondness, or was he actually scared of using a better word?

When the large manor of Sibton Park comes into Harry’s view, the clock on the radio shows 3:02PM. The sky is a gloomy shade of grey, the sun teasing the earthlings with its mere existence from behind a cloud, barely shining in pastel yellow hue, and it’s so not a wedding weather for him despite knowing the unreliable English weather, though he thinks it must be a sign; a mere symbol of today, not for him, but for Talulah. If it were his wedding, Harry would have found it annoying, having to marry the love of his life a couple of kilometres away from mud as wet leaves decorated the ground.

He sighs loudly, as if he’s trying to prove someone something despite being alone in the car, and thinks it’s time to finally make a move, go inside and, as much as he found it absurd and had his opinions on Jeanette, do his job– which is what he’s here for in the first place. He looks down at his Gucci knockoff boots for a minute, deeming himself somewhat lucky considering the mud on the ground, and it takes him a couple of minutes until he finally gathers all his things from the car and swiftly walks to the entrance of the manor.

He takes a few seconds to admire the simple arrangement at the entrance of the manor, white lilies surrounded by cocculus decorating the stairs, and they look extremely pretty even under the grey skies while the wet cement serves as a podium for Harry’s beautiful plants. Once inside, the low melody coming from somewhere not far away doesn’t come as a surprise, considering the few hours until the ceremony, and Harry continues walking with eyes searching for Freya the wedding planner’s small frame and a few others in charge of today.

“Harry,” he makes eye contact with Gale, another person in charge of the day, and Gale keeps waving his hands in the air despite the little-to-no distance between them. “All right, mate? Here, drink?”

Harry accepts the champagne glass with a smile. “Thanks, mate. Hi guys. How’s everything so far?”

“Perfect. Oh,” Freya pauses, like she’s remembered something. “Finn just went to check the orangery. Band’s doing their last rehearsal and Jeanette and Lewis are upstairs, getting ready– Jeanette in the yellow room and Lewis, I believe, is in the red room.”

“Okay, I’ll just find Finn and we’ll go over everything. Has Jeanette seen the final arrangement?” Harry takes a small sip of the drink, and leaves it on the small table next to the fireplace.

“She has, she’s really happy with everything. Lewis…” Freya seems to hesitate for a moment. “He’s very easy to please and he trusts Jeanette so, I think he will like everything.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, lips pursing in thought. Though, he doesn’t say anything and merely nods at her before he starts walking in the direction of the orangery, to find Finn and also see the place with his own eyes, to check if everything’s perfect as planned. As he walks closer to the orangery, the chatter and music get louder, and he finds himself humming to the oddly familiar song, but before he can make out where he’s heard it before, he sees Finn’s tall frame hovering over the arrangement on the table. When he feels his presence, Finn looks up and gives him a smile, a quick hello, and makes way for Harry to see everything himself, eyes watching him patiently as if he’s waiting for his teacher to give him his next task.

“Looks pretty good, eh?” Harry nods in the direction of the white lilies arranged beautifully on the long table, cocculuses wrapped around and underneath each flower.

“Perfect, boss.”

The next time Harry hears the same song again is when he and the other staff are all in a separate room inside the manor, all with drinks and some of them supporting a plate full of treats while they chatter away. Harry, though, can’t seem to stop thinking about Talulah, how she’s feeling and if she’s actually here like she said she would in her text a few minutes ago.

The last time they texted, Talulah informed Harry of her whereabouts, telling him how she –and a friend– were in her Uber at last and on their way to the venue, and she even made a joke about the driver being too pouty as if he too was annoyed by the event taking place today. Underneath the text, she’d included a photo of her in front of her mirror, in her dress, looking as though she was ready to steal hearts and make everyone everywhere swoon at her presence and the eye-catching, heart-wrenching orange dress that hugged her figure so beautifully.

He knew by now that all the jokes were told to make Talulah herself feel better, to hide the very fact that she was, in fact, upset or rather, angry at the whole thing. He knew she felt let down, more than ever, and he knew her overly enthusiastic mood about the whole thing; her dress, her new earrings, and the ‘surprisingly comfortable’ shoes, were just a cover up for how she actually felt inside. He was afraid she would break soon, actually break down, and that the whole nonchalant way of treating today would come biting her in the arse. Her words, not his.

Now seated in an uncomfortable armchair, Harry feels himself actually itching with the need to go down there, find her amongst all those ordinary faces and take her by the hand, and throw her in his car and drive away where no one would find them. Or maybe he could just silently walk down there, find her, and keep an eye on her the whole evening, because he knew things were only going to get worse from there. As terrible as it sounded, it was true.

When the Uber drove down the country lane, roads she knew like the back of her hand, Talulah felt herself grow nervous, suddenly feeling ill at the realisation that she was actually going through with this. It was mad, and uncalled for.

But, as she stands in front of the large estate with Ben on her side, she tries to focus on why she’s here in the first place. It certainly wasn’t because she wanted to be there for Jeanette, it was simply because, and as sadistic as it sounded, to see it for herself, see Jeanette and the love of her life with her own eyes because it was hard going through something without knowing what it looked like.

Ben touches her elbow in an attempt to make his presence known, to silently tell her that he’s there, and she’s thankful, so thankful that she can’t help but turn to him and pull him into a hug. She tries her best not to look around, despite knowing the arrangement was Harry’s own work, and they walk up the stairs that lead them inside the manor. They’re late, she knows, because there’s no one there to guide them through the large hallway, to where the wedding would be held, but they keep walking until she comes face to face with Harry’s tall figure, red jumper catching her attention before anything else, and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding at the sight of his beautiful face, letting him engulf her in a warm hug as his hands rest on her waist, thumb stroking her over the fabric in an attempt to soothe her.

“I was worried,” he murmurs into her neck, then places a kiss on her shoulder over the dress. “Are you… do you still want to go in?”

“I… think so.”

“Lulah, we’re already late so if you’re not sure about this,” Ben calls from behind her, and Harry perks up at the sound of his voice. “We can just leave– hi, Harry, I’m Ben.”

It makes her laugh, how he’s being polite whilst also trying to help her out, and she watches both men shake hands. As soon as she hears the distant melody, she feels her knees shake, everything now becoming too real.

This was a wedding, and her mother was the bride. There were guests, and everyone would smile and laugh as they watched two people who were most likely in love tie the knot and kiss each other. The thought suddenly becomes too real to handle. She feels her stomach turn upside down, and it feels like she’s going to start heaving but before she gives up on her knees and stomach, Harry pulls her into another hug.

She can feel them share a look, and Harry is the first one to break their silence.

“Let’s find a quiet place, hm?”

“I’m fine, I’m good– I’ll just go in–”

Harry stops her, hand grabbing her by the waist. “No, T. Let’s just find a quiet place to sit down. I’ll get you water and something to eat, yeah? You’re not going in there. I’m sorry but I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

“Come on,” Ben walks up to her, and holds out his hand for her to take.

She lets them both guide her somewhere she can just sit down, and she doesn’t even realise Harry’s gone until he comes back with a bottle of water. When the bottle is handed to her, she can’t help but look up at him, and if it weren’t for her fried brain, she would smile at him, or perhaps utter a ‘thank you’, but she remains silent as he opens the lid and hands it to her. She takes a few sips, feeling the coldness against her teeth, and she places it on the step next to her, hands going up to her dress to fix the skirt mindlessly.

She doesn’t want to cry. She was not going to. But her chest suddenly feels heavy, and her spine almost gives up, sending her backwards, but she’s quick enough to recover, hands coming up to hug herself as she tries to ignore the song being heard in the distance.

“Do you want me to call an Uber?”

She turns to Ben, and shakes her head slowly. She then turns to Harry– Harry who’s still on his feet, watching her with a frown on his face.

“I’m okay. Harry,” she looks up. “I– you’re working. Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t worry about me, I just want to make sure you’re okay, yeah? Have you eaten? I can get you something–”

“–I have. Please, don’t worry about me. I’m okay. It was stupid, coming here.”

“No…” he kneels in front of her, and his hand immediately finds her chin, making her look up at him. “Not stupid. I… do you want to leave? We can find a cafe or something close by. I have people here, they could ring if something were to go wrong.”

Talulah purses her lips. “No, Harry, I don’t want you to get into trouble for me. I’ll be fine, Ben’s with me,” she finds Ben watching them with a small smile.

“I won’t. You guys just wait here, I’ll find Finn and let him know something came up. Just,” his hand pauses on her cheek. Then he does something unexpected and presses their foreheads together, eyes closing for a moment before he opens them again. “Just wait here, yeah? Please.”

“Okay.”

Harry walks away from them and Ben sits down next to her, arm now wrapped around her as he presses a kiss on her temple.

“Do you want to go home? I’m sure Harry would understand.”

“No… it’s okay,” she sniffs, and rubs the bridge of her nose. “It’s also his birthday today. I feel horrible.”

“Don’t! There’s nothing to feel horrible for, babe. I promise. Hey,” he nudges her. “He’s hot.”

“Oh, please.”

“What? He is.”

They sit in silence for another minute before she stands up, and starts walking around, eyes darting from painting to painting on the walls, and she comes across a guestbook sign and she knows it’s for today because her mother’s name is printed at the very top, in a sumptuous calligraphy, and her curiosity gets the best of her when her eyes begin searching for the groom’s name. Obviously, it’s at the very top, right next to Jeanette’s name, and she can’t help but purse her lips at the name, suddenly feeling too sick that a man who, in a way, stole her mother from her finally had a name.

She could finally say her name, imagine it whilst thinking of them both– happily in love.

Someone calls her name, but she can’t seem to take her eyes off of the name. She keeps staring at it, face void of any emotion, and she only exhales when someone touches her shoulder.

“What is going on?” Ben asks, words laced with worry. “Talulah?”

She thinks he has to see for himself, so she, surprisingly, moves away from the guestbook, face still emotionless as she merely catches Ben looking at the guestbook himself.

She can’t help but whine, a pathetic noise that leaves her mouth unconsciously, and Ben tightens his hold as they sway slowly in the middle of the grandiose manor. They stay like that until Harry comes back, this time, two water bottles in hand as his backpack is slinging from his back, clearly full and heavy, and he gives them both a bright smile. Though, the smile quickly disappears when he sees them, wrapped in each other’s arms as they sway left and right, Talulah’s face frigid, hidden in the crook of Ben’s neck as his hand massages the small of her back.

“T?” He calls, but she can’t move, can’t break free from Ben’s hold.

Ben, sweet Ben clears his throat. “We better get to the car.”

But of course, Ben’s voice is cut off by footsteps approaching, and Talulah thinks the silence was too good to be true anyway. They all turn their heads to the sound, and she feels her breath hitch in her throat.

It’s Jeanette.

Jeanette dressed in all white, looking expensive and happy– face all dolled up as her auburn hair is up in a messy bun. She looks way younger than she actually is, and the noise her heels are making feels as though they’re both a pair of daggers, swinging themselves in her direction as they enter right into her heart. It hurts– it physically hurts.

“T, let’s go, okay? Come on, let’s go,” he says, thumb still stroking her cold cheek.

“Talulah,” Jeanette calls, trying to walk as swiftly as she can over to them. “Lulah, wait.”

“Jeanette, not the best time,” Ben tries to reason with her, hand in the air as if he’s her personal bodyguard.

Jeanette does not listen.

“Sweetheart, wait a minute.”

She yells as loud as she possibly can.

“Fuck you. Fuck you!”

“Talulah stop screaming, I need to talk to you, come on, give me a minute,” she’s close enough for her to pick out her perfume, and it makes her stomach turn upside down.

“I thought,” she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I thought I could come here and prove to you that I was stronger than you think. But turns out– turns out you win again. Again.”

It’s surprising, how her voice is so clear, and she spits out the words without stuttering or any hesitation whatsoever. She hears Harry’s breath hitch in his throat, and for a moment, she wants to turn to him and take him into her arms, because at this point, Talulah thinks Harry’s seen and heard too much, and it wouldn't surprise her if he were to run to his car and drive away without looking back. He doesn’t, though.

She also hears Jeanette swear under her breath and turn to check their surroundings. This makes her blood boil even more, so she continues.

“What?” She calls her out. “Why are you looking around, are you embarrassed? Embarrassed of me, once again, mother. I can never win in your eyes, can I? You’re so happy– why– why did you have to come back into my life?”

“I love you– you’re my child! I want you with me,” she places her hands on her chest, almost like she’s taking part in a tragedy.

She shakes her head, tears rolling down her face. “I don’t fucking care.”

“I’m sorry. Please, listen to me for a minute!”

A bitter laugh escapes her mouth, “You’re not sorry. You just want to make things right your way again. So you can sleep better at night.”

It’s Ben who touches her shoulder.

“Come on, T, we’re done here.”

He guides her to the exit, Harry following close behind with water bottles long forgotten on one of the console tables in the hallway. Despite her heavy heart, she finds herself thinking about the water bottles, wishing she could just open her mouth and ask Harry to go back for them, because in all honesty, she thinks the unpleasant taste in her mouth could be subsided with a sip of water. She doesn’t though, and instead, she lets Ben help her into Harry’s car.

It’s quiet. They’re so quiet that she can feel Ben’s breathing and Harry’s watch ticking, and it’s awful, the silence, so she finds herself leaning forward in an awkward manner, to turn the radio on. Harry turns his head in surprise, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he decides against it as he pulls the car out of the car park. And honestly, she just feels bad for him. Fuck being an empath, she thinks. She ought to be crying, wailing, and screaming that the one thing she promised herself to do, she could not.

She sits back down, and actually proceeds to put her seatbelt on, because it gives her something to focus on. A pop song fills the car as she watches their car outrun the trees on the side of the road, and she doesn’t realise it’s raining until a big, fat raindrop hits her side of the window, the noise startling her as she looks around, then at the two men sitting quietly in the front.

Ben has one hand on the grab handle while the other is resting on his knee, fingers drumming nervously as Harry’s hands, gripping the steering wheel so tightly, look like they’re going to fall to his laps due to how white and fragile they look. His thumb is tapping against the leather cover of the steering wheel, like he’s trying to calm down, and she thinks the rapid movement indicates the state of his thoughts and brain in general. She wants to speak up, tell them off for being so awkward and tense, but it sounds so foolish and hypocritical considering what they all had encountered back at the venue.

Once the car is on the motorway at last, Harry speaks first.

“London? Or should we find somewhere to stop and maybe get you something to eat, or something warm to drink?” His eyes find hers in the rear-view mirror.

“Can we go back to London? I’m sorry for making you leave like that. I hope you won’t get into trouble or anything.”

“Please, don’t apologise– I wanted to leave with you.”

“Just,” she sighs, playing with the neckline of her dress. “We can go back to mine. I just feel horrible–”

Ben cuts her off immediately, head turning to her to give her a stern look. “You did nothing wrong. This is not your fault. Never, you hear me?” He turns his head to the road again, and sighs. “I’m just glad I came with you and… Harry, thank you for giving us a ride, mate. Really.”

“No need to thank me. Ben’s right. What happened back there– it wasn’t your fault. We’re just happy to be with you right now. And,” Harry drives past a VW Minivan and she finds herself watching the van disappear behind Harry’s car. “You can just go home and rest. Take a shower, wear something comfortable. Don’t worry about us.”

She shakes her head, much like a stubborn toddler. “No. Come back to mine, both of you. I insist. Plus, I still have to give you your birthday present.”

“Oh!” Ben lets out a happy shriek, and it makes her smile, grateful to have Ben’s bubbly self back even if it’s only for a moment. “Happy birthday, Harry. How old are you? Twenty-one?”

This makes Harry snort, and he just mumbles out his age, and she feels a warmth in her heart, as if the ice had started to melt at last.

After a long car ride, they all sigh when Harry’s navigation announces that they’re on B450 towards Ladbroke Grove. After that, it only takes about twenty minutes until they’re parked in front of her little flat, the sky now a depressing navy as they slowly get out of the car, Harry in particular with a hunched back, and they all walk up the stairs to her front door. It takes her a few seconds to remember the tiny bag she’d been carrying, so with shaking hands, she finds her keys, and finally, they’re inside.

Despite the heater being turned off, the flat is still warm, enough to warm her insides, her bones as she takes off her shoes, Harry and Ben copying her as their shoes decorate the entrance. Both men are quiet, and if they could, they would walk on their tippy toes, not wanting to disrupt the stillness of the flat. The air is still tense, though Talulah thinks it’s only Harry and Ben who feel that way, not wanting to make a sound just in case it sets her off.

It’s weird, and scary how numb and normal she feels at this moment. She knows by now that this is her ‘calm before the storm’, and that eventually, today’s events– her breaking down in front of Jeanette would come and bite her in the arse.

Though, she can’t seem to care. She would, as always, power through and exist until the enormity of her wounds caught up to her. Remembering today, what had happened and Jeanette in her dress, it was absurd, and it was sick. It was simply wicked, and disgusting to her. As she puts the kettle on, images of Jeanette appear back in her head. Jeanette in her dress, all smiles as she utters the words ‘I do’, but then, as if it weren’t bad enough, Lewis appears on her side, his arm wrapped around her in an overprotective manner as they clink their glasses.

She feels a feathery touch on her waist, and she turns around, finding Harry with kind eyes and a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looks tired, there are bags under his eyes, and his forehead is shinier than usual. Though, she’s not sure if she’s actually seeing herself in front of her, in Harry’s place, and that it’s Talulah with bags under her eyes and a greasy forehead to match. She tries to smile at him, and she thinks she succeeds because the smile on Harry’s face only gets bigger as his gaze falls to their feet, and she knows he doesn’t want to do anything to make her uncomfortable. Like hugging, or kissing.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me being here?” He says, and it makes her frown.

“Of course, I am. Don’t be silly. I’m making us tea…”

“Okay,” his hold on her waist tightens only for a second before he lets go of her, and nods.

Before he walks away from her, Talulah grabs his wrist, making him look up at her expectantly. His arm is warm, and soft, and she wants to touch more of him, but she can’t seem to do anything more than a tiny squeeze on his wrist.

“Happy birthday. Again. And,” her gaze falls to the ground. “I’m sorry for fucking it up. I’m sure you’ve had better plans than witnessing my family drama… once again.”

Harry’s gaze darkens, and his jaw actually clenches. “Don’t ever apologise for that,” soft hands find her cold cheeks. “Ever. You hear me?”

“Harry…”

“No, Talulah. I will not have you think this is your fault or– or you’ve ruined something because you didn’t. You could never.”

His thumbs press into her skin, and he moves his head closer but it’s slow, so slow that she knows he’s testing the waters, asking silently if he can get closer to her. And she wants it, she wants it so fucking bad. He knows, he understands, because he presses their foreheads together, and both their eyes close at the contact. Despite the open plan of the kitchen and Ben sitting on the other side of the kitchen, they stay like that for a moment before she opens her eyes, and smiles briefly before Harry pulls away.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

He smiles even wider. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

The kettle startles them both, and once they’re sat on the sofa, Ben on the armchair and all with a mug in their hands, Talulah takes a deep breath, though it’s hard, and it feels as though she’s breathing in exhaust. She takes a tentative sip, as if a sip of tea would act as gasoline for her already-burning insides and set her on fire despite already feeling so burnt out somehow.

Her mind is racing with thoughts, all of them only passing through so quickly that she can’t even seem to process any of them, or digest them– make sense of them. Harry still looks hesitant, and sort of on edge, watches her every move with a worried look in his eyes. It’s frustrating really, them being on edge around her, and she can’t even stop to think that yes, they were on edge, but rightly so, considering what had happened back there. They were probably waiting for a big outburst, for Talulah to just come out of her protective shell and yell, scream, and maybe throw them out, having changed her mind, but it doesn’t come; none of it does. Instead, they all sit in silence, the only interruption being the hustling traffic outside and a dog barking in the distance.

They finish their tea, and Ben takes their mugs to the kitchen and later walks to where she’s sitting, bending forward to wrap one arm around her as he places a kiss on her temple. He lets them know that he would be on his way, and insists that Talulah doesn’t get up as he walks to the door by himself, bidding his last goodbye, and just like that, they’re alone.

She sighs, and gets up, Harry looking up with curious eyes.

“I want to give you your present,” she begins walking towards where her bedroom is, waving Harry off when he opens his mouth.

She comes back with a red, fairly big box that’s decorated with little reindeers, and she smiles, sitting next to him as she hands him the box. He looks all shy, and there’s a tint to his cheeks which make her smile even harder. It’s obvious he still feels the weight of today in the air, the tension still following them wherever they went, but when she gives him a reassuring smile and a nod, his movements become more confident. He unlaces the big bow that surrounds the box, and slowly, like a kid on Christmas morning, lifts up the lid. He’s awfully slow, as if he’s scared of the magical moment being ruined.

When the lid is completely off, discarded gently on the sofa, his eyes widen with realisation of what the box holds inside, and he bites harder into his bottom lips and Talulah actually worries that blood is about to run down his mouth with the way he’s biting his lips. It’s another minute before he lifts up his gaze, finding Talulah’s with a sheepish smile to match the look in her eyes, and he lets out a laugh.

“Woah,” he lets out, hands reaching for the clothing item in the box. He lifts it up and opens it, eyes skimming the writing on the jumper.

It’s a fairly simple jumper with colourblocks, supporting a large ‘LOVERBOY’ writing right in the middle.

He looks up again, finding her curious gaze. “This is– I love it, T, you didn’t have to get me anything but this– this is so sweet.”

“You are a loverboy,” she says, smiling down at him.

Harry shakes his head in disbelief, eyes still wide and cheeks now a rosy pink. “Come here, you,” he reaches for her, and he brings her into a hug.

He murmurs yet-another thank you into her skin, lips grazing her warm flesh and it makes her sigh, feeling as content as ever as he keeps murmuring, whispering how good and sweet she is before his lips press to the exposed skin of her neck, now more confident with his kisses as he peppers tiny ones on her skin. He’s too sweet, too fucking sweet, and Talulah thinks that is why she seems to forget everything: whenever Harry’s touching her, or whenever he’s near, for that matter.

Harry leaves after a while, the box clasped tightly under his arm as he gives her a kiss on her forehead, then cheeks, and he tells her how he would wash and dry it as soon as he gets home so he can wear it as soon as possible. She sends him on his way, lips tugged in a tiny smile as she watches him cross the road and walk to his car. When the front door is shut, it’s like another is opened somewhere in her head. The door that acted like a barrier, much like a floodgate, is now open and it catches her off guard when the endless sea of thoughts fills her conscious, and she doesn’t get the chance to stop and acknowledge, or absorb anything that is fleeting inside her head.

She walks to the kitchen anyway, and for whatever reason, she puts the kettle on, waits for it to boil very patiently and once done, she pours the hot water down the sink, coating each and every single dish in there mindlessly as the steam rises, and it’s when some of it rising from inside the sink hits her face that she startles, as if she’s being awakened, and a whine escapes her lips, realising the unnecessary act from putting the kettle on, to pouring it down the sink. Her resistance to her fleeting thoughts proves so futile that she has to surrender at last, and she lets herself feel– really feel.

Like a plate surrendering to gravity, Talulah feels herself give in to the waves of emotion, her heart begins to beat faster than normal and her vision becomes bleak, and she slowly– so slowly kneels on the kitchen floor. Her knees make contact with the cold tiles, and it’s almost as if she’s trying to find a good enough position to break down. Lips begin trembling like a bird in the cold and she lets it take over her, chest rising up and down rapidly and it feels like someone’s choking her, and unless she lets the tears fall down and give in to the pathetic tremble of her lips, they keep tightening their hold on her throat, cutting the oxygen mercilessly.

With legs wide open on the floor, she tries to look around, just to confirm this is real, she is real and as much as this feeling like hell, because if it were a dream, it would come to an end at some point. Though, it doesn’t work. Instead, the breathing quickens as she leans her head back and lets the tears chase each other, dampen every surface on her face, her chin. The ringing in her ear intensifies, as if it’s a dog chasing her, and she gives in, lets it consume her as she sits there.

She’s retyping an email when a mug is placed on her desk, and it startles her, as she’d been too caught up in typing and deleting her email over and over again–was it too formal, or did she sound ridiculous… or too enthusiastic?–. Isabelle looks tired, and it’s funny, coming from Talulah, and with the lack of makeup on her face, eyes now smaller sans the black eyeliner and feathery lashes, she can’t help but copy the frown on her face.

She doesn’t let her speak.

“Made you a fresh cuppa, figured the one you kept drinking had gone cold seeing, you know, the fact that it’s been three hours?”

“Oh,” Talulah raises her eyebrows. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Is it Finance?”

“Yeah,” she looks down at the laptop screen again.

Isabelle sighs, and gets closer to her, then sits next to her. “No use in emailing back and forth. You might want to go and talk to them properly.”

“I know… it’s just. It’s been a stressful week,” she murmurs, not wanting to let out more than she’s supposed to, even though she knows she can trust her. “I’ll go tomorrow. Or the day after–”

Isabelle rolls her eyes. She knows.

“–I will! I’m just. Really busy.”

“Okay… just weird how they’re two floors down but insist on emailing you back and forth,” her long fingers reach for the almonds in Talulah’s lunchbox, and she steals one with a sheepish smile.

Surprisingly, it hasn’t been that hard coming back to work after the wedding fiasco. Sure, Zayn texted to check up on her that night, but Talulah can’t actually remember anything beyond what went down on the kitchen floor and if she actually responded to Zayn or not. But, before she gets the chance to reach her phone on the table to actually check, Zayn enters the break room, his red turtleneck basically blinding her as it contrasts so very beautifully with the dull atmosphere of the room, and he’s nodding along to something Anika is saying, both of them supporting their iPads in their arms which indicate an upcoming project for them.

As Anika walks to the microwave, Zayn’s eyes search the room, finally landing on her as he begins walking towards her and Isabelle.

“Hey,” it comes out clearer on the second try, and Talulah doesn’t really need to smell the cigarette in his breath to figure out the reason why he sounds so gruff all of a sudden.

They smile at him, and both watch Isabelle walk out the break room after she mentions her schedule.

“How was the wedding?”

She nods mindlessly, finger picking at the dry pasta sauce on the keyboard. “Was all right.”

“Just all right?”

It was endearing how willing Zayn seemed to have a chat, considering he wasn’t the one for deep conversations unless he was either high or drunk. And when he seemed to talk more than necessary, everyone knew he’d just switched to his therapist mode, and the switch happened purely because of his desire to make his friends feel better and not because he wanted to satisfy himself. She loved that about him. And for some silly reason, she so randomly finds herself thinking how she should spend more time with Zayn.

Though, she’s not ready to give up.

“What’s going on, you look… defeated.”

She looks up in surprise, and tilts her head to the side. A breathless chuckle escapes her mouth. “Defeated? Thanks very much. I guess.”

“How was the wedding?”

“You’ve asked that before.”

“Well, you’re just bulllshitting me so I wanted to try again.”

“I’m not,” she reaches for her tea. “I’m really not. I’m just– not really in the mood to talk about it,” Talulah gives him a tiny smile, at least she intends it to be a smile, though she can’t be sure if it actually looks like a smile or a wince.

Zayn sighs, and he scratches the back of his neck, and Talulah’s eyes watch the movement of his hand, his bare fingers– free of any rings, and Jules’ face pops up in her mind.

“Hey,” she points at his hand with her chin. “How’s Jules? We didn’t get the chance to talk much after you came to visit that night,” she says. Zayn nods briefly. “So you guys are talking, yeah? That’s good?”

“It just feels like we’re stuck in a limbo,” Zayn sniffs once, and Talulah tries not to stare too much, especially with her gaze so intense and curious. She lets him do his own thing. “Yeah, she’s talking to me, but at times it feels so distant. Forced. I don’t know what to do.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you feel that way– that you think she’s being distant. Your feelings are valid. Feeling lost and confused– and in a limbo in a relationship like you said is never fun. It’s damaging for the both of you. You have to tell her, talk to her about your feelings.”

Silence.

More silence.

She thumbs at another stain on her laptop just so she seems occupied, and when she looks up, Zayn’s gaze is focused on her thumb, his expression so cloudy and distant that Talulah thinks his head’s somewhere else because when she retracts her hand and places it on her lap, Zayn’s gaze remains on the laptop.

“Sorry,” his voice is so quiet, his mumbling barely audible. Though, there seems to be an awakening inside him as he flinches, the movement so muted that she almost misses it. He makes eye contact. “How the fuck do you do that?”

The thing is, the disbelief in his voice makes her chuckle, despite the vague question. So, she lets herself laugh at the expression on his face, despite the fact that she feels two large pinches on her thigh.

“I didn’t do anything,” she says, smile apparent in her voice. Zayn frowns. She laughs again.

“No, you just– I asked you how the wedding was, I could tell it wasn’t exactly the event of the month but then you just made me talk. Again. I don’t talk.”

Talulah raises her eyebrows, and mischief washes over her features. “You are talking now…”

“That’s not– whenever I ask how you’re really feeling, you just ignore it and give me a half-arsed answer. Then,” his voice gets higher, a knowing, barely-there smirk appearing on his face. “Then you just make me talk about what���s bothering me even though I don’t even know what’s really bothering me half the time.”

“Well, I don’t do it on purpose. I don’t have that power,” she lets out a laugh. “But I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, babes.”

“Oh, piss right off, will ya. Anyway, look– I gotta run. What are you doing after work? Up for a pint or two?” Zayn gets up on his feet, and she watches him smoothen out his trousers. “Or five.”

It’s a good day.

Despite the bum-freezing weather outside, the sun comes out from behind the clouds every few seconds before disappearing again, and seeing the pedestrians dressed in colourful jackets and winter hats is just enough for Harry to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It absolutely has nothing to do with opening his eyes to a ‘good morning’ text from Talulah. But, who was he kidding, really.

She was so lovely. So, so lovely that every time he stopped and thought of her, he felt his chest squeezing his heart, the most welcome squeeze ever, and it certainly didn’t help when he entered the shop and there were dozens of sunflowers at the back, waiting to be unpacked and placed into their respective buckets. He didn’t know what to call it, really. It certainly wasn’t love– it was too early for that. The closest thing, he finds himself thinking, was endearment. Perhaps, he was too afraid to call it something else, too scared to send his brain the wrong impression, afraid that his strong feelings were only one sided. Sure, he knew Talulah liked him, it would be insane to think that she wasn’t interested at all. Though, he couldn’t help but worry. Worry, because he didn’t want to scare her away. Was he idolising her?

He finds himself behind the till after a while, handing a customer her receipt along with her card, his best smile on his face, and he thanks her before he catches a glimpse of yellow on her nails. They’re so bright, but the colour makes his insides feel all warm inside, and he thinks it’s a good thing that she’s left the shop because the creepy smile on his face while he stared down at her nails might’ve been inappropriate.

With yellow in his mind, he cranes his neck to get a glimpse of the outside, eyes searching for a particular bucket that holds big, bright sunflowers. There they were. Some open, some trying their hardest to open. They would, eventually, Harry finds himself thinking, though he’s interrupted when Cam touches him on the shoulder, her hands bearing yet another thick folder of invoices and orders waiting to be processed.

He’s highlighting another ETA when Jo peeks her head into the stuffy office, a smirk appearing on her face as soon as they make eye contact.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you keep looking at me like that.”

She responds with an eye roll, feet already carrying her further into the office. “Come out, someone’s asking for you. On the phone.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You better come with me.”

“Why is it for me? I mean, I don’t think my mobile rang–”

“Oh for goodness sake, just come out.”

“You’re weird,” he mutters under his breath, already on his feet as he follows Jo outside.

It feels good, the atmosphere outside that stuffy and dusty room, so Harry thinks it’s time to finally do a deep clean, seeing how his nostrils are already unclenching at the somewhat-fresh air compared to the office’s air. He looks up, seeing Cam on the till and there’s the phone, just waiting to be picked up from where it’s resting. With a shake of his head, he walks to it, and Cam looks up from the customer, an all-knowing smile appearing on her freckled face upon seeing Harry reach for the telephone.

“You lot are weird,” he can’t help but mutter for the second time, and he presses the phone against his ear.

He’s curious. And perhaps a little weirded out. People wouldn’t normally pick and choose when they were putting in an order through the phone. If anyone wanted to speak to Harry specifically, they would have no problem reaching him on his mobile.

He clears his throat. “Hello?”

“Oh!” someone shrieks on the other end, and Harry doesn’t think he recognises the shrill voice. “Hello. I want to place an order for a bouquet delivery.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, and almost laughs at the overly-posh–and fake–accent.

“Sure, no worries. You can also order through our website, if you’d prefer.”

“No, this is just fine.”

“Oh. Okay, sure,” he looks around for a notepad seeing how the computer seems to be occupied by Cam. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“Well, I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t know much about flowers. What– what do you like the best? For winter.”

The crease between Harry’s eyebrows becomes more prominent. This is weird, he finds himself thinking. Either, this lady is wasting his time, or she’s just crazy.

He takes a deep breath. “Geranium, maybe? Or we could do daisies. I love the gerberas myself, they have such beautiful colours.”

“Yeah perfect, gerberas then.”

“You sure?” He finds himself asking. She agrees. “Anything else in between? I can add some eucalyptus in between to make it look more expensive and well, pretty.”

“Yes, I trust you.”

“Can I get the delivery address, please, and your mobile? We will send you a link for the payment.”

“Okay,” she says, and it’s so familiar it’s driving Harry insane. “07491867949. Delivery address will be Wild at Heart at Liberty.”

His fingers pause on the notepad, the last digit looking as messy as it can be. She must be pulling a leg.

“No, the delivery address? Where do you want them to be delivered?”

“The flowers are for you, idiot.”

“Talulah?”

“Honestly,” she cackles. “I didn’t think it would work. How did you not recognise my voice? I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

Harry looks around, and catches Jo’s eye where she’s mopping a puddle near the exit, but her eyes are still focused on him. She’s smiling, but the mischief in her eyes can’t be mistaken.

“I feel like such a mug right now. I should’ve known when you agreed to eucalyptus with gerberas.”

Talulah gasps on the other end, and it makes him smile. “You’re such a little shit!”

“Look who’s talking!”

“Well,” she says, and he knows she’s smiling even though he can’t see her face. “I’d love to give you your flowers so… when are you free?”

“Oh my god,” he’s sweating, and he’s a hundred percent sure his whole face is red. “Whenever you want me to be. Can’t do tonight, though. I’m meeting up with my sister.”

“Oh! That’s okay, how about Saturday?”

“Works for me. Hey,” he notices the crowd in the shop. “I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”

“‘Course.”

“Thank you. This was… you’re so sweet, y’know that?”

“Stop flirting with me at work, you dick.”

“Oh my god, you’re brutal. I take it back. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Harry.”

He’s done for. Harry is fucked.

For the next few hours, he finds it difficult to wipe the smile off of his face, but still manages to get some work done despite the flutter in his chest. The sky begins to get darker and darker with each passing minute, Harry still trying to tidy up and lock up since it was his turn to do so that evening, and when he finally leaves from the backdoor, navy skies and fog welcome him, pushing him to walk faster and faster until he reaches his car. It’s not pleasant, when his arse makes contact with the cold leather, so he shudders and rubs his hands together in hopes of a crumb of warmth, the heater already turned all the way up as he waits for his body to defrost so that he can finally lift his foot from where it’s stuck.

He’s been so busy, both with the shop and the electrifying effect the thought of Talulah seemed to have on him as he every so often found his thoughts drifting to her, her cheery voice and that cheeky smile–one he knew she was supporting while on the phone–so he really didn’t have time to overthink about his reunion with Gemma. See, typically, every time a reunion was due, he felt anxious. Not necessarily because he would see his sister– he did miss her, of course he did. As much as he tried to play the whole “busy” card, trying to kid himself into thinking that because he was so busy, he didn’t have time to miss his family, he still did. When it was Christmas, or his birthday– or his mum or Gemma’s birthday, he found himself feeling unbelievably empty, especially as soon as his head hit the pillow.

So, yes, he was anxious. He knew both him and Gemma had skeletons in their closet, both of them loved hiding and ignoring each other as much as they could, but neither of them could deny that they missed each other. Unbelievably so. He felt anxious though, because Harry despised silence, especially when he knew they had something to say, but were too nervous to do so.

So, when he parks his car in Palomar’s car park, he feels his heart starting to beat faster than usual. He gets out, and spots the familiar white car once again, and his hands suddenly feel extremely clammy at the thought of seeing his sister for the first time in God knows when. He walks to the entrance, eyes already darting from table to table, trying to spot the brunette. His search is interrupted when a waiter approaches him. He gives his sister’s name and he’s being escorted to a table at the far back.

She hears the footsteps and Harry sees her shoulders tense as she tries so hard not to turn her head, though Harry unfortunately doesn’t get the time to stop for a moment to collect himself before he faces her as their waiter insists on accompanying him until he literally sits his arse down. She then proceeds to place two menus in front of him. With shaky fingers touching the edge of the menu, he and Gemma make eye contact, and he hears her order him a glass of red.

He keeps staring at her with neither of them talking, and he notices how long her hair’s gotten since the last time he’d seen her. Her cheekbones and jaw seem more prominent now, lips even plumper and her face in general looks shiny– glowing even, like she’s the healthiest she’s ever been. With red cheeks, she places her elbows on the table, and Harry knows she’s ready.

“You look good,” she says, and Harry feels his eyes sting, tears threatening to fall with the way her voice sounds a bit like his mother’s.

Harry nods subconsciously, fingers playing with the corners of the menu as she looks at him with an anticipating gaze.

“You look good, too.”

When he’s got his own glass of wine in front of him and their food is finally ordered, Gemma looks at him a beat longer than necessary, though there’s nothing hostile about it.

“Happy belated birthday, also. I was really looking forward to seeing you,” she says, reaching for her wine, Harry copying her instantly as they both take a sip.

The wine burns Harry’s throat, tongue suddenly feeling like it weighs tons and he wishes for a cold glass of water. “Yeah,” he nods. “Sorry about that. Something came up. Thanks for meeting with me tonight, though.”

Gemma lets out a breathless chuckle, her fringe shaking with the movement. “Oh, of course. You’re my brother. I missed you.”

There, Harry thinks. For the last fifteen minutes, they both seemed to tiptoe around each other, both radiating uncertainty with their hesitant gaze. It seems though Gemma was the first one that found the missing puzzle piece, and as soon as the piece is where it belongs, the conversation seems to pick up, both now seemingly more comfortable around each other.

Harry can’t help but smile. “I did too. What have you been up to?”

“Got a promotion” she says with a glint in her eyes, one Harry hasn’t seen in a while. He watches as she takes another sip. “I’m the logistics manager now.”

“Really? That’s wonderful, congratulations, Gems. You still with the same company?”

She talks about her job, then mentions her boyfriend­–whom she’d been with for three–, then she mentions how she’s looking to move soon, as soon as she possibly can. The conversation flows, of course it does, because she’s his family. She’s his sister, the one who let him sleep in her bed for weeks when things were bad. She held his hand even when she acted all grown-up and carried two different colour lip glosses everywhere because that’s what grown-ups would do.

They were best friends, until they weren’t.

There was no hostility, obviously, but after their mother’s death, they seemed to drift apart, their individual baggage and guilt eating them alive while they mostly ignored each other’s feelings and tiptoed around each other until one of them cracked.

Gemma asks about Harry’s job, the shop and Bo, demands that he shows him a picture, and Harry scrolls through numerous pictures of the Labrador on his phone with one hand as the other is busy with the spoon in his hand while he eats his souffle. Upon seeing a few pictures of Bo–most of them blurry and silly–Gemma begins tearing up, cooing at the screen softly before she looks up at him through long eyelashes and mutters out how much she misses him which of course ends with Harry inviting her over for a cuppa so she can see Bo before she leaves.

They drive separately, with Gemma having to drive home afterwards, and Harry lets her park in his usual space as he parks somewhere else, then ushers them inside the building. As soon as Bo notices Gemma, he perks up, scoffing once before he struts quickly towards her as he ignores Harry completely. It makes him smile, seeing Gemma on her knees as Bo circles around her with happy whines until Gemma lets out a laugh and pinches his face, bringing him closer to her so she can press their foreheads together before she leaves a big kiss on his furry head.

When they finally settle on Harry’s sofa, mugs in hands and bourbon biscuits placed between them, Gemma gives him a look, and Harry knows.

“Go on,” Harry nods, and brings his mug to his lips, though he just lets the steam touch his cold lips.

She looks thirteen again, squirming in the backseat of their car, trying to tell their mother she’d just had her first kiss.

“Dad,” she starts, and the word sends a shiver down his spine. Gemma watches him get his other hand around his mug in hopes of hiding the shake of them. “He’s selling the house.”

“How do you know?”

“He called,” she ignores the disappointment in his eyes. “I didn’t answer at first, then he messaged me. I had to get back to him. That’s not the point, Harry– we’re not best friends just because I answered his phone call,” she takes a deep breath and places the mug on the coffee table. They maintain eye contact for a few more minutes until she says, “I want you to buy it.”

“You– are you out of your mind? You want me to buy a house? His house?”

She shakes her head vigorously and tries to get closer to him on the sofa, as if it would make her point more sensible. “It’s our house, H. He’s once again trying to make money off of us. We can buy it together– get a loan or a mortgage. I have a friend who knows someone. Someone who knows about houses.”

“I don’t know. Why do you want to buy the house? You’ve a house. I have my flat. I don’t have that kind of  money at the moment– I don’t want to have to deal with the bank now that I finally feel secure.”

“I don’t want him to make money!”

“It’s not just about you,” he sighs. “You’re asking me to buy a fucking house. We’re not buying a necklace. It’s a house.”

“Think about it,” Gemma says assertively. It’s the voice she uses whenever she wants to convince you of something, and Harry, now in his twenties, finds it extremely annoying. “Say you'll consider it. I don’t think anyone will make any offers anytime soon which gives us some time.”

“Gemma…”

“Come on, Harry. Does it hurt to consider it– to think about it?”

Harry lets out a laugh, though he’s not happy, not at all. “Yes,” he cries. “Yes, it bloody does. It hurts my brain. You know how much I hate him. You know how hard I try to forget about his existence and yet,” he shakes his head.

“That house is ours, H. I have memories– we have memories there. Part of me is incomplete, because he lives there and now he’s selling it to God knows who. Someone else will have our house–”

“–You don’t get it, do you? That’s not our house anymore. You left before me, Gemma. It’s been years– let it go. Stop fucking with the past, I want nothing to do with that man and that house.”

“Our memories–”

Harry lets out a puff of air. “Mine’s never been good,” his voice gets thicker, hoarse, and low. “Do you think I miss the playroom? Or the bathtub? The tree house we never had? What is it that you miss, Gemma? Do you want to buy the house because of the memories or you want it because you want to get him back?” he stands up, head suddenly feeling too heavy, like he’s not going to be able to carry it longer, and he reaches for her mug without looking at the brunette. “Either way, I won’t be able to help you. I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

When he comes back from the kitchen, Bo following in tow looking for non-existent snacks that might’ve fallen to the floor, Gemma looks like she’s ready to leave. She’s got her signature frown on her face, making her face look even slimmer, and longer, and for the first time in a while, Harry’s gaze focuses on the lines on her face. Ones on her forehead, now more apparent with the way she’s frowning, and the ones by her mouth. They were getting older, they were changing, but Gemma didn’t seem to like that very much. She always wanted to hold onto the past, hold whatever memory she could fit in the palm of her hands, not wanting them to flee before she could take a good look at said memories and spare ones that she liked the most.

With pursed lips, she gets up on her feet. “Right,” she mumbled, though Harry thinks she’s talking more to herself rather than him. “I’m just gonna go… please,” she looks up again, and their eyes meet. “I want you to think about it. Just– say you will. Even if you won’t.”

“Okay, Gemma.”

He doesn’t even follow her. When the door clicks shut, he can’t help but let his legs surrender and plonk him on the sofa, hands coming to rest on his knees as he rubs his temples.

It wasn’t fair. He tries to think back, to see if he was being irrational earlier, shutting her down so easily. Gemma always liked to do things her way. According to her, she knew the best, and her way was exactly it: the best. She put herself first and while that was something Harry admired growing up, she started applying it at any given chance which usually ended up with her coming off as selfish.

He sighs, hand coming to rest atop Bo’s head who’s perched on the sofa, and looks around for his phone. When he’s got it in his hand, he opens the messages, and finds Talulah’s name.

Hey :)

He figures it’s good enough of a text. He doesn’t expect her to respond right away, and he knew she had her ‘read’ receipts off. So, instead of waiting around for her text, he decides to daydream.

He thinks back to their conversation from earlier, when she rang the shop and tried ordering flowers, for Harry, and the way she giggled and laughed whenever Harry said something silly. The way her voice sounded on the phone, so lovely and familiar, warming Harry’s insides and putting a sheepish grin on his face. Though, Harry would be lying if he said he saw it coming.  Talulah was unpredictable; Harry never knew what she was up to, meaning he sometimes felt lost, trying to make sense of Talulah’s emotions. This wasn’t to say that he thought she wasn’t genuine. Far from it. He knew she treasured honesty, considering the landslide that was her mother and the ex, thus he couldn’t imagine Talulah ever being dishonest, or sneaky on purpose. Or perhaps, something in Harry mutters quietly–so quiet that Harry himself doesn’t even hear–he gave her too much credit.

She responds after seven minutes, when Harry’s filling up Bo’s bowl, and he asks if he could ring, to decide on a date for their date they both mentioned earlier when she rang the shop. She tells him she would call in ten, and Harry agrees, hands already shaking with the anticipation of getting to hear her voice for the second time today. They talk. It lasts for five minutes and thirty-two seconds, because Talulah says she needs to do her food shopping before Tesco Express down the road closes so he lets her go, bids her good night, and ‘sweet dreams’. Though, as soon as she mentions her food shopping, Harry, as foolish as it sounds, can’t help but imagine going food shopping with her, wandering around Tesco as they both pick unnecessary items just for the sake of it so they can try them together. He doesn’t know whether the overly-domestic thoughts–daydreams–are reserved only for Talulah or if he’s just touch-starved, begging to be loved and cared for.  

++

Harry tries reaching the top shelf of the freezer, but nothing changes, the ice lolly still chilling next to a bag of frozen peas as his tiny fingers wave in the air as if the ice lolly would relent under his sweet puppy eyes and move towards the edge for his convenience. At last, he gives up and stands in front of the fridge with hands on his hips, a frown on his face, and he hears his mother’s laugh, signalling she’s still on the phone to Nana Doris. Then a bang follows, which lets him know his dad is still trying to fix the hinges on their toilet door.

With one last look at the ice lolly, he shuts the door to the freezer and walks to the living room, then steals a glance at his dad working on the wooden door, a cigarette between his lips and a crease in between his eyebrows. He’s got his phone squished between his cheek and shoulder, and Harry wonders how adults can balance their phones in such position without dropping their phones. Before he can inspect further, his dad’s eyes find his and they hold each other’s gaze for a moment before he hangs up, and puts the bulky device in his back pocket.

“Come here,” he calls from where he’s standing by the toilet door, tools still in hand with an expression Harry can’t quite read on his face. Harry comes closer, hands behind his back, his dad says, “Did you and the boys give Connor a hard time today?”

Harry feels the sweat running down his back, and suddenly, as embarrassing as he knows it is, his bladder feels extremely full. He proceeds to gulp, and he tries to maintain the eye contact despite the fiery look in his dad’s eyes.

He shakes his head, “No,” he mumbles, voice laced with nothing but fear and worry. “No,” he repeats for good measure when his dad takes another hefty drag of his cigarette, then blows the smoke in his face. Harry doesn’t flinch.

“Come closer. Don’t lie to me, you little shit,” he reaches for Harry, and Harry lets him take his arm and drag him closer to him. “Connor’s dad called. He went home with bruises all over him. Told them you little bastards gave him a hard time after school.”

“I didn’t touch him.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“Dad, I swear, I didn’t touch Connor. He’s lying, I didn’t touch him at all, dad– I didn't, I swear.”

He squeezes Harry by the wrist, then he feels a throbbing pain. “I’m so sick of your shit,” he lets go of Harry’s arm, but before he can let out the breath he’s been holding, Harry feels something sharp and stinging on his naked shoulder.

It doesn’t last long– only a mere second before the sharp pain is gone, leaving behind a burning sensation on his shoulder. He looks up with doe eyes, finds his dad’s unforgiving gaze, and when he looks at his hands, he spots the cigarette between his thumb and index finger, winking at him as if to boast about his previous antics being pressed against Harry’s bare shoulder.

Dates are overrated.

Or perhaps, that’s what Harry keeps telling himself because he’s practically shitting himself.

Going on dates with Talulah, it was amazing, spending time with her and talking about nothing and everything… it truly didn’t matter where they chose to go; Harry always had the time of his life whenever he was in her company. It was easy with her– familiar for reasons unknown to him, he just couldn’t put his finger on it, why she seemed so different from anyone he’s ever dated or been with.

As he washes his hair, he thinks back to his last relationship. Loren was lovely. But, to this day, Harry thinks he shouldn’t have let his friend talk him into going on a date with her, who was a friend of a friend of a friend. Sure, she was gorgeous, he would never deny that. And she was funny, she was kind. But the timing was never right. Or perhaps, that’s what he kept telling himself because he was just too afraid of hurting people, and maybe, just maybe, she was the wrong person all along.

Harry was a perfectionist. He liked planning things ahead and knowing his schedule word by word. So, when Loren came around, it meant making sacrifices–as one does in relationships–and Harry thinks, at the time, he was just not ready for that. His priority at the time had been on making Wild at Heart happen, taking an idea in his head and bringing it to life. It was a tough few years, even before Loren, and Harry usually felt on edge, sleepless and head all over the place. And when all Loren wanted to talk about was having a family, Harry couldn’t help but, though selfish, end things between them.

Yes, he finds himself thinking, it was a bit selfish because no one actually forced him to go out with her. He met her at that restaurant, and he said yes to another date. He enjoyed his time with her, and he liked her. But, Harry shakes his head at the thought, that was it.

He looks out the window, now completely dressed and hands in his hair trying to make it look like he didn’t spend much time on it when he knows that’s far from reality. There’s an elderly couple, with their hands intertwined as they walk their dog, and it makes him smile, hands paused in the air. It’s beginning to get dark out despite it being mid-February, so he tries to hurry up, knowing there’s not much time left and that he still needs to pick Talulah up from her flat before driving to their destination and finally meet Ben and his boyfriend there.

When he arrives at Talulah’s flat, parked and all alert as he waits for her to come down, he can’t help but feel a pang of sadness in his chest, knowing how they’ve yet to mention the wedding or talked about it since. He knows they need to mention it, talk about it, but he feels nervous asking as he knows it’s such a delicate topic and it’s something that would upset her. Despite all that, he knows he has to ask when it’s just the two of them and they’re somewhere Talulah feels comfortable and safe.

He notices a splash of colour from the corner of his eye, something vibrant amongst all the grey and brown of the buildings, and it’s Talulah with her green trousers and her big, cosy coat– one that looks as happy and content as Harry would if he too was wrapped around her body. She walks to the other side of the car with a smile on her face when she finally notices Harry staring, and the car fills with the smell of vanilla and citrus as soon as she steps foot inside, taking her place on the passenger seat.

“Hey,” Harry beats her to it, leans forward for a kiss on the cheek. “Y’look very pretty,” the words leave his mouth, every syllable hitting her cheek with the hushed tone of his voice.

She smiles, eyes closing as she does so, and Harry feels her cold hand on his cheek, thumb pressing ever so gently to his dimple. It’s a ‘thank you’, he knows it by now, though the touch, despite her cold fingertips, doesn’t feel any less exciting and exhilarating on his skin, almost burning his flesh and consuming it as her eyes wander across his face.

They arrive, both their cheeks warm with the heat from inside the car as they step out of it, and without thinking, Harry reaches for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers as they walk inside the building. It’s comfortable, and neither of them stop to look at their fingers like they do in the films, though Harry sees Talulah smile from the corner of his eye while she taps on her phone, with one hand, trying to reach Ben to see if they’re around. They wait for them to enter the building with their hands still intertwined, and Harry squeezes once so she turns to him, eyebrows raised but the tiny smile still present on her face.

“What?” She laughs when Harry doesn’t say anything, and squeezes his hand back. “You’re such an attention seeker, you know?”

The challenge makes him smile, as if his mouth did anything other than smiling when she’s around, and he takes a tiny step closer to her body. Foreheads almost touching, he whispers, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

“All right, we’re in public.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re being all–” she waves her free hand around. “–All whisper-y and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“Har-ry.”

Cheeks hurting from all the smiling, he lifts up his head and he catches two men walking towards them, their hands intertwined just like theirs. “Is that Ben?”

Talulah looks up as well, turning to the direction Harry’s looking at. “Yes,” she nods, hand squeezing Harry’s once more. “Ben and Luke.”

They walk into their comfortable bubble with a smile on their faces, and the first thing Harry notices about Luke is how tall he is compared to Ben, making him look almost pocket-size.

Ben looks between the two, though the smile on his face remains. “Sorry, are we late?” He says, and a chuckle leaves his mouth when Talulah lets go of Harry’s hand and wraps her arms around Ben.

Harry watches as they sway back and forth, and can’t help the smile that appears on his face at the sight. He then remembers Luke.

“I’m Harry.” he smiles at him.

Luke returns it, and they greet each other with a handshake.

“Luke.”

“So,” Ben squeezes Talulah one last time before pushing her into Harry’s side, eyes full of mischief as he looks them up and down. “Bowling?”

As they begin playing, with Ben going first– followed by Talulah, Harry asks about Luke’s job and how long Ben and him had been together. He learns that Luke is a bit shy at first, though when he mentions their new kitten Bobbart –what an interesting name, Harry thinks– Luke seems to get more comfortable around him. He talks about the cat with happiness shining through his eyes and when they sit back down after their turns, they take turns showing each other pictures of their pets.

Ben clears his throat after Luke wins and turns to them with a smug smile. “We’re a team anyway,” he says, eyes never leaving his boyfriend’s tall frame who’s doing a happy dance. “We’re partners. Pardners.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Ben.”

“It is. Gays always win.”

“I hate playing anything with you,” Talulah sighs, throwing herself on the seat next to Harry, their knees touching briefly. “You always do this,” she places her hand on Harry’s knee, squeezing before Harry’s hand finds hers, thumb stroking her warm skin.

“I’m kinda hungry,” Luke comes up from behind Ben, arm wrapping around him like the touch is a routine for them. “Shall we have a bite here or?”

“I’m hungry, too.”

Harry looks at Talulah and without much thought, he places his hand on her cheek, thumb stroking her cheekbone softly as he nods.

“We can eat here if you all want to, I don’t mind.”

“Okay, let’s,” Ben says, gaze lingering on Harry and Talulah a beat longer.

In a bold move, Talulah places her hand on Harry’s leg as she chews, the heat of Harry’s leg–and his presence in general–warming up her own skin; from her hand to the top, the warmth reaching her face, cheeks, and every living cell in her body. Harry responds in his own way, and places his own hand on hers, squeezing once before he turns her way and gives her a smile. It’s so sweet, being in his presence, and not just his but in her friends’ presence– it all means so much to her that she suddenly feels all choked up, eyes tearing up despite the sour smell of food and other fragrances in the air.

As the waiter collects their empty plates, Talulah notices Harry’s attention shifting from their table to somewhere behind where Ben and Luke are seated. Naturally, she follows his gaze, and stops at a blonde and another lady, whose for a short second she feels jealous of, her smooth skin and dark features looking perfect under the fluorescent lights. When they make eye contact, she turns her attention back to the blonde. It’s obvious when the blonde notices them, because a barely-there smile appears on her face, and she lifts up her arm in a poor-attempt of a wave– clearly directed at the man who’s been eyeing her: Harry.

“Do you know her?” Talulah chooses to ask, voice hushed as if she’s letting him in on a secret.

Harry turns to her, clearly unaware of Talulah watching him for a while now, and he nods. Before he can open his mouth though, they both notice the woman standing up, fixing her skirt before she begins walking towards them ever-so-slowly, as if she deliberately wants them–and everyone else in the room–to watch her do it.

“She’s my ex.”

“Oh,” she mutters, eyes falling to her lap. “Okay.”

She doesn’t notice how close the woman is until she feels it. Her tall figure stands at their table, a bashful smile on her face as Talulah watches, growing angry as the seconds pass.

The blonde finally speaks.

“Hi.”

Ben and Luke are clearly confused, though they don’t make a sound as they watch the woman, whose gaze keeps darting between Harry and Talulah, and it makes her feel like a caged animal.

“Hi, Loren,” Harry nods, and smiles–not exactly–. “How are you?”

“I’m good. It’s good to see you again… hi,” she nods at Talulah, then Ben and Luke, though theirs last no longer than a second. She turns to Talulah again. “I’m Loren.”

But before she can do or say anything else, Harry clears his throat, turns to Talulah with a brief smile before looking back up to Loren.

“These are my– friends, Ben, Luke, and Talulah.”

Well, I see.

“Nice meeting you guys,” Loren nods, clearly not feeling the distress and confusion Talulah is feeling at the moment. “Just wanted to say hi. I’ll–” she nods at their drinks. “–Leave you guys to it. See you around… Harry.”

“Yeah– see ya.”

The air shifts around the four of them, Ben’s eyes finding Talulah’s as they make a conversation with their eyes while Luke chooses to focus on his burger. Meanwhile, Talulah notices Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat, clearly trying to find a better position as if he’s sat on something; something sharp, something knifelike. She doesn’t turn to him though. Instead, she reaches for her cocktail, takes a tiny sip before deciding to go all the way, and takes a big gulp of the orange drink, then clears her throat without intending to.

As if on cue, Ben starts talking.

“Did Luke show you Bobbart?” He asks, the question directed at Harry more than Talulah. “He climbs everything now but can’t get down. He’s so stupid.”

“Can we go? I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

The sudden remark makes everyone turn to her, Ben’s lips pursed as Luke crumples yet another napkin into a ball, then leaves it in his now nearly-empty plate. Harry, there’s something so alert and vigilant in the way he’s looking at her, eyes almost too wide while his mouth is turned downwards into a tiny, barely-there frown.

He looks at Ben for a moment, as if he senses the tension as well as the protective glances sent Talulah’s way, then turns back to her and says, “Are you okay?”

Is she, really? No.

“Yes.”

“Okay… we can go if you want–”

“–I want.”

And that’s that.

It’s quarter to eleven when Harry parks his Mini in front of her flat, both their cheeks warm from the AC in the car, and it’s not until Talulah opens the passenger door that her brain fills with fresh air, oxygen finally–whether it be scientifically true or not–reaching the part that needs it the most.

Harry follows her and gets out of the car, locking it before his eyes follow hers, as if to ask if he’s allowed to do that; invite himself in. And he is, he so is, Talulah thinks, though she still feels guilt for letting her guard down even after being friend-zoned by this very charming man. They stand there, on the pavement for a moment before she swallows, and begins walking towards the stairs that lead to her flat. He follows quietly, as if to stop himself from frightening her with his not-so-assertive footsteps, and they’re finally inside, in the warmth of her flat.

He watches as she takes her shoes off and sets them aside, her coat and bag following close behind before she makes her way further inside, not even glancing back at him to see if he’s following. She realises it takes him a bit to take his own shoes off, then his jacket, and he’s finally in her space again as the kettle boils, letting out a shrill sound when it’s done.

“Making tea,” she mumbles. “Milk’s in the fridge, help yourself.”

“Are you–” Harry takes a hesitant step forward, hand somehow in the air as if he’s trying to reach her– both physically, and emotionally. “–What’s wrong?”

It’s funny, she thinks, how he doesn’t even get it, why she’s so hesitant and silent all of a sudden, and deep inside, she wants to be angry– feel it burning inside her and light her up like a campfire.

She takes the kettle off the hob and pours the water into their mugs, then walks away from him, silently offering him the luxury of pouring his own. He follows her after a moment, his own tea in hand, and he stands in the middle of her living room and Talulah thinks he’s trying to decide whether to take the seat closest or further away from her, depending on her. Past memories of her on her knees, in front of him on that sofa–where she’s seated–pops up in Talulah’s head for a second before Harry decides it’d be much safer if he just chose the armchair nearby.

“Talulah,” Harry says, placing his mug on a coaster.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

“Are we friends, Harry?” She asks bitingly.

“What?”

A breath leaves her mouth, one that was intended to be a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry.”

Harry grows nervous, and confused by the look of his raised eyebrows.

“No, tell me. Talk to me.”

“I am. I am talking to you.”

He shakes his head, tea forgotten on the table in front of them while Talulah sips hers. “You’re not, though. You’re not being open–”

“–Oh save me that therapist bullshit, Harry. I’m not in the mood.”

“And what makes you think I am?”

“I didn’t think we were best friends. Buds. Mates. I thought you liked me. I obviously liked you– in a non-friends way. Thought that was clear when I sucked your cock.”

The words almost make him flinch, clearly not expecting such language at this moment, but he recovers quickly.

“I like you. Are you out of your mind? Of course I like you.”

“You told your ex I was a friend. That’s like,” she takes another sip, the warmth reaching her insides as she shakes her head briefly. “The first rule in the book.”

“What book is that?”

“The ‘you like each other and you’re more than friends even though you don’t have a title’ book. Are you embarrassed? Or still hung up on her?”

It’s Harry’s turn to let out a breath. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” and, she thinks, for the first time in my life, I am making that clear.

She doesn’t expect him to get up from where he’s sitting, and walk up to her on the sofa. What she also doesn’t expect is when he sits down, harshly so, and pulls her into him from the back of her head and presses their lips in a both mouth and heart bruising kiss that takes her breath away.

She can’t do anything but respond, pressing harder into his side as they kiss, Harry’s tongue swiping across her lips before he pulls away, then peppers tiny kisses all over her mouth, as if he’s trying to comfort her. She doesn’t need comfort, or maybe she does, but what she mostly needs is another bruising kiss and maybe some more.

He presses their foreheads together.

“You can’t just kiss me and shut me up.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispers, his tea-breath hitting her face, but it feels warm– lovely. “And in the most perfect way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so stubborn, and you’re so lovely. I like you. So much. I told you, didn’t I?”

She’s not giving up easily. “Why did you introduce me as a friend? Especially in front of my friends, making me look like a twat. A joke.”

Harry shakes his head immediately. “You’re never a joke… Loren is– she’s not the type of person I would like to share you with.”

“Again,” Talulah sighs, forehead starting to feel too warm– too fucking warm and damp for her liking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s weird. She’s become weird, I mean, after the breakup. I like you. I don’t eat my friends out–” that makes her cheeks warm up. “–I don’t kiss my friends like this. I don’t want to share you– us, with someone like Loren. She’s not in my life. Don’t want her to be in my life.”

“Still, that made me feel like shit.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry– I didn’t think how that would make you feel and I should have. It was very silly of me to introduce you as my friend.”

“Yeah…”

“I really am, T, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me?”

“Yes. I can. If you kiss me some more?”

Harry smiles, pressing their foreheads harder before he kisses the tip of her nose, then her cupid’s bow before finally pressing his dampened lips to hers. It’s sweet, and much gentle this time, and it makes something awaken in the pit of her stomach. She brings her palm up to his chin and rubs the stubble there before finding the back of her neck, pressing harder into him as she responds with enthusiasm. Harry stops for a moment just to press tiny kisses all over her mouth, on the same spot once or twice, then they’re kissing again, and again, and again.

She pulls away first, taking a deep breath, then looks him dead in the eye. “I want to suck your cock.”

“You’re killing me.”

“I do. Do you?”

Harry lets out a low whine, hand still on her neck. “Are you for real? Are you even real? Do I– I get hard just thinking about you… your lips, your face…”

“All right, cowboy, save that for our wedding vows. Now,” she takes his hand, and places it on his side. “I’m gonna suck your cock.”

Harry watches her get on her knees with a glint in her eyes, almost teary, and it makes him growl into the comfortable silence of her flat while she bites her lip, trying to unbutton his trousers. He helps her with shaky hands and trembling fingers, sliding both his trousers and underwear down, letting them pool around his ankles as she just sits there, resting on her heels. His cock, half-hard, rests on his hairy thighs as he watches her watch him with hunger in her eyes, and he reaches there, hesitantly, and takes his cock in his hand.

It’s obvious she likes it, likes watching him touch himself, so he continues stroking himself, taking his time to rub his tip and the precum there before he reaches and strokes her neck with his other hand.

“So fucking lovely, you are,” he touches his balls, whining into the still air around them, the feeling making him feel hot all over. “Love watching and sucking, don’t you?”

With her bottom lip trapped behind her teeth, she nods. “Yes.”

“Bet you’re so wet…”

“Please make me suck your cock. I need it– choke me…”

“Fuckin’ hell. You’re so good, how did I get this lucky, hm?”

“Do I deserve it?”

He thumbs at his slit again, the precum still oozing out as his cock and balls begin to feel so tight– so warm, so he comes to the edge of his seat on the sofa, clearly ready for her mouth to just take him in.

He whines at her previous comment nevertheless. “Do you deserve it? Of course, you do, sweet girl. Deserve it so much and I’m gonna give it to you.

And then, “Come,” he whispers. “Take it.”

As if on cue, she opens her mouth, but doesn’t move for a moment, eyes still wide as she watches his hard cock. Tongue darts out first, then she leans forward and takes him into her mouth. It’s warm, the insides of her mouth feeling so fucking nice around his cock that it makes him cry out, a hiss more like, and she suckles at the head, her slippery tongue gliding so perfectly across the pink, wet tip.

She hums around him, taking him deeper and deeper as she begins sucking, head bobbing up and down.

“Y’like it, don’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“God– T. I fucking– oh my God.”

He can’t say anything else after that, other than cries and hisses following close behind his moans as she keeps sucking, teeth coming out to play once or twice, very gently– just the way he likes it. She wraps her hand around him to help suck more efficiently while the other finds his balls, fumbling with them and squeezing, making him groan at the tight feeling. He wants to cum, but he loves the view. Loves watching her saliva drip down her chin, to his thighs as she keeps sucking and licking, and loves seeing her enjoy something as dirty as this– something so private and just for them.

“Can I cum– in your mouth,” he manages to choke out the words, but she shakes her head, letting go of his cock just enough for her to mumble out the sacred words.

“Cum on my face.”

“Fuck. Are you sure?”

“Mmh.”

She takes him into her mouth again, and she goes deeper this time, surprising both herself and him when she doesn’t choke as his tip touches the very end of her throat, making him mumble out a chocked ‘fuck’, eyes beginning to tear up again as she holds him there for a moment longer before she begins sucking again. He grabs her by the chin and helps her take him out, and she watches with eyes glinting under the soft lights as he paints her face with long, white stripes, his cum covering her lips, nose and even her cheekbone while she sits still with tongue out and eyes closed.

It’s a Godly sight, and Harry thinks he might be in love.

“It’s your turn,” Harry says, putting some more rice into his mouth.

She puts her spoon back into her bowl, the metal laying perfectly against the mess of her food–chicken tikka masala–and lets out a ‘mmm’.

“Okay,” she nods. “First celebrity crush? Make it saucy.”

Harry laughs. “Justin Timberlake. Not that saucy I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I love that. Mine was Sandy from SpongeBob. Sorry?” She winces, though Harry laughs still. “Anyway. Your turn again.”

They’re sitting on the floor, on Talulah’s favourite cushions, eating their food as Yellow House’s ‘Love in the Time of Socialism’ plays softly in the background. ‘I am  home whenever you are near’, it sings softly, ‘there’s no life in anything when you’re not here’.

Harry smiles at her softly, not saying anything even after the nod she gave his way. His gaze is soft, so soft and kind that it feels like a warm blanket over her, so she reaches with her spoon and touches the tip of his nose as if he would understand her secret language. From the looks of it, Harry does, dimples deepening and smile becoming even wider at the gesture.

“Okay,” he nods, mumbling softly when she looks at him expectantly. “What would you be if not a photographer?”

“Oh, probably a trophy wife.”

“No way.”

“Or a teacher.”

“Way better. First kiss?” He bites into his chicken, then takes some more rice.

“Hey,” she quips. “It was my turn.”

“You can have two turns after this.”

“Nicholas O’Connell. Aged thirteen. He nearly broke my teeth.”

Her face makes him laugh, and he laughs harder when she winces. “Hope you don’t make that face when thinking about our kisses.”

“Never.”

“Good.”

“What’s your favourite sex positon?” She asks, an all-knowing smile appearing on her face.

She looks younger like that, he thinks, and it makes him smile, despite the cheeky question.

“So it’s like that, huh?”

“Answer my question!”

“Okay, uh… this will make me sound so boring, but, doggy.”

“I knew it,” she reaches and flicks him on the chest. “Ask every guy the same question, they will say the same thing.”

His eyebrows raise in question. “That a bad thing?”

“No. I like doggy.”

He grins into his spoon. “Good to know.”

“Mhm. Okay, it’s still my turn. Into threesomes or not– wait,” she shouts. “Changing my question: ever had a threesome?”

“Nope. And to answer your not-question question, I’m not bothered, I guess. I’m a jealous person– I don’t know if I could share you like that.”

They both stop for a moment, Harry’s spoon still in the air, and he only now realises what he’d just said.

Thinking back to their untitled-relationship, Harry doesn’t think what he said to be odd. Though he doesn’t know, or can pinpoint the exact time he started including Talulah in his future plans, if that.

“I feel the same,” she whispers, a tiny smile appearing on her face.

And it means a lot.

When they’re standing side by side in her tiny kitchen, Harry helping with loading the washing machine, Harry presses a tiny kiss to her dimple, and it’s so warm and lovely it makes them both smile, and Talulah comes closer, forehead pressing to the crook of his neck.

“Have you spoken to your mum,” Harry asks, and he sort of regrets asking, doesn’t want to frighten or make her upset, but she doesn’t seem to care all that much.

She shakes her head. “Don’t really feel like it to be honest. I want to focus on work. And you.”

“And me, yes. I like that.”

“You do, do you…”

“Come here,” he brings his arms around her and engulfs her in a hug, pressing her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re brilliant.”

“Oh, shush,” her hair tickles the side of his neck when she shakes her head. “You’re lovely,” She pulls away. “Bo. How’s Bo?”

“Bo’s splendid. He would love it if you visited sometime.”

“Just him?”

He clears his throat in a joking manner, reaching for yet another glass in the sink as they continue their work. “I myself,” he nods. “And Bo– would love it if you visited.”

“Better.”

“Thank you.”

She nods, and grabs the glass from him. “You’re welcome.”

“Hey, how’s Zayn?”

“Oh. He’s fine. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it but he and his fiance were kinda taking a break–” she nods when he raises his eyebrows. “They’re apparently working on each other, that’s what he said this morning. At least they’re sleeping in the same bed again now.”

“That’s rough.”

“Eh. I think they’ll get through it, you know?”

Harry nods, watching as she leans forward to fix a knife in the washing machine. “Yeah, hope so. Zayn’s nice.”

“He is. He thinks you’re nice as well.”

“I can cross that off my checklist then.”

“Freak. Come here,” she places her hands on his hips and brings him into a sweet kiss. “Mmm. You taste like curry.”

It makes him chuckle, but still kisses her lips for the second time anyway. “You do too, freak.”

Silence.

They work in silence, as comfortable as it can in the cramped space, and it’s almost as if their hearts are holding extra space in the small space, though neither of them seem to mind. Harry feels his chest tighten at the stillness of it all, the comfortable silence and the ease of it all. The warmth of their presence in each other’s space feels like the first rays of morning sunshine hitting your cold cheeks through a window as you sip your drink, thinking of nothing but the light that is seeping through the cracks and still shadows of furniture creating the perfect picture of a warm, cosy morning.

Before he can say anything, Talulah turns to him.

“I don’t think I ever want to see my mum. Like,” as the last spoon is placed in the washing machine, she grabs the tea towel by the side and wipes the counter. “Ever.”

“That’s valid,” Harry says, humming. “Very valid.”

“What even is my life? Breaks down at Mother’s wedding.”

Not knowing what to say, he just sighs, and rubs the side of her cheek with his thumb. She nods, at nothing in particular, though stays quiet for another minute as they stand at the sink.

She turns her back to the sink, leaning on the counter. “My ex asked me to marry him once.”

At the revelation–very irrelevant to the topic–, Harry feels himself grow jealous. “Dan?” He says, bitingly.

“Yeah,” pause. “I wasn’t ready. I still am not when it comes to something like that– and he just– yeah.” She turns to him, like breaking the fourth wall, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I’m dumping all my trauma onto you. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to do that.”

“Hey, no,” he presses a kiss to her chin, hand wrapping around her waist. “Please. You can talk to me. I’m okay with that.”

“It’s heavy shit. Frustrating.”

“I know– I don’t care. You can talk to me. Talulah– you’re not on your own, you know that right?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think you’re believing in that, when you say ‘yes’.”

“It’s just– I’m sorry.”

Harry shakes his head, despite her not looking at him. He squeezes her waist. “Don’t. You’ve nothing to apologise for. I’m here. With you– for you. Ben is here. Zayn… we all are.”

She looks up with a tiny smile. “And I’m here for you, too.”

“I know.”

“She should’ve just stayed away.”

“I know, baby. It’s not fair, you don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t want to see or talk to her,” she shrugs, like it’s no big deal. He knows it is. To her, it really is.

He sighs into her hair, pressing her body into him closer. “I know and I will try and make sure you never do. Okay?”

They stay like that for another minute, maybe even more before Talulah squeezes out of his embrace, only a little, to look up at him, to see him properly. They hold each other’s gaze until she speaks.

“I found a therapist,” she mumbles, voice low and eyes wavering. “I haven’t called yet. But, I found one.”

Harry nods, as if to let her know he’s listening, and to let her talk at her own pace. “Yeah?” He says after a beat when she doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah. Actually, Ben suggested it. It was something I always considered. Even went once or twice but– yeah.”

“And how do you feel about it now?” He doesn’t want to say anything wrong, or make her upset with the choice of words, so he just hopes it’s enough for now. “That’s really nice of Ben, as well.”

“I feel… I don’t know. Hopeful? For the first time in a while, actually,” she plays with the hem of Harry’s jumper, fingers shaky on the soft material. “I’m looking forward to it, if that makes sense.”

“It does! It makes me happy knowing that,” a kiss is pressed to her ear, making her giggle.

“So, yeah. I’ll try and call her tomorrow. See if I can get an appointment.”

“That’s great, baby.”

“Okay, enough about me–”

Harry places his thumb and index on her lips, squeezing in a joking manner. “–Never enough. Never ever– can never get enough of you.”

She whines. “Let’s put on a film and hope that Bo forgives me for holding you hostage.”

Harry leaves after five episodes of Friends, and Talulah goes to work with an uncontrollable smile on her face the next morning, smiling at nearly everyone who passes by as she sing-songs her ‘good morning’s’. That’s not to say she never talks to people at work, or outside, really. She just doesn’t seem, or look that enthusiastic at nine o’clock in the morning usually. It’s just Olive in the reception when she walks in, and they share a smile as Olive compliments her on her shoes before she’s ushered into the lift by Zayn, who looks like he’d been waiting in there for quite some time.

“Taking your sweet time, aren’t you,” he says, placing a cigarette behind his ear. “What’s going on, then?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. You look like you’ve had sex before you came in.”

That makes her gasp. “I didn’t have sex, stop being so… so nasty.”

“Yesterday, then.”

She doesn’t respond. One, it wasn’t… sex, she wants to quip, though she stays mute. And two, she did have something yesterday, and technically, you could count that as sex...ual.

“None of your business. Get out,” she murmurs, earning a grin from the tall man.

Zayn’s grin only widens when Talulah doesn’t meet his eyes. “You’re so full of shit. This is our floor.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Get out of here. So–”

“Oh my God, leave me alone, it's too early for this– for you,” she makes her way towards the kitchen area, her coffee cup in hand, ready to be prepared.

Zayn follows. “Harry, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Zayn. Now, get out of my way.”

“Okay.”

She rolls her eyes, hands reaching for her tin of instant coffee. “Am I with you today?” She asks, putting the kettle on.

“I have to check.”

“You don’t check your calendar before coming into work?”

“Sometimes.”

“Irresponsible.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he says, “I’ve heard worse. Hey,” he perks up. “Jules and I want to have you over for dinner soon. She insisted. You know how little I like your company.”

She smiles at the mention of Jules. “So, you guys are good?”

“Working on it… she thinks it’ll be nice. Having you around and shit.”

“I’m not playing your therapist, just saying.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Does tomorrow work? Or you’ve got another date planned with Harvey? Sex-date.”

“Harry. You said it right the first time, you muppet. And no. I don’t have a date with Harry tomorrow. I got my fix last night, unlike you… apparently.”

“Fuck off.”

MJ walks in with a large, steaming mug in hand, and gives them a nod. “Morning. I’m glad I found you both here,” he takes a large sip. “Zayn, Billie Piper will be here at ten o’clock instead of eleven. Talulah, I know it’s last minute but can you do Billie at ten, then join Farrah for her shoot with Lila Moss at one o’clock?”

She tries to visualise her timetable for the day. “I think so. I need to edit in a bit so I’ll try to finish until one– I think I can manage.”

“I would appreciate that,” MJ nods. “Sorry, it’s last minute. Greg fell and broke both legs–”

“–Oh my God.”

“He’s in the hospital, he’s fine… other than their legs. We’ll manage. Okay,” he takes a spoon from the rack. “I gotta run. See you guys in a bit.”

Zayn nods while Talulah mutters, “Bye.”

“I don’t even know who Lila Moss is.”

“She’s Kate Moss’ daughter,” Zayn says, taking the cigarette from behind his ear.

“Oh, wow. Okay. Don’t mention any of this to MJ. Or anyone for that matter.”

They make their way to the lifts, and Zayn presses the button to take them up to the roof for a cigarette before they start their work day. They’re both quiet, until Talulah speaks.

“You know,” she says. “I was thinking about getting a mortgage for a while– to buy a house, my flat,” she adds, and it’s all very sudden, the revelation of it all. “I decided against it. I don’t want to move out. I don’t want a big house– I don’t need that in my life right now.”

“Didn’t even know you were thinking about it,” Zayn hums. “What made you realise that?”

“I wanted it because everyone seemed to do so. I thought that was what you needed to do once you– you grew up, you know what I mean? I don’t need to follow in– in anyone’s steps. I earn enough and I’m fine with renting… for now.”

“You’re right,” Zayn nods, placing his hand on her waist, guiding her out of the lift, to the doors leading to the roof. “Mortgage stuff is frustrating. You don’t need that in your life right now. Your flat is nice. You could even rent another place, if you wanted to. Don’t need to buy a fucking house yet, T. Go at your own pace and all that, you know?”

“I know… I know. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Come, roll me one,” he gestures at her tobacco bag. “I’m in the mood for a nicotine coma.”

to be continued.

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[sukirichi]

acquainted

You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.

REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place

WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex

WC. 5.4k+

NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑

There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.

So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.

“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.

The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.

“I believe you’re in my seat.”

You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”

Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”

“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”

“You little — who do you think you are?”

“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”

His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”

“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”

“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”

“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.

That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”

“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”

“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson.  “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”

It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.

You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.

No wonder that name was so familiar.

The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.

Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.

You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.

It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?

For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.

You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.

The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more.  Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.

You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”

Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.

He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.

You were beyond appalled.

“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”

“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”

“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”

Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”

“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”

“I have nothing to prove to you.”

“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”

“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”

Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.

From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.

“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”

“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”

You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?

Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?

If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.

God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.  

Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.

“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”

For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”

“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”

“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”

You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”

“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”

“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”

“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”

A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”

Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.

It was a blurry mess from there.

Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.

It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.

Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.

Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?

Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?

Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.

“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”

“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”

Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress.  “Get on your knees. Now suck.”

He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.

Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.

Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.

You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.

While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.

A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.

You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.

“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”

“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”

Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”

Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.

Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”

“Go faster. This is unfair!”

Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.

“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”

You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.

The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.

You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.

Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.

“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop ­— and by then Naoya was losing his mind.

Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”

You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.

“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.

“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.

Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”

Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.

You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.

The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.

Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”

“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.

Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.

“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”

“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”

“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”

Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.

“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”

“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”

All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.

Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”

Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.

You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”

“You’re the one who brought me here.”

“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.

“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”

You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.

As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.

Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”

“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.

Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.

It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.

“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”

There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.

“Be ready for me, Zenin.”

“I always am.”

All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?

#naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin #naoya zenin x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #naoya zenin smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #naoya zenin imagines #naoya zenin x reader imagines #naoya zenin x you #naoya x you #zenin naoya #jujutsu kaisen naoya zenin #naoya zenin x you smut #naoya zenin x reader romance #naoya x reader romance #NAOYA SUPREMACY #suki: 500 milestone event #ayyyy i swear all of my naoya fics are my favorite like DUH #suki: queued

[kkusuka]

Have I told you I hate weak y/n’s that get pushed around by fangirls? No? Well, I hate them 😊

Let’s have Oikawa, Atsumu, Akaashi, Semi, and Terushima react to their normally calm gf, beat the dog shit out of a fangirl that tried to intimidate her for dating said men above. Reader just has a soft smile before cocking her fist back and boxing her shit before holding up the fangirl and looking to the rest like “You wanna end up like her? No? Then know your place~ ☺️”. Then she faces her bf with a sweet smile and says something affectionate like “I brought you lunch, dear. I made it just how you like it 😄” before kissing his cheek like she didn’t go Muhammad Ali on a bitch

<3

Oikawa Tooru<3

Oikawa’s had more than a few less than pleasant experiences with women

Considering he’s always been surrounded by them, from his sister's friends in middle school and being swarmed by them in High school and college- having women around him was nothing new

And for the most part, they were all pleasant

Giving him little gifts and food- that he always gave to you- and just telling him how much they loved watching him play

All things he can deal with before talking to his favorite girl, you

Though, there have been instances of some bold woman who just never get the hint

Whether it be drunkenness or some weird dream of having Oikawa to herself or just blatant disregard of his relationship

And right now just happens to be one of those times- but now you got a firsthand view of the madness.

Whoever this was clearly didn't understand relationships or personal space for that matter

She had a hand on his chest and was just blubbering about how she would be the best wife for him and would make life so much easier- much more than you do for him- and that was just what you saw from the ten seconds you were in earshot

He would normally laugh it offend continue seeking out autographs but he seemed to be locked in an iron maiden

“I promise! Forget about your girlfriend, she’s useless anyways!” and finally a perfect chance to make yourself known

“Tooru, I have your lun-” you attempted to grab him away, him shooting a pleading look to save him before your wrist was snatched from his arm and tugged away and shoved to the side then pushing your body away from the two

“Back off bitch!”

Now,  you were normally a pretty calm person, you knew how to deal with the women and you have been for years.

But you stand by the fact that it was never ok to put your hands on someone- no matter the situation.

But at that moment, you could care less about your silly reparations and breathing methods, that lady put a hand on you and pushed you

You could hear Tooru telling her to keep her hands off you but you just looked around and made sure that everyone saw what had happened, you don't need to be arrested anytime soon

Grabber her arm you detached her from your boyfriends and in the next second your fist was connecting with her face, watching her wither on the floor you turn to your boyfriend who’s now coming towards you

“As I was saying, I have your lunch.”

Atsumu Miya<3

Another guy who’s constantly surrounded by women

Although he is far less appreciative and nice to them, and he makes it a point to be abundantly clear that you are the only woman he will spend the rest of his life with

Something that wasn't too popular with a few specific fans

Every blue moon someone will find his phone number and blow it up with loving messages or try and get his address

The worst it’s been was someone finding his apartment number and thankfully being too far away to come by themselves but they did send some inappropriate images to his PO box and that led him to create an even thinker line between fans and himself

Thankful, the whole of them understood and respected his boundaries

Buuuuut there are always people who go the extra step

Like whoever this is crowding your boyfriend after a win against the Alders with a giant poster of him and a …. Thong

If you were the slightest more stoic you would have held in the laugh that started it all but it seems crazy is crazy no matter how you provoke them

That lady heard you laugh and the flood gates opened, in a split second her hand was on your cheek then she was on the floor holding what you could hope was a broken jaw

You didn't even realize you punched her until a shooting pain went up your wrist

Though before you had a chance to return to your lovely boyfriend, who was standing in the same spot shell shocked (and slightly turned on)  hand grabbed your ankle the flung you to the ground

It was, for lack of a better term, a catfight

She was hitting you and you were hitting her and she was screaming random shit about how awful you were to her precious Atsumu- seriously this lady was insane

Nevertheless, security arrived, and let’s just say that you were in much better condition than she was, who knew you could fight so well?

Though you weren't allowed to come to the next game and had to apologize to the heads of the Volleyball association, Tsumu was proud of you and the internet was on your side- so it was kind of a win-win

Akaashi Keiji<3

He surprisingly doesn't have a swarm of fangirls around him

But it’s much much worse, you’d rather have a mob of girls around him than the four specific psychos that never leave the poor guy alone

Everywhere in school at least one of them is watching the two of you, in class, at lunch- no matter where you try and eat- you swear you even saw one at the boba show you pass on your walk home with him

The worst part?

He thinks it’s funny.

It is hilarious to him that you try so hard to keep them away full knowing he would never leave you for the likes of them. It’s just too cute how you puff up your cheeks and huff about them and honestly, it's a breath of fresh air considering how much everyone kisses up to him

Well- he likes it when they are at a distance

On the off chance they get close to him, it's a different story. They truly are intolerable, and they away try bad-mouthing you to him like it was supposed to mean something that they don't like you

And they only ever do it when you’re away- cowards they truly are. And since they’re always watching, as soon as you left to buy the two of you lunch, one of them was on him in an instant

She was annoying and all she could say was ho you were a ‘poison’ in his life and he had to leave you as soon as possible

He didn't even realize you were there until a hand grabbed the back of her uniform and flung her off him. And from the looks of it, falling on the ground really hurt

“I’m a poison? That’s all you could come up with?”

You didn't even have to say another word, she was already out of sight

Not missing a beat, you handed him his lunch and started talking about the latest episode of the volleyball anime you loved.

Semi Eita<3

First off- a total power couple

Not only are you willing to beat a bitch, but he’s also ready to hype you up while you do it

It’s not confirmed you have, but there are rumors that you fought more than a few girls who were less than pleasant. And it’s not like you do anything for rumor control, you just laugh and turn the other way

Still, even with the rumor mill running rampant, some girls still try and shoot their shot

But this girl has to be the boldest woman on planet earth

Not only was she flirting with an openly taken man, but she was flirting with him as he held his arm around your waist. She even looked at you as she spoke to him, the audacity of people these days

“You like music? That’s crazy, I do too!” you wanted her to shut the fuck up as soon as possible.

What pissed you off more was that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was letting it happen to spite you.

What happened after this you blame solely on the alcohol the party was providing and not on the fact you wanted to clock this girl the moment you saw her

It was just that suddenly your drink was in her face

Then her drink was in her face, and she was running to the bathroom, maybe she should listen to rumors more often because you don't think strawberry daiquiri will come out of a white crop too so easily

Terushima Yuji<3

He’s an ass

But he’s your ass, somehow

He’s a manwhore and an attention-whore, mix that should have been shot before it could grow into something more

By now you're used to the girls slipping him their numbers and hitting him up on every social media site possible and you remain happy to say he doesn't respond- probably too busy dicking you down to care about any of them

Plus, less than 1%  of them actually approach them in public, and they just happen to be the most insufferable people on the planet.

Desperation doesn't even describe it

Of that 1%, at least half of them try to touch him, running a hand on his arm, tugging at his clothes, maybe even a strand of his hair, all you can deal with because he knows what’ll happen if he even entertains their advances

But for some reason, the only thing that sets you off is when they mention the tongue piercing.

It invokes a rage unknown within you, the second the metal ball’s mentioned you see red. And he fucking loves it, you could be three prefectures over and the second the girl mentions it, you magically appear at his side like you’d been there the whole time

All of a sudden you’re all over him, disregarding this girls words as she tries to bring the conversation back to her, going as far as grabbing your shoulder, and since she touched you first- you had the green light

Your arm pulled back and your fist connected to her cheek

And like nothing ever happened you turned back to the blond

tags: @diamond-3 @rinsangel @heyheyitsne @angelalje @monisi @crystal-lilac @sadpotato10

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa smut #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu smut #akaashi x reader #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi smut #semi eita x reader #semi eita #semi x reader #semi smut #terushima yuji x reader #terushima x reader #terushima smut #terushima yuuji #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq x reader

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Hi, I wanted to ask if self-help gurus are genuine people who care about helping people improve their lives or are they con artists who scam people for money with the illusion that they have the knowledge to improving lives? I couldn't help but notice they're almost identical to the cult or religious people who exploit the weak who are at their lowest seeking help to get better. Am I wrong?

There are some exceptions, but as a general rule I regard the "self help" industry as hokum.

I don't necessarily think that it's because people are outright scammers, as it may be simply the delusion of their own over-inflated sense of wisdom, depth and insight, that everything that comes out of their mouth is fucking gold. Someone like Deepak Chopra may well be both; he's certainly a con artist fraud, and may well be delusional as well.

There are two main reasons I regard it as hokum.

The first is obvious: that it really is an industry. It seems to function as a star-making vehicle to create fans and acolytes, and make you think solving all your problems and worries is just 5 easy payments of $75 per year, plus postage, away. These gurus never talk about their failures, and of course anyone saying it didn't work for them obviously just didn't believe it or stick to it enough. It's all about being part of a group. Like religious faith, or Alcoholics Anonymous.

The second reason is that "self help" requires "self diagnosis." And of everyone in the world, you are probably the worst person to diagnose you. Because you're seeing you and your problems (or your interpretation of your problems), through the problems you're trying to solve.

As Chris Williamson...

You are your most untrustworthy friend.

The voice that’s inside of your head is batting… it’s got the worst average in history. Imagine all of the things that you thought that didn’t turn out to be true. All of the concerns that you had, all the worries, all of the fears and the overthinking and the absolute certainties about whatever catastrophe was going to occur, or absolute certainties about whatever success was going to occur and it didn’t.

If you were friends with that person, you would think that they were the biggest gobshite on the planet. You’d be like “dude, all that you do is spew misinformation at me on a daily basis. What are you talking about?” But because the voice comes from inside of us, we trust it.

... and Alison Tieman have noted:

in fact, I pay for a man to tell me at regular intervals that my fear is ridiculous.

Perhaps not in so many words, but there's actually a service for that: it's called a therapist.

It's what therapists do, they politely tell you that your fears are ridiculous.

Remember that fad of self-diagnosis on Tumblr a few years ago? People were diagnosing themselves with conditions like dissociative personality disorder because sometimes they have days when they like work/school, and sometimes they have days when they hate work/school. Or reasons just as juvenile and idiotic. Or diagnose themselves with bipolar disorder as an explanation - and excuse - for just being a shitty person. This was usually justified by the trope of "nobody knows me better than I do." You might be an expert in what you think and what you feel, but not an expert in what it means or indicates, what conclusions can be drawn or diagnoses made.

And yet, to say that this self-diagnosis was invalid was to deny their "truth." Which was then promptly followed by the banshee screech of attempts to shame you about your purported intolerance and hatred of neuro-divergent people, as a way to deflect away from the more accurate observation that they're an idiot seeking attention and identity by smuggling themselves in where they didn't belong

"How do you do, fellow kids?"

-- Lenny Wozniak (Steve Buscemi)

Anyone else remember those fun days?

(It's interesting that the entire phenomenon has been recapitulated in gender ideology. But that's another post.)

The saying in the legal profession is that someone "who is their own lawyer has a fool for a client," and in medicine that the doctor should not be their own patient. The reverse is also true: the patient should not be their own doctor.

Actually helping requires actually understanding the problem. And the key to that is actually listening. Which "self help gurus" never do, because they're a voice on a video or podcast, or words written in a book. They don’t know your actual problems. They don’t know what you actually need.

All of that said, there are some things that can be helpful, but should not be - and are not intended to be - used as a substitute for actually getting help. An example that comes immediately to mind is Sam Harris' "Waking Up" meditation app. Meditation can be helpful for all sorts of reasons, and it doesn’t require or imply a particular diagnosis.

#ask #self help #self help guru #con artist #scam artist #religion is a mental illness #self diagnosis

[cqlfeels]

Could you clarify one thing about The Untamed? (I haven't read the novel so maybe it is explained more clearly there).

At the end of episode 5 we can see Wangji buying two bottles of the Emperor's Smile, and in the next episode he goes to Wei Wuxian's room at night for no apparent reason and finds him drinking and having fun with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huisang, and then LWJ gets angry.

I have a presentiment that he went there to offer WWX the two bottles as a sign of peace or to thank him for the loquats, but then he saw that WWX was having fun without him and then his mood is changed 🤣 so Teen!Wangji was already ready to drinking or sharing alcohol with Wuxian but he was blocked by frustration and jealousy. (otherwise why would he have bought the two bottles?).

If only Wei Wuxian had known 😂 that Wangji was already willing to drink or let him drink without forcing Wangji with the talismans (I admit that scene made me a little uncomfortable, although maybe Teen!WWX didn't think Wangji was so intolerant to alcohol)

Okay so I had my Suspicions about this but I went over to check the episode. Disclaimer: I'm bad at recognizing body parts so I won't attempt to do that, but if those are Definitely LWJ's hands somebody please tell me :3

Here's the boat configuration

The Wen siblings are also there but I'm ignoring them because we need white sleeves here. Because here's the person getting alcohol:

White sleeves, see? However, to get a jar with his right hand, like here, LWJ would have to lean over LXC, or avoid him in another way. That's not impossible, but I don't know that young LWJ would show to People that he'd be willing to make a minor effort to buy alcohol, especially because WWX - whose boat is behind his - would see it and never ever ever let him live it down. Plus, when we get to see the boat an instant later, it seems like there's only one person on it:

I think this is not LWJ buying alcohol, but WWX buying the booze for the Gusu Trio party that happens later that very same day. This scene may be answering the question "if LWJ broke WWX's alcohol initial supply, how does the party happen next episode?"

As for why LWJ randomly goes to WWX's room, I think he may be like "I'm sure WWX will Break A Rule so I will Patrol The Premises Of His Room. I am not hoping to meet him. I am thinking only of The Rules. I will go inside his room because I have reason to believe he is Breaking Rules. I am not curious about what he is doing. I am An Upstanding Disciple and do not have A Crush. R u l e s."

Also while I'm also slightly uncomfortable with how little WWX seems to understand consent in this particular scene, I think this is more... A dumb teenager being dumb than anything malicious. He has a talisman that apparently can freeze LWJ and force him to do anything WWX wants and the only things WWX does with that are, in order: getting out of trouble for illegal party, making LWJ drink a single cup to force him to have fun because LWJ is Too Strict For His Own Good , panicking when LWJ passes out and proceeding to spend the rest of the night clumsily looking after him. And then next morning he tries more than once to convince LQR and LXC that LWJ did nothing wrong and it was all his fault, so he seems to understand he Messed Up™️. Of course, adult WWX never again fails to consider consent while using magic to do things for people's Own Good. That's not something he ever does to WN or JC, for instance.

...did this excessively long and slightly out of topic answer help? If it didn't feel free to send me another ask!

#uh #long post #? #i really have to decide what counts as a long post