#(hes such a charming bloke

[lunasilvis]

Just helped a cokey Berlin guy get into a kinky sex party at Watergate club, Berlin. Doing angel deeds today. Received Dresden travel advice in return

[moreobliviousthanpercyjackson]

If I see another shitty news story about the ‘mixed-weight’ marriage in Bridgerton, I will launch a DDOS attack and then neck myself. Why are we as a species trying to invent new ways to segregate ourselves. I haven’t even watched the show why am I seeing that.

[shotmrmiller]

god going on a date with johnny whom you matched on tinder and he's the type of guy you avoid like the plague; jaw-dropping good looks, cheeky ㅤㅤsmiles, hits the gym more in a week than you've done all year and worst of all, could charm the pants off a snake.

so it's truly no wonder that you end up letting him bury his face between your thighs and lap at your glistening sex until your moans almost turn into screams and you haven't even left the bar's driveway, then left to watch johnny wipe the condensation off the windshield with a spare shirt so he can drive you home all the while his chin drips with your slick.

he fucks you against the front door once inside, legs hooked over his arms, then again over your couch, hand curled around your throat, and again, in front of your full length mirror while he tells you how pretty you look taking all of him, to look at how pretty you look, his crystalline eyes latching onto yours through the reflection, pretty as a peach.

then he leaves you with his spend sticking your thighs together, a languid kiss that tastes of you, and with his personal number on a scrap piece of paper.

and that's the last you hear of him. he'd said that he's quite a busy man, military and whatnot, and all in all, while you'd raked your nails down his back on the first date, it had been a date. you require more than good sex to get into a committed relationship.

a swipe of your thumb brings up tinder again, and you match with another bloke not your type. big, broad man, biceps the size of your thighs with a deadpan stare that sees right through false bravado. but he's doesn't seem to care in the slightest that he makes you nervous, doesn't care that you stutter out responses to his rather abnormal questions.

simon takes you home and sits eerily silent with his hands dwarfing the steering wheel as you chew on your lip before tentatively inviting him in for a nightcap, and you must be the luckiest person on the planet because he's just as devoted to your pleasure as your last partner.

he brings you peak after peak with his tongue, his fingers, swirls your pearl with the tip of his misaligned nose. then he lets you be on top first, concentration knitting your brows togethee as you try to fit all of him in and pride warms your cheeks when you can hear his teeth audibly grind as his fingers bite into the soft of your waist once you take him to the root, thighs flush against his hips.

you come undone more times than you can count, the neighbors more than likely knowing his name by the time he walks out the front door (after checking the locks on your windows) and that's that.

until it isn't because a text from johnny awakens your phone screen, an invite to a restaurant downtown next saturday, one you've only ever fancied of eating at and well-

a date is a date, isn't it?

you tell him to pick you up at seven and he tells you to wear something you wouldn't mind letting him keep underneath, preferably something in red. (must've seen that particular number while you looked for some sleeping shorts before he left that night.)

hopefully you won't feel too bad breaking things off with whoever doesn't ask you to be theirs first.

(simon and johnny fuck each other to the thought of you back at base, simon's fist viciously tight around johnny's cock as he's got him drooling into the flattened pillow, almost like she's fucking you too, eh, johnny?)

[partiallysame]

Ghost Gets No Bitches 2.5

Lil part 2.5 before smut? Why not

Did I know I was gonna make this a series? No. Did I know it was gonna be titled Ghost Gets No Bitches? definitely not but here we are

Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 400

Ghost knew he was a goner when you touched his hand in the grocery store but now your arms are around his neck and your lips are on his. His hands that had been so nervous to touch you, found their way to your hips pulling you closer to him. 

“Why don’t we get out of here big boy?” Your suggestive tone had him nodding embarrassingly fast, anything to have your lips on him again. His brain had turned to mush and he completely forgot the little challenge you had given him and what it meant when he failed it until you two stepped out of the bar and saw Soap sitting on the hood of his car. (ofc the fucker didn’t leave)

Simon had been walking behind you, hands still on your hips as you guided the two of you out. His grip tightened exponentially when Soap approached you two. Offering his name and his hand. You thought it was going to be a handshake until Soap brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. Ghost instinctively pulled you flush against him.

“Its a pleasure to meet a pretty lass like yourself. Did Simon show you a good time? Not too dull eh?” John’s eyes had left yours to give a challenging stare to Ghost. “I know the bloke can be a bit boring sometimes, he’s not great with the ladies.” 

“Johnny.” Your sweet voice brought his eyes back to you and you took a small step forward, removing yourself from Simon’s body. Your curled your finger for Soap to come closer and fuck Ghost was nervous, remembering what happened when you called him over like that. Big fat smile spreading across Soap’s face as he neared you, stopping awfully close to you. Your hand reached up to grab his face. Hand gripping his cheeks to pull his face just inches from yours. Ghost was going to kill him, Price would understand? Right? The first girl to pay attention to him and Soap is trying to charm you away from him. Simon ready to give up and walk home until you spoke again, face so close to Soap.

“You talk too much.” Soap’s smile dropped so fast as your grip on his face tightened for a split second before you let go and stepped back into Ghost’s arms. Turning to look at the blonde man, “take me home yeah?” 

[writersdrug]

Bartender ghost’s reaction to waitress reader getting hit on by a customer or customers.

There's not nearly enough of these in my askbox send me mooooreeeeeee

He kinda hates it. He hates seeing her getting ogled at, hates seeing them scribble their numbers on the receipts, hates the way they make you run back and forth to grab them ketchup, mayo, more drinks, or to ask Soap for an extra side of fries - hates the way they try to chat you up, leaning back in their seats and saying anything that'll get you giggling and bright eyed - Simon knows it's all for their pleasure, having you at their beck and call for an hour or two, making you their personal little errand girl and watching you weave around tables and customers for their own enjoyment.

Simon isn't mad at you for wearing those shorts and skirts that have the patrons' eyes glued to your backside, or those low-cut, tight tops that hug you so nicely, making them stutter as they give you their order. He's mad at them, those sleazeballs who think they're worth your time or attention. You're his waitress, not their toy. His pretty little over-achiever.

And that's exactly why he tolerates it. He knows you're a grown adult, and he knows you're smart. You play their game, smiling sweetly and acting the tiniest bit coy and frazzled, nonetheless fulfilling every single one of their requests. Pretending to be apologetic about a burger not made to a customer's liking, then barking out orders to Soap once you're behind the kitchen door (don't worry, he barks back). You do it all for the fat tips, the double, sometimes triple digits on their receipts. He swallows the bitter taste of jealousy - well, he tries to. He's got his own patrons at the bartop to worry about.

You waltz over at the end of your shift and slap a receipt on the counter. "Some bloke left me a billion dollar tip." You say with a cheeky grin, cheeks flushed from hours of running between tables.

Ghost cocks an eyebrow, looking at the receipt. Sure enough, the idiot had left his mobile number in the tips section - technically, he left you four billion.

"That won't go through, 'n you know it." He says, looking over the edge of the receipt at you.

You purse your lips and tilt your chin down, looking up at him through your stupid, bloody, gorgeous eyes. "Twenty percent auto-grat, since that's technically not a tip? Pretty pleeeeease?"

He wants to say no, just to prove he's strong-willed against your flirtatious antics. He's an ex-SAS soldier. He's better than this. Your charm may fool those boys at his tables, but not him.

That is, until you carefully wrap your delicate hand around his wrist, using your other fingers to fold the receipt over his knuckles. "It'll be our little secret."

Thank god he has the counter to hide his raging hard on. He huffs and snatches the receipt from your fingers, turning to the POS.

"Fuckin' whatever." He says, punching in the tip. You squeal in delight and flit back to the restaurant floor to finish your tasks.

"Thanks Simon!" You chirp, and he grunts over his shoulder - discretely pressing his boner into counter.

You have to fan the heat from your face, remembering how his wrist felt in your hand.

[hexlenx]

LIE DETECTOR — aaron taylor-johnson

In which both you and your husband were invited to do a lie detector test in the vanity fair channel.

note: I only own the story not the channel and our daddy Aaron. This was also inspired by Ariana Grande and Cynthia's lie detector episode so some of the questions in this story might be the same as the episode. I honestly don't like Sam Tayler that much because of her marrying a male so much younger than her but I can't lie that she's a decently good person, she matched Aaron's freak but a bit too much—

warnings!: none really.

__________________

"Hello I am Mr. Johnson, married to this lovely amazing woman here." Aaron Johnson greeted towards the large camera in front of him and his wife, who was beside him blushing as well as smiling widely at what he said, before moving his gaze towards you. Everyone in the room as well as the viewers could see the love in his eyes with the way he looks at you.

"And I am [ Your Name ] Johnson, the wife of this very handsome and devilishly charming bloke beside me." You grinned at the camera while moving your hand towards your husband's hand before holding on to it. This lead to Aaron subconsciously intertwining both of your hands before mindlessly holding it up for him to kiss your joined hands.

It was an adorable sight for everyone watching as they could feel the pure love coming from them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, you are here to take a lie detector test. One will be attached to a machine for the test to work and the other will be sitting in the chair in front of you to ask you some questions. So who will be ready to take the hot seat?" The woman behind the camera said to the couple. After hearing this, you raised your free hand taking you and your husband by surprise.

"I think I can go first." You said while you looked at your husband, seeing if he agrees.

"You sure? I can go first for you." Aaron proposed but you shook your head and said you were okay to go first.

Now seated in your places, the woman, Stephanie, who was a lie detector professional put a black strap around your chest as well as a smaller one around your index finger.

"You alright, love?" Aaron asked his lover while smiling slightly when he saw you closing your eyes when the straps were put on you. He could tell you were about to enjoy this test and he could tell he would as well.

"Yes! Does this detect my anxiety as well?" You asked towards Stephanie who paused for a while.

"Yes, it can."

"Oh fuck me." You cursed making your husband laugh at your misery.

"Oh yea, laugh at my misery, why don't you?" This made Aaron laugh even harder before composing himself.

"Right. So before we start with the serious question, I need you to answer some simple questions to calibrate the machine. You okay with that, love?" Aaron inquired.

"Oh, Absolutely." You agreed. Aaron nodded and cleared his throat before asking you the questions.

"Alright, are you [ Your Name ] [Last Name ] Johnson?"

"Yes."

Stephanie nodded.

"Were you born in [ Birthday ]?"

"Yes."

Another nod from Stephanie.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes but at the same time I feel really excited."

Another nod.

"Were you and Mr.Johnson married in [ date ] and at [ time ]?"

"That's oddly very specific but yes." Aaron chuckled at this because he agrees.

"The machine has been calibrated." Stephanie informed the couple to which they nodded. You adjusted in your seat before breathing out to ready yourself for the real questions.

"You ready, hon?" Aaron looked at his wife who nodded with a small 'yep'.

"Love, you've won two oscars and was awarded of the best young actress award in 2013. Would you say that you have the best work ethic?" This made you think a bit because you definitely don't have the best one right now but it was alright and you were comfortable.

"I wouldn't say I have the best, I mean there are some times where it's the worst and there are also times where it worked in the most conventional way. I would just say I'm a workaholic." You explained it as best as you could making Stephanie nod a yes from behind the lie detector. This caused you to beam in excitement, you knew to yourself that you weren't lying and seeing that it was confirmed made you excited.

Seeing you excited made Aaron smile at you fondly. He always loved seeing you light up, it's one of the things that made his days brighter even on his worst days. He guesses that this lie detector test would help both of you gain more trust in each other in some way.

"Oh you are definitely a workaholic. Speaking of, the next question is are you a workaholic?" Aaron chuckled out when he saw you sarcastically roll your eyes.

"Duh? I just did a few moments ago."

"Truthful." Stephanie said making you smile at her.

"Next is, would you work with this person?" Aaron slid a photo of Ben Barnes to which you chuckled.

"Oh my god, not Benjamin!" You dramatically exclaimed as you saw the photo of your long time friend, to which everyone chuckled in amusement. "We've worked together multiple times, secretly. Though Aaron knows this because he's 'his brother from another mother' if you get what that reference means." You winked at the camera.

"Hey! We're supposed to keep Padfoot a secret, what would his banshee of a mother think of now?" Aaron playfully reprimanded you to which you laughed because you understood his joke quite well.

"James, you practically announced that he was living with you since we were teens." You deadpanned continuing the joke as your husband playfully glared at you.

"Everything she said is the truth." Stephanie said, making everyone watching gape as you both basically revealed the Sirius Black and James Potter fancasts are best friends to the point of barging in each other's homes like the Harry Potter characters.

Both you and your husband exchanged amused glances before continuing on with the questions.

"What do you think of this photo?" Aaron slid another photo of you and Sam Taylor smiling at the camera on the way to the Tony Awards.

"Aw, it's Sammy! This was probably one of my favorite photos because if it weren't for Sam, me and Aaron wouldn't be together to this day. Because fun fact, Sam was the one who kept trying to put us together whenever she could when we met each other in the film Kick-Ass. It also just happened that I was the love interest of Dave Lizewski so it kind of made her set on her 'matchmaking' as she calls it. She's like a mother to me, truly." You explained in fondness, it was true. The woman was not that very liked due to her marrying a way more younger man than her but behind all that, she was truly only a woman who loved to love. Her movies directed by her showed that.

Sam saw what you and Aaron had and wanted you to be able to experience the type of love she couldn't have when she was younger. A love that was shared with a pair at the same age or close to their age. Sam loved her husband who was 34 now but even she knew that it wouldn't last, she was 57 for god's sake. She knew she would end up divorced sooner or later and she wanted to see you end up with someone you love and is the same age, she didn't want you to end up like her. Because she truly thought of you as her daughter as well.

Aaron stared at you with the warmest and loving eyes you could ever see in a person. He was deeply in love with you and the viewers can see it, feel it. He knew that you loved talking about Sam, she became like a mother figure to him too. She was the one who he confided to whenever he was worried about making the wrong move towards you and he never once regretted asking her for help because he wouldn't be married to you if he did.

"Alright, love. Next question is—" Aaron scoffed off a laugh threatening to burst out of his mouth when he read the question.

"What? What is it?" You asked worriedly to your husband who shook his head no before stuttering out the question.

"Do you believe the moon landing was fake?"

"What the fuck? What kind of question is that? No!" You voiced out in confusion. Of course you knew it was real! Right?

"Inconclusive." Stephanie hid a smile as she said this, the machine was indeed saying it was inconclusive.

Aaron bursted out of laughing as soon as he heard that.

"You think it was fake?" Your husband laughed out while smacking his thigh from amusement.

"No! I didn't until Stephanie put that in me!" You exclaimed as you looked absolutely repulsed and confused. Maybe this is rigged.

"Oh god, that is hilarious! I am never letting this go down, love." Aaron breathed out as he tried to compose himself. You on the other hand, covered your face with your hands in disbelief.

"Do you believe the earth is flat?"

"No!"

"Deceptive."

Another burst of laughter as well as a gasp of disbelief.

"You think the Earth's flat now?" Aaron was almost crying because of how entertaining this was. This was the best day of his life, one of them at least. "Let's try again, Do you think the Earth is flat?"

"No, the earth is round." You said, now much more calmer than before. This made Stephanie nod in confirmation that you were indeed telling the truth.

"I think you were still stuck with the moon landing, love."

"I was definitely still stuck there."

"Alright there is one more question before we switch." Aaron announced after a series of questions went by. You nodded and slightly adjusted in your seat.

"Do you love me?"

"Of course, I do, very much." You answered instantly and with a single nod from Stephanie, Aaron smiled softly at you to which you did the same.

"Why?" Aaron added making you pretend to think, which made him chuckle a bit.

"The right question for that is 'cuz, why not?" You said with a smile as your husband only raised a brow signalling you to elaborate.

"What's there not to love about you or yourself in general?" You said softly as you looked into his eyes with that same look that he has on his. Both of you stared at each other in silence. God, He thinks he just fell in love with you again. He thought as he took in your whole being in front of him.

"I don't know—a lot, I guess?" He shrugged seemingly nonchalant but you knew better.

"Well I love them and love all of you." You said short and honestly. To which Stephanie nodded once again to confirm that what you said was true. The Lie detector professional knew she doesn't need to speak to confirm this so she settled with a simple nod like from before because she did not want to ruin this cute moment the soulmates were having. Yes, she thinks both of you are soulmates. Not everyone would look at their spouse like that even after getting married or spending time with each other.

"God fuckin' damn it, I think I just fell in love with you over and over again."

[my-castles-crumbling]

attract - @rosekillermicrofic - 336

“So…did Reg tell you?” Barty asked Evan a bit nervously as he sat, legs crossed, facing him on his bed, their third-year dorm completely quiet.

“Yeah,” Evan murmured back with an odd lock on his face, looking to make sure the curtains were securely closed, his silencing charms intact. He swallowed thickly and blinked several times, as if trying to digest the information. “He really likes blokes, then.”

“Yeah,” Barty nodded, trying to decide if it was weird to look his best friend in the eye when they discussed such matters. He opted instead to focus on his own fingers as he picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “Erm…did you…did you know? That you could…?” He felt his face heat and his skin felt too loose and too tight all at the same time. It was so hot and so cold all at once.

“That boys could…erm…be attracted to boys? I’d,” he cleared his throat, “…heard of it, yeah….” Evan answered vaguely, shifting his weight and sniffing.

“Same. But my father…” Barty trailed off, imagining how his father would feel if he ever dated a boy. Not that he would, of course. 

“Same,” Evan nodded, finally meeting his eyes.

“But we support Reg, right?” Barty clarified nervously. For some reason, it seemed extra-important to know that Evan would be okay having queer friends. 

“Oh. ‘Course,” Evan nodded, giving him a small smile. “He’s fine. I mean, I’d even be okay if…if…”

“If what?” Barty asked rather sharply.

“If you were queer. You know. If you wanted to be,” Evan shrugged, giving him a nonchalant look.

“I’m not,” he answered quickly, frowning. “I…y’know…I can’t be, anyway. But I’d be okay with you if you were, too. Like that’d be cool. You know?”

“Yeah. ‘Course. Even if we both were.”

Barty nodded eagerly, not really sure why.

They sat awkwardly for a bit longer, eyes flickering up toward each other and flitting away, before Barty faked a yawn. “Alright, well…good talk, Rosie. Off to bed, then.”

[iniquitousyearning]

mattheo riddle. let me fuck you.

PAIRING: Mattheo Riddle x Gryffindor!Reader

SUMMARY: worried that mattheo was just going to use you for sex and leave, you had him agree to courting you first until you felt you were ready to take it to the next level. after months of this, mattheo finally can’t take it anymore, and lands himself on his knees at your feet.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k.

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, Degradation, Praise, Absolute Feralism, Begging, Exhibitionism, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex (implied cloaking charm), Dirty Talk, Swearing, Oral (f receiving), Body Worship, Slight Breeding Kink.

Courage. Bravery. Honesty--all traits that your house, Gryffindor, valued and honoured.

However, conspicuously absent from that list, was stupidity. A trait that you certainly seemed to posses a fucking abundance of these days.

To delve into the specifics, you possessed stupidity in the form of pure idiocy that took root when you began messing around with a certain curly haired Slytherin boy. This curly haired Slytherin boy just so happened to come from a group of assholes who seemingly detested your friends as well as your own bloody existence, having been nothing shy of full blown enemies for majority of your time spent at Hogwarts.

And yet, somehow, one thing led to another with this certain boy, and before you knew it you'd found yourself in a certain situation you'd never have imagined in a million damn years.

A courtship.

Securing Mattheo Riddle's commitment to court you exclusively, with a firm agreement to abstain from sex until you felt unequivocally ready, baffled your understanding. This arrangement was meticulously crafted out of a deep-seated concern that, left unchecked, he might merely try fuck you and then vanish without a trace.

He was known for doing that.

The rules of the courtship were a safeguard for your heart, a decision rooted in self-preservation, rather than any preoccupation with your virginity or lack thereof.

The harsh reality was simple – you desired Mattheo Riddle, despite every instinct screaming that you shouldn't. To shield your heart from potential wreckage, you implemented a set of rules governing the extent to which Mattheo could advance in your relationship. The decision to progress to the next level, if and when you deemed him deserving, rested solely in your hands.

It was a fool proof plan. No way for you to get hurt.

However, to absolutely no one's surprise, Mattheo wasn't a fan of this plan –not when he reluctantly agreed to it, and certainly not now. Not as you were seated across from him in a dimly lit corner of the library, the top buttons of your white button-up uniform shirt straining against the curve of your tits, your tie a loosened mess around your neck, and your burgundy pleated skirt way too fucking short for any bloody blokes sanity to remain intact.

Mattheo had counted the fucking days since the two of you started messing around, each instance of shared intimacy without crossing that final threshold chipping away at his restraint like relentless erosion. He wasn't fucking sure how much he had left in him.

"Did you finish this one, Matt?" Your voice rang out as a soft whisper, the hum of it snapping Mattheo from his wandering thoughts.

Forcing himself to meet your eyes and not linger on the buttons of your shirt just begging for fucking relief, he nodded. "Yeah. This one too."

Mattheo lifted a divination book, a testament to the exhaustive night the two of you had spent cramming for tomorrow's exam. Weary, you gave a nod, pushing up from the desk.

"Let's put these away, yeah?" you suggested gently.

Mattheo's throat parched as he observed you tugging down your skirt, a belated realization of how perilously high it had inched past your hips. With an innocent effort to conceal the expanse of those enticingly thick thighs – the same thighs he enthusiastically found himself nestled between every damn night – you fueled a growing heat within him. Mattheo cleared his throat awkwardly, giving a nod before pushing himself up as well.

As the two of you retreated into a dimmer, more secluded section of the library, you bent at the hips to return your book to its shelf. Unmindful of Mattheo's intense gaze, exhausted yet persistent, you began chattering. "I think there might be one more we can skim through, if you're still up for it-"

That thought abruptly dissolved as two sizable, calloused hands sought out your body, gripping anywhere and everywhere they could. An instinctive flinch involuntarily escaped you, but the sensation of those hands delicately tracing your thighs swiftly eased your tension. A trail of burning flames surged up your torso, and you instinctively straightened against him.

"For fucks sake." Mattheo's voice resonated as a low, deep growl in your ear, so intense you questioned whether he meant for you to hear it. His fingers clawed at the buttons of your shirt, nearly tearing it open in a frenzy. "What the fuck are you doing to me."

"Matt-" your hands came up, finding his. The two of you had certainly messed around in a lot of questionable places, but the library? At midnight on a weekday? "W-what are you-"

That sentence was abruptly cut short as Mattheo's lips attacked your neck at the same exact moment he slipped a hand through your now unbottoned shirt and roughly cupped one of your tits, twirling his thumb over your nipple. An entire body shudder rumbled through your limbs and the softest of moans escaped your lips, filling the charged air between you.

Music to Mattheo's fucking ears.

"Let me fuck you." It wasnt necessarily a demand but more of a plea. The desperation in his tone was fucking palpable. He sunk his teeth into the side of your neck as he pressed his hips against your ass, the entirety of his erection jabbing into your back. "Let me fucking fuck you."

You gasped, lids fluttering in an involuntary response as his hand switched to your other breast now, kneading and groping and squeezing with just as much fervour, more even. When you moaned again, he growled against your neck, pulling off you momentarily just to spin you around to face him.

His hands seized your hips, pressing you back against the shelf. "What is it, princess? What the fuck do you need from me?"

You scarcely had a moment to absorb the question, accompanied by the raw, desperate vulnerability in his tone, before he surged into action again. Long fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, while the other hand ascended to your jaw, gently tilting your head back to meet his intense gaze.

"I've been so fucking good, have I not?" His fingers inched excruciatingly slow over your mound, taking his time to tease you for all he could, watching every subtle ministration of your face as he went. "I've stayed out of fights. Haven't partied. I've been so fucking loyal..."

You swallowed, acknowledging the sincerity in his words. Yes, all those things were undeniably true. Mattheo had transformed into a different man in recent times. While you were drawn to him for the chaotic soul he was, the fact that he willingly opted out of party nights to spend time with you hadn't escaped your notice in the slightest.

Mattheo noted your silence. "Was it the drugs? Because you know I quit those."

Long fingers crept toward your slit, one finger gliding along and coating itself in your slick. Gods, if you weren't already fucking dripping for him.

You tried to shake your head. "No, Matty..."

His hold on your jaw tightened as he felt how fucking wet you already were. He snuffed a groan in his throat. How a little fucking Gryffindor could manage to have him in such a chokehold was beyond his comprehension.

"Is it the smokes?" He tilted his head, watching your eyes. "Because, fuck--I'll light every last one into flames right here in this fucking isle. I'll use the ashes to sear your fucking name onto my skin--just give me the goddamn words."

As his finger connected with your clit, drawing quick frantic circles over it, you mewled, your hands squeezing his biceps as your brain could only muster the comprehension to say one fucking word.

"Mattheo-"

"Mhm." Mattheo groaned, pressing his lips to your temple, his hand on your jaw slithering down to clasp a firm hold around your neck. "Yeah, baby, that's my name, fuck...say it again."

His pace on your clit increased, your head spun with carnal lust. Intoxicated. "Mattheo-"

"Yeah, good girl. Fuck--so fucking good." The reply came within seconds, along with the release of your throat, his hand gliding back to tangle in your hair. "Come on, baby, you know I'm not in this for the sex...you know I want way more than that."

If you hadn't already been rendered helpless and speechless from his relentless pace on your clit, you would have scoffed at that. But instead, all you could do was attempt to breathe the words out between your moans.

Your lids squeezed shut, fingernails digging into the fabric of his uniform. "I-I don't know that, actually."

"Fuck." Mattheo dipped low, his finger thrusting into your cunt before you could even realize it had, his thumb continuing the pace on your clit. The way your wet walls gripped his finger as he pumped it in and out of you was enough to send him into pure fucking desperation. He sucked in a deep inhale, gathering himself. "How do you figure that, hm?"

"Because-ah-here you are practically fucking begging me to let you fuck me." Your back arched, your legs trembling. If it wasn't for Mattheo's looming frame practically pinning you against this shelf, you were certain you'd be a pile of limbs on the floor at his feet. "You're just...t-telling me what I want to hear, Matty."

"I'm not." His pace increased, his brows knit tight. He didn't like that response. Not one fucking bit. His lips found your ear, his grip on your hair intensifying. "You don't understand how fucking bad I want you--how fucking bad I want every single last inch of you. Your laugh, your smile, your wit, your heart, your fucking soul. You haunt me every moment I'm awake. Even when I'm asleep you're there, fucking torturing me. I dream about waking up next to you. I dream about growing old with you. I dream about worshipping you, pleasuring you. I dream about pumping this perfect cunt full of my cum. No woman has ever fucking done this to me. I'm insane for you. For fucks sake please let me fucking fuck you princess. I need you so fucking bad. All of you."

"Gods," was all you could say, not a single shred of coherence left in your brain, not as those words bounced around inside your head in rhythmic hums synced with the movement of his fingers. You were right there. "Matt--fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

"Mhm, go on baby," he cooed with a softness that seemed to fray against the edges of desperation, his voice nearly shredding against his vocal cords. How he was keeping himself together was truly fucking impressive. "You're so fucking good for me. Such a pretty fucking pussy, hm?"

"Yours," you breathed out just as your vision blurred, your entire body shuddering around his fingers. "It's all yours!"

A choked gasp slipped from your lips, swiftly muffled by the plush entirety of Mattheo's mouth. His tongue invaded past your teeth, meticulously exploring your gums as if etching the details into memory. The sound of his groan reverberated through you, but it soon became a mere echo as your ears rang and your orgasm charged, coursing through every inch of your being, leaving your head spinning and your body trembling against the shelf.

Mattheo withdrew his lips from yours, sensing the aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you, sure in the fact you had regained enough composure to remain quiet without his help. He grazed his teeth along your jawline, warm breath bathing your skin as both of you panted in unison, bodies pressed and fighting for breath as he slowly pulled his finger from your cunt and teased over your clit with slow, sensual swirls.

"Let me fuck you," he repeated again, softer this time, his voice a whisper as light as a feather in the air. "You said it's mine...you said this pussy belongs to me."

"Yes," you panted, squirming against his hold as he continued his slow teasing strokes over your clit. "I...I did say that...it does..."

"Mm," his dark eyes lingered over your lips before he leaned in slightly, resting his forehead against yours, erratic breaths intermingling. "Please. Fucking please, let me take what's mine."

Mattheo Riddle had gone by many names over the years; an asshole, a delinquent, a rebel--but a man with manners? A man who'd ever had to beg and plead for something he wanted? That was not something you would have ever included in his description. Seeing him like this, completely and openly vulnerable, did something to you. Something you knew you could no longer resist. This was a man you knew you were willing to take risks for, willing to risk getting hurt for. It'd been fucking months. You wanted him. Just as fucking badly as he wanted you.

"I dunno, Matty," you grinned, unable to fight it off even if you tried. "Maybe you should say please again...maybe you should say it on your knees..."

Mattheo huffed, a groan accompanying it.

"Dirty, dirty little thing..." he whispered, pulling his hand from your cunt entirely now, both hands shifting to your hips, gracing them with a feral squeeze. "You really fucking are mine, aren’t you?"

As Mattheo Riddle dropped to his knees at your feet, you were certain the entire world had faded away. You were certain that time no longer existed and that there wasn't a single other living being in the entire expanse of the universe--all there was, across all existing planes of reality, was you and this messy, curly haired boy at your feet, looking up at you with dreamy chocolate eyes, poised to beg and fucking plead for release from his torment.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," his hands trailed a steady path from your hips down your thighs, squeezing and grabbing every inch of flesh he could. "You know that, right?"

You pulled your lip between your teeth, unable to peel your eyes off this boy before you. He was mesmerizing, In all his glory. Every last fucking molecule of him.

"Yes, Matty..." you breathed, your hands clutching at the wooden bookshelf behind you, steadying yourself. "You tell me a thousand times a day."

"Only a thousand? I was aiming for way more than that." Mattheo hummed, wetting his smirk-adorned lips as he brought his mouth to your inner thigh, softly nipping at it. "Guess I have to step my game up, huh?"

You blinked, pulse pounding in your ears. “I-“

“Please, princess…” Mattheo shifted, snapping himself back to the task at hand, nipping at your other thigh now, his voice so soft you almost missed it. His eyes never left yours. “Fucking hell.”

In one swift movement, his hands gripped your thighs and spread them apart, one leg slung over his shoulder as he brought his lips to your already dripping cunt, placing a vulgar kiss to it, tongue delving into your slit, a trembling groan echoing in his throat when he swallowed your wetness.

Your lungs sputtered, head falling back against the shelf--his eyes, in the pits of perversion, watched you, soaking in your speechless delight while he explored each tiny crevice of your cunt. Bliss built inside of you for the second time, blocks of white hot energy, stacking with every second those velvety, full lips massaged your folds. Your mouth fell in an open pant, your hips rocking into his face--his hands moved, sticking your wrists to your hips as he gripped you there.

You struggled to find your breath--oxygen had left the room--and you squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to keep your moans quiet. Your previous orgasm still had you tingling, the stimulation almost, almost too much--but you found yourself climbing toward your second with little effort. Your eyes rolled back, pleasure crashing over you, tiny moans leaving you while he sucked slowly on your clit, engorged and throbbing at his lips.

"Fuck, Mattheo-" you whined, your nails digging into the flesh of your own thighs as his strong grip kept them pinned there. "I'm gonna-fuck-"

Your core thumped with a demand to cum--Mattheo was reining you to a cliff, your desire a wild animal, bucking with abandon and ecstasy.

"Mhm, that's it," he muttered into your flesh. "Let me fucking taste you."

His tongue swirled over your nub, slipping wet circles around it before he groaned and sucked it hard between his teeth. You wailed, cracked, orgasm gushing through you, a geyser, a cascade of ecstasy that left you quaking, your walls spasming at his chin.

There was no more holding back your moans. "Oh--f-fuck!"

Mattheo swallowed your release hungrily, releasing your wrists and clutching your hips to his head, as if the evidence of your pleasure sustained him, laving at you until you squeaked and jerked from sensitivity. With a satisfied gasp, he released you entirely, slowly rising back up to his full height, watching with tethered emotion while you descended from your high.

Without even giving you the chance to process it, he reached down and swiped two fingers along your slit, collecting your cum before bringing it up to your lips and urging it past your teeth.

"That's what I do to you, baby," he cooed, his eyes far less intense than they were before. His free hand brushed the sweat dampened hair away from your forehead, watching as you wrapped your lips around his fingers and worked them clean. "You like that?"

You nodded, heat flashing your face, and Mattheo groaned appreciatively, slowly pulling his fingers from your mouth. His gentle grip found your chin now, drawing your eyes to his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, "you don't have to-"

You cut him off. "Fuck me, Matty."

Mattheo blinked, and you reached for his belt.

"Please, Mattheo," you clenched, body quaking with need. Even after two orgasms you still wanted more, needed more. You needed him, and now you were the one willing to beg for it. "Please, fuck me."

Almost immediately, Mattheo's eyes darkened, his gaze glossing over with a hunger that spoke volumes far louder than any words ever fucking could. He leaned in slightly, your scent still lingering on his breath.

"You want me inside you? Hm?" He purred, lips grazing over yours. "You want me to fuck you here? Open and exposed for anyone to see?"

You smirked knowingly. The cloaking charm he had cast didn't escape your notice. This boy always had a knack for thinking one step ahead. Yet, the exhilaration of the prospect was just another facet that had initially drawn you to him.

You nodded. "Yes, Mattheo...I need you..."

Mattheo pressed his lips to yours, not wasting another singular second of time as his hands moved to the clasp on his belt, fumbling with it, a low groan escaping him as he pulled his throbbing cock free, gliding his fist over it a few times as his tongue hungrily fought with yours.

Mattheo's hands shifted to your shoulders, spinning you around, your own hands grasping at the shelving in front of you. You felt the warmth of his thick length gliding between your thighs, teasing you, slicking himself in your wetness.

"You're sure you want this?" Mattheo's voice was a soft growl in your ear, his hands grasping at your hips with enough force to bruise. "Fuck, princess, please be fucking sure."

The reaction was immediate. As though he asked you if you needed oxygen to breathe. "Gods, I'm fucking sure, Mattheo. I'm so fucking sure."

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, fingernails digging into your flesh, pulling your skirt higher up your torso. "You've got me so fucked up, princess..."

As he slicked his length over your core once more, teasing your entrance, you whimpered. He was so smooth and silky and fucking big...you knew this was going to sting, even after two orgasms, even after he had you dripping down your thighs. Just that thought alone made your pussy clench, you'd do fucking anything to get him inside of you.

"Mattheo..." you whined, your body tensing with each false thrust. "Stop teasing me."

"Shit,” he breathed, easing the head of his length into you now, before slowly pulling out. "I'm teasing myself, baby...I don't know if I'm going to be able to control myself-"

You groaned, shuddering. "Please!"

Mattheo matched your groan with one of his own, and with one smooth movement, he tightened his grip on your hips, tugging you closer before he drove his dick into your cunt, splitting you open with one deep, slow thrust.

"Oh..." he moaned, paused, froze, entire body seemingly turned to stone. The only outward sign of his consciousness was his rapid breath washing over your neck. "...fuck."

You gripped the edges of the shelf with such intensity your knuckles were pale, doing everything within your power to keep quiet. The feeling of him seated inside you like this was everything you'd fucking imagined it to be. Better even. Your entire body was tense with bliss, your walls moulding around him.

Mattheo's lungs sputtered. "Relax...fuck-relax around me, baby..."

"I-" You weren't sure what he meant, your body trembling, your heart pounding in your throat. "Matt-"

"I'm not going to fucking last," Mattheo growled into your ear, the strain in his vocal cords more prominent than ever. "...if you keep squeezing me like that."

You mewled, head falling back against his shoulder as you fought to suck oxygen into your lungs. Mattheo finally began to move inside you; slow, easy strokes in an effort to give you a chance to adjust, feeling your tight walls relaxing around his thick girth, before he pulled out entirely and slammed back in, stuffing you full, groaning as you pulsed around him with each brief pause.

"Fuck...tight fucking pussy...so fucking wet..." he whispered, lips pressed against your ear. "All fucking mine."

Any ounces of restraint Mattheo had managed to maintain prior to this clearly had now been entirely annihilated as he increased his pace, fucking into you like a savage, as though he'd never get to fuck you again. He panted into your ear, groaning, fingernails bruising your thighs while he hammered your cervix with thrust after thrust after thrust. Sputtered curses left him under his breath and he attempted to silence himself with your neck, biting and nibbling at your throat. You stifled every single noise that threatened to leave your lips, body bouncing with the power of his hips, air hiccuping in your lungs as he pounded you.

"This little pussy is mine...you're mine..." he growled, fingers snaking down and brushing over your clit. "Fuck, you feel so good...I can't believe you kept this from me for so fucking long..."

Rapture numbed you, at the edge of your skin, a typhoon ready to wreck you witless. Your lids fluttered, teeth biting your lip with enough force to draw blood. He was going to make you crack. Make you fucking scream. There was no way you could continue being quiet when he was fucking you this good.

"M'sorry, Matty-" you weren't even sure what you were apologizing for. "So good...so deep...I-"

"Cum for me." Desire had consumed you both, his pace embodying complete desperation, a frenzied, urgent need to bring you both to orgasm. "Cum so I can fucking breed you...pump this little cunt full of my cum like I've dreamed of doing for months..."

Mattheo increased his pace on your clit, thrusts deepening even further--which you didn't even think was physically possible. He was slamming you deep, panting with every snap of his hips, your pussy hot and slick and pulsing with your oncoming climax.

You couldn't hold it back anymore--"Oh Gods-Mattheo!"

You shattered, exploded into flames, spectrum of colour blazing through your mind, a string of sobbing wails fleeing you as pulsed and spasmed on his dick, third climax shuddering through your veins. Mattheo groaned, clamping his palm over your lips as he continued to drill into you, holding off his own climax for as long as he could until he was physically unable to control himself--and he cursed, lungs sputtering as his hips slowed, cock twitching inside you as he poured his cum inside your cunt.

The room itself seemed to shudder, a tremor rumbling in the hardwood until he had finished and slowly pulled out, a deep, satisfied sigh leaving his chest.

After you collected yourself enough you spun around and watched as he tucked himself away, brushing his dampened curly hair back from his forehead. He straightened out, tucking the soft white fabric of his uniform shirt back into his pants before doing up his belt.

The second his eyes met yours, you reached for him. "I'm sorry for making you wait-"

"Don't ever be sorry," he cut you off, pulling you into him and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "You were more than worth the wait, baby."

[lvnleah]

lay all your love on me | leah williamson.

I ain’t joking this may be my favourite fic yet

Leah had always loved watching you perform. There was something amazing about seeing you on stage, completely in your element, captivating an entire audience with your voice and presence. 

But tonight? Tonight was testing her patience.

She’d settled into her seat with excitement, proud as ever to watch you shine as Sophie in Mamma Mia! She knew the show inside and out by now, having seen it more times than she cared to admit. But somehow, she’d never really processed just how… intimate Lay All Your Love on Me was.

The moment Louis, the actor playing Sky, pulled you into his arms, Leah stiffened. And when you playfully resisted, only to melt into his touch as the song built, her jaw clenched. The way you were all over him made her stomach twist even though she’d watched it many times before. 

It was ridiculous. She knew it was just acting. You’d told her a hundred times that stage chemistry was all part of the job. But knowing it and seeing it were two very different things.

By the time the curtain fell, Leah had barely moved, arms crossed tightly as she watched the crowd shuffle out.

She met you at the stage door, grumpy with her hands shoved deep in her pockets. A few fans had gathered, asking for photos, and Leah waited in silence as you signed programs and took pictures. 

Normally, she’d be smiling, laughing at how effortlessly you charmed everyone. But tonight, she barely spoke, nodding and giving a quick smile when people recognized her and asked for a photo. 

When you finally broke away, slipping your hand into hers, she squeezed it a little too tightly, leading you straight to the car without a word.

You slid into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind you before turning to her. “Alright spill, why are you so grumpy..”

Leah gripped the steering wheel but didn’t start the engine. “I’m not grumpy.”

You snorted. “Leah.”

Silence.

Then, with a sigh, she muttered, “Just didn’t love watching you draped all over that bloke, that’s all.”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “Oh my god! You’re jealous, you’re jealous of Louis!”

Her head snapped toward you. “Am not.”

“You are.” You leaned in, nudging her shoulder playfully. “Didn’t realize I was dating someone who gets grumpy over stage kisses.”

Leah groaned, finally starting the car. “I’m not grumpy.”

You laughed, reaching for her free hand and intertwining your fingers. “Babe, you do know I only have eyes for you, right? Are you also forgetting that I’m very gay and not into men?”

She exhaled, finally meeting your gaze, the frustration melting into something softer. “Yeah. I know.”

You placed a lingering kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear, “Good. Because I was thinking of laying all my love on you when we get home.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

She sighed, squeezing your hand back. “Unfortunately.”

Leah shook her head, but the slight upward twitch of her lips gave her away. You squeezed her hand again, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles, trying to coax her the rest of the way out of her sulk.

“Oh come on,” you teased. “I didn’t think Leah Williamson, captain of England, would get jealous over a little choreography.”

She shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “He had his hands all over you!”

You bit back a laugh. “Oh, please. If you think that was bad, remind me to never take a role in Romeo and Juliet.”

Leah groaned, tilting her head back against the seat. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Not trying to, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

That got her attention. She glanced at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah?”

You hummed, letting your lips brush over her skin again. “Mhm. Maybe a little private performance just for you.”

Leah finally cracked the tension in her shoulders easing as she let out a chuckle. “You’re such a tease.”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still here.” Then, she turned fully in her seat, cupping your chin and pulling you into a slow, lingering kiss. 

After that, you thought things were fine, but they weren’t. Leah was still grumpy. 

The drive home was quiet, except for the soft hum of the radio. Leah still had that grumpy look on her face, hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly, jaw set in a way that told you she was almost over it but not quite.

You let her stew, biting back your amusement. The jealousy was cute. She was always so confident, but moments like this? When she got all pouty and grumpy over something as harmless as a stage performance? You lived for it.

As soon as you stepped inside your flat, Leah kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch, arms crossed like she had personally been wronged.

You followed, standing in front of her with your hands on your hips. “Are you seriously still sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

You arched a brow. “You’re literally sulking.”

She exhaled through her nose, gaze flicking to the TV like she was trying to ignore you. Challenge accepted.

You moved to stand between her legs before climbing onto her lap, straddling her thighs. That got her attention. She tensed for a split second, hands hovering near your waist like she didn’t want to give in just yet.

“Poor baby,” you murmured, tilting your head playfully. “Still mad at me?”

Leah’s lips parted slightly, but she stayed stubbornly silent.

You grinned, leaning into pepper kisses all over her face, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, even the corner of her mouth. Soft and slow, teasing.

Her hands finally found your waist, gripping it instinctively as she let out a low sigh. “You’re so annoying.”

You kissed her jaw. “Mhm.”

She tried to hold on to her grumpiness, but you felt the way her body melted under your touch, the way her fingers tightened against your hips.

You pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “Still jealous?”

Leah exhaled, rolling her eyes. “No.”

You kissed the tip of her nose. “Liar.”

That finally did it. Her arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you in as she let out a reluctant laugh. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

You smirked, brushing your lips over hers without fully kissing her. “You know, you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous.”

Leah groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch. “You are impossible.”

You grinned, finally closing the distance and kissing her properly, slow and sweet. “And yet,” you murmured against her lips, “you’re still here.”

[goatgoesmbe]

angst, no comfort, everyone involved in this fic got hurt including the author

inspired from: this song, (english) + this old indonesian song (from reader's perspective) (english)

tw : Dead dove: do not eat, infidelity, depression, mention of abuse, mention of PTSD, implied suicidal thoughts, self-harm, dark theme, heavy ass shit, toxic relationship, one-sided hatred, one-sided love, self-loathing, major character death, violence, mention of blood, probably inaccurate medical scene, implied past-Ghoap, post-Soap's death

last warning : it started bad and it got worse before everything burned in flames

Thanks to @ahobaka-trash & @herdarkangel for beta-reading :3

word count : 9187

rated : E

You can't fix him

Ghost x f!Reader

AO3

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, specks of white decorated light blue. Everything was too bright, too colorful, that he needed to squint his eyes and pull his hoodie to cover his face more. He hadn’t worn his mask for a while now, not since he was discharged. He just couldn’t be bothered to anymore, not finding any use for it when he didn’t need to separate himself between two lives.

But he regretted not wearing any now.

Despite the warm temperature, he was dressed in all black, with his jacket zipped up all the way. His appearance was a contrast to the pretty thing holding onto his forearm. You were skipping beside him, smiling cheerfully as you cooed at babies and greeted every dog passing by.

He made a mistake by glancing at you, to which you responded with a bright smile that made him grit his teeth.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Simon. We’re almost there” You said to him in such a sweet voice that sent a shiver down his spine- not the pleasant kind.

This was not a scenario Simon thought he would ever be in.

It all started when he first met you. His neighbor who wouldn’t leave him alone ever since he moved into the flat beside yours. He didn’t know how you even had the courage to approach him, he knew he was huge and imposing, intimidating everyone in and out of field. He was not charming in any way like you were, he was broody, even more so now that he was medically discharged from the military.

He got his heart punctured in a fight—a near-fatal wound. He was rushed to a field hospital, then airlifted back home, where surgeons fought to keep him alive. Hours of open-heart surgery. Internal bleeding. A cardiac patch to repair the damage. But somehow, he survived.

“Your heart took too much damage. Even with the surgical repairs, any extreme exertion could worsen the scar tissue, cause arrhythmia, or lead to heart failure. If you push too hard… you’ll need a transplant.” He remembered a doctor explaining  it to him.

The very last thing he liked about himself, his strength, was now useless since he couldn’t get his hands dirty. He was angry, but he knew there was nothing he could do, couldn’t argue with Price to at least get him to have Johnny’s revenge and kill Makarov.

You kept pestering him. Starting with knocking on his door to offer him some baked goods, approaching him for small talk even though the most he would respond with was  an annoyed grunt.

It was very obvious that you had a not-so-little crush on him. And he tried to make it obvious that he wasn’t interested, that you were better off trying to charm some better bloke out there that wasn’t full of emotional baggage.

But he was starting to learn that you were a stubborn little thing, and it started to get on his nerves.

And so, that’s how he got here. Letting you drag him to some cozy cafe in the city, you looked so pretty in your flowy sundress and white wedges. He hated it.

You clearly made an extra effort to look pretty for this date. For him.

While he couldn’t even be bothered to shower.

He only agreed to this date so you would see how uninteresting he was, so you would finally leave him alone for the better. 

“So.. we talked a lot before.. but you rarely talked about yourself” You said to him after you both were sat at a table by the window. He had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes at that, because no- we didn’t talk a lot, you did, while he just endured listening to you.

“Why should I talk about myself..” He responded while looking down at his tea, stirring it so he had something to do with his hands to make this whole thing less awkward.

You giggled at that, and while he was used to you being such a sweetheart all the time, it still irked him. “Well.. this is a date.. so, that’s kind of the thing you have to do..” You replied.

“Only if you’re comfortable of course..!” You quickly added when he looked at you with his soulless eyes.

He grunted in response. Like he always did in every interaction with you.

“Well.. let me go first then” You uttered before rambling about yourself like he hadn't  heard it  all before already. You worked as a vet and often volunteered at various local shelters, you liked baking and always shared some with the others, especially him even though he still had quite a few stuffed at the back of his cupboard, uneaten.

Now, Simon knew he had been really cruel with you, especially with how you’ve been nothing but nice. But he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why but the way you looked at him like he mattered,when he thought the total opposite, just rubbed him the wrong way. 

You clearly fell hard for him for some reason, but he didn’t feel the same way. And he was not a total asshole, he made it very clear with his words and action toward you. “I’m not interested,” He said curtly when you asked him for a coffee yesterday. “..Please? Just this once, then I’ll leave you alone..” You responded. So he only agreed because he hoped you’d keep your word and leave him alone after.

But he couldn’t say that he hated you either. It’s what you do that pissed him off. He was not used to being treated this way, receiving this much affection, when he didn’t deserve it. He felt like a feral animal being forced to wear some cozy sweater. Made his skin itch, Irritating, left him wanting to tear it all at the seams.

It was him that he hated, not you. He shouldn’t be receiving this kind of attention for being the person he was.

“So.. that was all about me, your turn,” your voice snapped him out of his head.

“..Fine, what do you want to know?” He responded,  then took a sip of his tea that tasted horrible on his tongue. But he gulped it down anyway.

“Um.. what do you do for work? I don’t think I’ve seen you out much..” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Was in the military.” Simon’s answer left out as many details as possible, telling you it’s classified when you asked questions about it. 

He still had a lot of savings to survive living without working for a while. Until he got himself sorted out at least.

A soft giggle left  your lips at his secrecy. “Well.. alright, how about things you do in your free time?” you asked in a gentle tone, being so patient with him as always.

“Nothing much” He answered as he looked anywhere but at you who tried to blind him with your sunshine. He wasn’t lying, he spent most days distracting himself from his thoughts by working out, and when he wasn’t, he was content staying in his flat to zone out at anything playing on tv, at full volume to drown out the voices in his fucked up head. He was sure you could hear him from your place whenever he did that, but you never complained so he wasn’t really sure.

You didn’t respond for a few seconds, which was odd because you were usually so quick to fill the silence with anything you could think of. It was as if you were being more careful with him now in hopes that he would open up to you more eventually.

Stupid thought.

“I noticed you work out a lot, ” you then said with a cheeky smile as you eyed his biceps that were still obvious under his thick hoodie. “Once I saw you went on a run at 2 am,” you added.

He grunted again.

Yeah, he did that sometimes.. woke up in the early hours from nightmares, then tried to tire himself out by running. At least until his body deemed it enough, he didn't want  to put a strain on his heart like the doctor had said.

And when he couldn’t bring himself to go outside, he’d just stare at the wall while unconsciously picking on the stitches from some of the wounds he got from the last deployment. Finding comfort in the sting that distracted him from the heavy weight in his chest. Sometimes it caused him to bleed slightly, but it’s not like he couldn’t stitch it up again  himself. If anything, the pain he felt when doing so  grounded him.

But he couldn’t say that.

“Last time I did so much of a workout was when I got chased by a dog, ” you joked and laughed at yourself. Simon gave no reaction, he was staring at you in the eyes but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

You fidgeted in your seat at his lack of response and put on a smile. “So.. if you need a workout buddy, I don’t mind being one.. been wanting to start exercising regularly anyway” You then said shyly, looking up at him with those damn doe eyes.

Simon shrugged. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up”.

Wrong answer.

Because instead of taking it as a rejection, you took it as a challenge.

And you totally broke your promise to leave him alone after this date.

His time of solitude was filled with your sweet voice and giggles.

“Hey, why don’t we rest a bit..” You suggested the first time you invited yourself to his early morning run, panting and sweating already even though it had only been a short while.

He rolled his eyes and kept running at his pace. “Told you, you wouldn’t be able to keep up, ” he responded without looking at you, keeping his gaze forward.

Expecting you to give up and leave him alone, he was surprised when you instead started sprinting, laughing at the way his eyes widened. “Race you..!” you yelled over your shoulder.

Your footsteps kept getting farther and farther, and he could feel himself relaxing again. Finally some peace and quiet.

Simon didn’t bother to race you, content with being with himself along with the feeling weighing him down in his chest. From the damage he got on his heart, or something else, he wasn’t sure.

And as he continued with his run, he caught up with you eventually,  sitting on a bench.

“I won! ” You teased  him with a grin.

Simon didn’t respond, didn’t say that he wasn’t even interested in participating in the stupid race.

You didn’t take the hint of him wanting to be left alone, like  usual . And so, Simon had to endure with your yapping the whole way back to the flat.

“That was fun, Simon. I’ll join you again sometime, yeah?” You headed inside your own flat without waiting for his response since you were used to it by now. And for the first time, Simon appreciated your act of kindness.

It was not surprising when you kept tagging along with his morning run despite him being obviously bothered by it. He was pissed at first, but then your presence became familiar to him, so much so that he found himself looking for you when you didn’t show up.

He quickly shook his head. Damn, you were starting to invade his mind.

Grumbling under his breath, he dumped the thought of you before resuming his run.

Without your cavity-inducing voice to accompany him, he found himself lost in thoughts. Drowning in the cacophony of noises in his head: his dad’s yelling, his mum’s cries, the sound of gunshot to Johnny’s head.

“I said, I already have a boyfriend!” Out of nowhere, your voice snapped him out of his head. Just then, his eyes locked with yours.

“See?  That's him!” You looked relieved and immediately left the guy who had been bothering you to stand by Simon’s side. With a simple stare from him, the guy immediately tensed before hurriedly walking  away. He didn’t mean to intimidate him or help you, but you thanked him anyway.

Boyfriend. Him.

He didn’t think much of it, no. It was obvious that you only said it at the time so the guy would leave you alone.

That was until he heard you telling everyone else that. He overheard you talking to some neighbors who were curious about him, the brooding loner who lived beside you. He didn’t know why he stood back  and refused to  say anything when you told them you’ve been dating him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him what you or everyone else thought , or maybe he didn’t mind the thought of it. The former was more likely.

He thought about it  when he was back at his flat. Since when did you start thinking that?  Was it since  that so-called first date? He probably should say something about it. Not probably — definitely.

But then he remembered how fucking stubborn you were. How you kept pestering him even though he clearly ignored you, how you managed to convince him to go on a date with you, your uninvited presence during his morning run, the insistent knocking on his door whenever you wanted to share your baking with him.

He could already feel his head pounding at the thought of your reaction if he were to make it  clear to  you. Initiating a break-up already felt like a chore, especially with someone like you. His life already felt like hell ever since he was discharged, he really didn’t need another shit on his plate, and didn’t want to start any drama.

Alright, he’d play along for now. Your silly little fantasy would eventually pop after you saw what a burden he truly was.

…

“I can tell you never had anyone over, huh? Well, I feel honored..” You beamed when he invited you over. Big eyes sparkling as you took in the mess that is his apartment, piles of laundry he didn’t bother to fold after getting them out of the dryer, some leftover takeout on the coffee table swarmed by a trail of ants, dust particles in the air, the stench of it all.

“Go sit wherever.” His voice rumbled before he went to the kitchen and prepared the only thing he could even be bothered with: instant noodles.

When he got back from the kitchen, he found that you had tidied up a bit, windows opened for some fresh air, and you somehow found some trash bag  to put some of the mess in, which was now gathered in the corner. “I hope you don’t mind me touching your stuff..” You said with an apologetic smile.

“‘S fine” He responded. It was not fine, he didn’t like having other people in his private space, and now you had made it worse by messing up his familiar surroundings. But he didn’t feel like arguing.

He sat on the couch and ate in silence, didn’t even bother to hand you your plate, instead  letting you get to it yourself.

“Is this what you eat every day?” You asked when he felt your presence beside him. The tone indicated that you were genuinely curious and not judging. You probably noticed the trash in the kitchen was filled with instant noodles packages when you were retrieving your food.

He answered with a hum.

“Well.. you know, I like to cook so I don’t mind doing it for you too..” He heard you say and grunted in response.

But of course, you took it as an invitation to invade his personal space even more.

Simon’s previous plan of getting you to turn your nose up at him backfired. Now you didn’t only come over from time to time to give him cookies, but twice a day to feed him proper food.

And you didn’t stop there, no. Because when he opened the door to receive whatever it was that you  were giving him,as always, you had now begun inviting  yourself inside to eat with him, telling him about your day without him having to ask as he tried to not show how much he enjoyed the food. But you seemed to pick it up with how you started bringing larger portions, packing up the leftovers to fill his empty fridge.

You also turned his dump of an apartment livable. No more trash scattered around, his clothes are contained in his wardrobe, smelling of flowery laundry conditioner rather than the musty smell he was used to, the layer of dust on his furniture is  gone, and the nasty stench that used to linger in his apartment has been replaced with sweet lavender.

He didn’t like it at first, not a fan of his world being flipped upside down. To some people, the state he was in was miserable, sure. But it was comforting in a way because that was his personal sanctuary isolated from everyone, he was used to the darkness consuming him that he recoiled at the blinding light that was you.

Now however, he had just accepted his fate. His previous expectation of finally having you leave him alone once you see how miserable he was had  failed. Does it frustrate him? It probably should, but he was used to how stubborn you were by now.

You took his lack of response as acceptance. But is it? Not  really.

Being around you still made him feel on edge since everyone would see how much of a sweetheart you are, which automatically meant he was an  asshole. He pushed your hand away every time you tried to touch him because even just the thought of it made him want to flay himself alive.

Why do you even like him? Do you really like him? Or do you have this hero complex and saw him like one of those poor animals you rescued at work?

Well, he doesn’t know, but if he paid attention to the way you looked at him, he’d notice how you never looked at him with pity, just pure adoration like how despite everything he was worthy of love.

He eventually found the answer when he slept with you for the first time. It was something that he did just to get his needs filled.  He was only a man after all, and you were there, pretty and willing. He saw faint marks on your thighs, some neat lines from cuts that told him you did it yourself.

Leaving your sleeping form on the bed, he went to the bathroom and saw more confirmation of what he suspected. At one of the cabinets, he found some pills, anti-depressants. A few of them were left in a cylinder container with a label that was fading like it’s been left untouched for a while. Did you give up trying? Or maybe did it not help you  the way that you thought  it would?

You two weren’t as different as he thought after all.

So perhaps you saw yourself in him in a way that he couldn’t. That you were so kind to everyone,even to an asshole like him, to make you hate yourself less. How you were so nice and patient with him to make up for how you couldn’t treat yourself that way.

You thought his life was worth more, so you didn’t care if loving him took pieces of your own.

He didn’t say anything about it, but he found himself  being less  hostile towards you.

…

“-They’ve been ganging up to bully me, acting so tough until I stand for myself?” You vented to him about your day at work one night, lounging on his bed as he scrolled on his phone. 

“Can’t believe people like them exist. Adults —some of them married with children — but act so childish. ” You continued despite his lack of response.

“I know I should tell HR about it.. but doesn’t it just make it worse? Basically everyone at work is in on it.. plus I don’t know if HR would actually do something about it anyway-” 

“Why don’t you just quit your job?” He mumbled, cutting off your sentence which made you look up at him, surprised at his response. And then you smiled with a faint blush on the high of your cheeks, like you were happy that he was actually listening.

Wow, you really need to raise your standard if having your partner doing the bare minimum made you gleam.

He didn’t push you away when you snuggled to his side.

“Well.. the thing is, I’m really stubborn. So resigning feels like I’m quitting the battlefield, losing. And I don’t lose.” You answered with a cheeky smile that actually made him snort. What a ridiculous mindset, but it was not odd for you.

Your smile widened at his amusement.

“What are you gonna do then?” He asked when you didn’t say anything and just stared at him with those loving eyes. Ugh, he was still not used to being looked at that way.

“Well.. I’m gonna act like an adult unlike them, be professional and show that their words don’t affect me.. kill them with kindness and all. Maybe it won't stop them, maybe I’ll get fired eventually.. but that’s the only realistic thing I could think of..” You rambled again.

“Am I pathetic?” You then added in a more somber tone, like you already thought that about yourself. That usual shine in your eyes dimmed and for a second he thought he saw the you that was hidden from the world.

“Yeah,” He thought to himself out loud without meaning to. And seemed like it was an incorrect response from the flicker of disappointment seen in your eyes before you hid by nuzzling your face to a pillow. Were you expecting him to comfort you? Did he raise your expectations of him just because he listened?

Simon looked away, he was never good at comforting people so he didn’t know what to say. After a moment of silence, he heard you snoring softly.

As he too closed his eyes, he thought to himself about what he had been feeling. While he still found himself disappointed  waking up another day, the thought of you feeling the same void in your chest made him feel better because he knew he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know how you could live everyday with a smile,everyday which made him respect you a bit.

He was used to your company by now, you cleaned his place, fed him, and fulfilled his sexual needs, and he was content with that.

But did he start feeling the same way as you?

Receiving your affection still gave him goosebumps, he never touched you tenderly like a boyfriend should, he was still as grumpy as ever around you. Though he didn’t push you away like he used to, he let you touch him, let you talk his ear off. But did it really mean anything? He  merely tolerated you. No more loathing, but he couldn’t say that he liked you. He just didn’t care to feel for you, positively or negatively, indifferent. So perhaps not.

He can’t love you anyway. It was one thing to be loved, it was another to love. The latter would give you power over him.

He can’t let himself be vulnerable again. He remembered how it was with Johnny, the hurt he felt when he got taken away in front of his eyes, dying in his arms.

He didn’t want to feel that loss again, so he settled with not having.

But then he let you kiss him. 

It wasn’t like you two never kissed before but this was different, it was not something that would end up with the  two of you having sex. 

He was smoking outside late at night, watching the flickering stars, and thought of the time he did the same thing a long time ago.  He was on  deployment, . taking a break at a hideout after a long day of fighting and running.

He had felt more alive then , despite the horrors he’d seen everyday, compared  to the peaceful yet boring life he had now.

Johnny was with him that night, yapping his ear off like he always did, exchanging shitty jokes. He kissed him that night.

So maybe that’s why it happened. When you somehow found him and invaded his solitude- like you always did, filling the silence with whatever rant you had  in store from the day.

Then the conversation slowed down, and he noticed you kept glancing at his lips. And when you stopped talking, you leaned in.

And he didn’t move, didn’t turn his head away.

Didn’t reciprocate the kiss and just stood still as you kissed him.

But it still made you smile. And you told him how life had never been great to you for a long while. How the universe has been  testing you harder lately.

And then you said that he was the best thing you had at the moment. You thanked him for whatever reason.

And he felt his heart stop .

He was half-listening to all that, was lost in thought about why he let you kiss him so softly, why hadn’t he pushed you away. But this? It made it all clear.

He had , in a way, developed  feelings for you. He didn’t want to call it love, but he cared at least.

If not, he wouldn’t have reacted so negatively to that remark. Would’ve stayed nonchalant and stayed there, continued to smoke, and acted indifferent.

Instead, he left. Leaving you who only stared at his retreating figure.

Because you were wrong, he wasn’t the best thing you had in your life. But for some reason, you saw him as your savior. He gave you a purpose, loving him was giving you some kind of fucked up hope. A reminder to yourself that your heart wasn’t broken because it was still beating.

He had to stop you there because he was the last person on earth who was able to give anyone salvation. He couldn’t save you, you couldn’t save him. He needed to get away from you.

You would be better off without him. That was proof that he cared about you, not wanting you to  chase  after some false hope. You deserve better.

But he could just leave, move out, and go far away. It would give him a nasty itch that would bother him wherever he goes. And he had a lot of shit haunting him already.

No, he needed to get it to your thick skull that whatever this was, was not happening.

He still didn’t like the thought of initiating a break-up because it was such a fucking chore. But he had to do this, for your sake.

…

And so the next day, he knocked on your door.

When you opened it, you looked up with those big eyes sparkling and beamed like you didn’t just spill  your heart out last night.

“I want to talk,” He said as he looked you in the eyes.

He was hoping you’d get the message with how intense his stare was but you just smiled and nodded. “Sure, come in-”

“No,” He cut you off immediately. It was better this way, so he could leave immediately after.

“I want to break up,” he continued.

He watched you stay silent, not showing any emotion, and then blinked before smiling again.

No hint of surprise, anger, or sadness. Like you had been expecting this conversation for a long time. Perhaps you’ve been hurt too much and more, and now you just felt numb.

“No,” you said with a giggle like he was just telling a joke.

“What do you mean, no?” He asked incredulously.

“I meant no, Simon.” You responded a bit more firmly.

“Why? I’ve never even loved you,” He said harshly. Cold and sharp, masking the feeling that was starting to bloom poorly in the cold vessel that was his heart.

“I don’t care..” You said in a softer tone, locking your eyes with him for a few seconds before looking down. “I don’t care if you  don’t feel the same way, Simon. Being with you makes me happy”.

“I’m being selfish, I know, I’m sorry..” You added, looking up at him again.

“How?” He couldn’t help but ask, feeling bewildered.

“It just is.. I can’t explain it, can’t really explain love..” You answered with an empty chuckle.

“No, why do you even love me? ” He asked again.

You smiled and tilted your head, the smile reached your  eyes as you looked at him with adoration. “You didn’t need to do anything to deserve love, Simon, ” you answered.

And he wondered if you could say that to yourself.

Simon let out a long sigh, letting out all the frustration he felt ever since he first met you. “I’m not really in a state for a relationship right now..” He didn’t mean to say anything about himself, it left his lips before he could stop it. But he hoped it would do something.

“Just give it some time..” You responded.

He frowned.

“I’m not giving up on this relationship, Simon.. or you,” You then continued and looked him dead in the eye.

Stubborn little thing.

He shouldn’t be surprised, should be used to how stubborn you could be, but he was.

He wondered if there was a limit to your stubbornness.

He really regretted agreeing to that first date, he was stuck with you now.

And if he was hurting you before by simply being himself. Now he would actually put in an effort.

Being back to square one where everything you do irritated  him. He did his best to avoid you, shut you down with a look whenever you tried to talk to him, not leaving a gap for you to have any hope of things changing. 

But despite all that, you still loved him.

Still looked at him like he hung the moon, somehow always managed to find him when he was out for some fresh air. And so he tried leaving his flat less often, but you still knocked on his door every day. He didn’t answer, but when he eventually opened the door, he saw your homemade food packed nicely with a little note.

Like you thought this was just a little fight that would eventually pass if you kept treating him nicely,as you usually did, and kept apologizing.

Always so fucking stubborn.

You were too kind, never cried, didn’t know when to quit, and never run away.

That's why you’d just hurt each other. That's just the way you two lived.

And It really pissed him off.

If being loved made his skin crawl before because he didn’t think he was deserving, wasn’t used to receiving any, like a feral snarling and hissing at some innocent girl that tried to pet it. Now he felt even worse because you made him  treat you like this, made him an even more horrible man than he already was . For him to be so cruel to such a sweet little thing, he hated himself even more.

There were worse things he could do. He could make it very clear if he put a hand on you, slapped you across the face just once. But he couldn’t, no matter how horrible he thought he was, how irredeemable his soul was, there was always a voice at the back of his head saying "Don't be like your father" eerily similar to his mum's.

He doubted it would work anyway, seeing his mum still stayed with that piece of shit.

So he did the next worst thing he could think of.

…

Heavy boots stepped into the dimly lit bar, and with a slow, deliberate motion as  he settled onto a stool and ordered a glass of whiskey. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversation. His eyes flickered sideways, scanning his surroundings with a sharp unreadable look. The bar was filled with a mix of tired regulars and weekend wanderers. He made no move, but there was something in his posture, in the way his fingers drummed lightly against the bar, that suggests he was waiting for something. Or someone.

His presence attracted attention immediately when he stepped in. Curious glances strayed to him before trailing away at the sight of his intimidating demeanor. He was used to that, he was not new to this game. And as expected, soon enough a pair of eyes lingered. A woman, confident and clearly interested, slid into the seat beside him, nursing a cocktail. She glanced his way, smirking slightly. 

“You look like you got a lot on your mind..” She purred with a tilt of her head.

“Maybe.” He lifted his glass, voice still quiet.

The woman took a long sip of her cocktail, humming with intrigue.

“You waiting on someone?” She asked.

“No,” He responded.

And then there was silence, not uncomfortable but thick with something unspoken. He let her watch him, feeling her gaze trailing from head to toe, admiring his physique, and seemed to like what she saw. 

But he didn’t meet her gaze directly. Taking another sip of whiskey, he then set the glass down.

“Just.. seeing who’s around.” He mumbled before he finally looked at her.

The woman raised a brow, interest sparking. She then smirked, stirring the ice in her glass with a lazy flick of her wrist. And then leaned in slightly, testing the waters.

“So, just looking? Or hoping to find something?” She asked as she fluttered her eyelashes.

His eyes settled on her like a slow burn which made her blush. Even though his mind was somewhere else, she didn’t seem to notice though.

He lifted his whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Haven't decided yet.” He spoke, not quite answering, not quite denying.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “Mysterious. That your thing?”

He responded with a shrug. “Just don’t waste words”

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure out if he was a challenge worth pursuing. “And if I wanted to waste a few?”.

He didn’t smile, but he set his glass down, turning his body just a fraction more toward her. She was pretty enough, and clearly interested in him. He wasn’t picky anyway, just needed anyone to get this done with.

“Guess that depends on how you’d do it.” He responded.

“Well... I could start with a name..” She said before telling hers and asking  for his. But he couldn’t care less. His mind was a mess, making it a struggle to pay attention.

Without hesitation, he gave her an old name he hadn’t used in a while. A name that separated who he was and what he did. And what he was doing right now, was almost as horrible as what he had done in the military.

“Ghost?” She asked playfully like she thought he was joking.

He took another sip of his whiskey and said nothing. 

“Alright.. Ghost,” She purred and leaned in even closer, being bolder. “What’s a man like you doing here alone?”

“Maybe I was waiting for someone worth wasting time on,” He answered bluntly.

That seemed to intrigue her even more rather than discourage her. She tilted her head, grinning. He was quiet, but not passive. He was waiting, watching, letting her step into his space but not too close. It was a different kind of confidence. The kind that makes people lean in without even realizing it.

“Lucky me, then,” She said before taking another sip of her cocktail.

The conversation stayed slow, measured. He didn’t flirt the way most men do, didn’t try to impress. He just listened. Let the silence stretch when it needed to. And somehow, that made her want to fill the spaces with more.

Another drink. Another shift closer.

“You gonna make me do all the work here?” She said after a lull in the conversation, tilting her head playfully, teasing.

He blinked at her, slowly. “Thought you were enjoying yourself.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes on her.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You gonna take me somewhere quieter, or are you just going to keep watching me like that?”

Finally. He didn’t know if he could take another back and forth. He just wanted to get to the point.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just finished his whiskey, set the glass down, and stood up.

“Let’s go,” He said. She followed.

The rest of the night was a blur. Lips locking with each other as soon as he opened the door to his flat, his feet moved on their own, stumbling in a dance that led them to his bed. Her hands pulled on his clothes, and soft giggles escaped her lips when he went down on her.

Came to think of it, it was the first time he had  brought  a stranger over to this flat he now called home. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to one-night stands , but he never could be bothered to ever since he moved here. There had been too much going on in his head, even more so when you started invading his mind.

He regretted it.

Regretted not doing this sooner.

It felt good, to be able to release some steam without feelings attached. To be lusted at without being loved, engaging in pleasure with some faceless stranger he wouldn't meet again. He didn’t need to endure a loving whisper of ‘i love you’. It didn't make him feel vulnerable like when he did it with you, he was fully in charge.

…

The morning light slipped through half-closed blinds, casting long streaks across the room. The air was  thick with the remnants of last night—alcohol, perfume, the quiet warmth of tangled sheets. The woman stirred, stretching languidly before she turned towards him, only to find his back facing her as he stood by the balcony, tending to a cigarette.

“Morning,” She said softly, still drowsy.

“You should go,” Simon uttered flatly.

While he couldn’t see her face, he could hear the frown in her voice. “..What?”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair before finally meeting her gaze, his expression unreadable —cold. “Time to go” The words are clipped, no room for argument.

She sat up, gripping the sheet around her, studying him. “Wow. Straight to that, huh? No coffee, no small talk?”

He exhaled  sharply through his nose, but it’s not quite a laugh. More like an acknowledgment of how predictable this must look. “This wasn’t that.”

He kind of forgot how the morning after was. How some people expected something more and didn’t get the hint from the get-go. He was used to you who tolerated his behavior, never expecting  him to be soft or tend to you  after. You’d get up and prepare  some breakfast , while he laid there and stared at the ceiling.

He turned his head and watched as this stranger’s face contorted in irritation. She was searching for any trace of the man from last night, the one who let her in just enough to make her think there was something worth chasing. But now he’s a wall, solid and immovable. 

He was ashamed to say that he had been thinking of you previously and at the moment. That was why he was like this, so this stranger wouldn't hope, just like you who were already attached to him.

“Guess I should’ve seen this coming,” She said harshly, a pity to herself.

“Probably,” He responded just as blunt.

That probably stung more than it should. Good.

She exhaled, shook her head, then threw back the covers and stood up, grabbing her clothes from where they were carelessly discarded the night before. He didn’t turn away, didn’t offer to help— because why should he?

She pulled on her dress, shoving her heels onto her feet before facing him one last time. “Are you  always this charming in the morning?”.

“Just honest,” he said flatly, flicking his cigarette.

“Honest? Please. You act like you don’t want anyone close.” She sneered.

Then, he finally turned around to face her. “Now you get it” he said as his soulless eyes met her fiery ones.

Just like that, it’s over. She didn’t say another word, just grabbed her things and walked out, he followed her behind to lock the door.

And then he saw you.

What happened last night was obvious from his appearance alone, looking disheveled, shirtless, with some lovemarks across his chest. And he let you take it all in, he waited for the pang of regret to appear in his chest, for you to react, cry, yell, run. But instead, you just sighed and smiled at that woman when she passed you by.

“I have to go to work earlier today, but I  already made you some breakfast,” You said and handed him a Tupperware, kissed his cheek before walking away. Like he didn’t just cheat on you, like you were used to pretending  everything was okay.

There was a lump in his throat and he swallowed it down immediately. Regret.

He shouldn’t feel any regret, didn’t allow himself to feel it.

It was cruel to pull the knife out after he’d stabbed you deep. It was better to leave the knife in so you wouldn’t bleed out.

So he didn’t call out to you to apologize or explain himself. He simply turned around and got back inside, closing the door behind him.

Because he knew if he were to change for the better you would just forgive him, and that would be horrible. He didn’t deserve to be loved by you then and even more now after what he just did.

Best thing he could do right now is to continue what he’s doing. To hurt you so you’d eventually hate him and leave. 

This is for your own sake.

And so, he continued. Bringing strangers home each night and fucking  them without making an effort to be subtle. One time, he did it when you were home, when you could surely hear every noise  through the wall. However, it didn’t affect you in the slightest bit. You still brought him food, still greeted  him with that fucking smile, still talked to him with endearment. Like nothing happened, or that you refused to acknowledge anything had happened.

His only hope is the almost unnoticeable flicker in your eyes as you tried to hide how this had  started to affect you, how you approached  him less and less.

But you never left him.

So he’d keep doing what he could do best, to hurt. And maybe, eventually you’ll get it. Hopefully.

…

The night was calm, draped in a velvety darkness that stretched endlessly above, safe for the moon shining brightly. Its light poured through the window, stretching long, pale streaks across the floor, illuminating dust motes drifting in the still air. A distant murmur beneath the hush of the wind. The air was cool, slipping through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of rain on the pavement.

Outside, the world was at peace, yet his room was steeped in shadow. The  air was thick, heavy, pressing down like an unseen weight. The curtains swayed slightly from the draft, their slow movement the only sign of life in the dimly lit room. 

He laid on his bed, zoning out as he stared at his ceiling. The stillness around him wasn’t peaceful—it was hollow. The kind that settled deep, coiling in the spaces between breaths. It was one of those days when he didn’t feel like doing anything, content to stay in one place all day.

So he didn’t go out for another conquest tonight. But he did need to eat, so when he heard a knock at his door, he let you in.

Now, the silence was filled with a sizzle of oil, the quiet clatter of a pan being shifted. The warmth of it seeped into the air, cutting through the lifeless stillness that had settled over him like a second skin. He stayed on the bed, while you were there, just beyond the doorway, tending to whatever was on the stove. The soft scrape of a spoon against a bowl, the rhythmic chop of a knife against the cutting board—it was all steady, unhurried, you’ve done it a hundred times before after all. Made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

His breath came a little slower now, his mind drifting between the weight of exhaustion and the quiet pull of that warmth beyond the door. He didn’t get up, not yet. But with you around the corner, the dark didn’t feel so endless.

Whatever bit of calmness he felt then was taken away when he heard another sound coming from the door.

Not a knock, but an insistent banging.

There was a feeling of unease at the back of his head, but he ignored it.

Which he soon realized to be a mistake.

“Coming..!” He heard you yell and approach the door. Being so understanding since you knew he didn’t want to meet anyone at the moment.

He closed his eyes and couldn’t help but listen to the conversation.

When you opened the door, you saw some men dressed in all black towering over you. Their expressions were hard, sharp eyes pinning you in place, giving  you goosebumps.

“Is Simon Riley around?” The one at the front asked.

Your hand gripped the handle of the door, wanting to slam it shut but you knew it would make it worse, might get them agitated, and would try to break in anyway.

“Who..? I think you got the wrong place- sorry..” You said as calmly as you could, but it seemed like you failed with how they didn’t seem to buy it.

“Don’t think we do, sweetheart.” The other said and pushed the door open with his feet when you tried to close it. His eyes caught a pair of large boots, Simon’s boots, and then glanced at the other.

Despite your best efforts, the men made their way in and immediately scattered around to search the place. Furniture  pushed around, drawers were pulled out to spill  all of its content onto the floor.

Eventually, they headed to the other rooms in the flat. And you made a mistake by trying to prevent one of them who approached the bedroom.

You sighed in relief when you saw the bed was empty. But it was too late, they noticed your reaction and knew you were hiding something.

They were now gathered around you, talking in a language you don’t understand. And then, your arm was yanked, you were being pushed around, forced to follow them as they exited the apartment.

“W-wait, where are you taking me..!? let go..!” You screamed in panic which made one of them clasp his hand to your mouth. 

“Don’t worry about it, if you’re important enough to him he’ll come to us immediately to save you..” He said, before clicking his teeth when you kept struggling.

“If not- well..” The other one behind you chuckled and reached out to grope your curves. “We could have a little fun before getting rid of you.. you’ve seen too much anyway”.

You froze at the way they leered at you. Tears welling up in your eyes before you fought back like your life depended on it– because your life depends on it.

You bit the hand on your mouth hard, kicking around, pulling, and hitting anyone at arm length.

Didn’t need to win the fight, just needed to keep struggling, make some noise until hopefully someone– anyone noticed and called for help.

They overpowered you easily, and you were starting to give up hope when a damp cloth was pressed to your nose and mouth. But of course, you were stubborn and made them struggle as much as you were.

Everything went in a blur. Suddenly, you were tossed aside when something huge rammed the one holding you to the wall. You laid on the floor, holding your head which was pounding as you tried to focus on the scene in front of you while  the world spun. Black dots danced in your vision.

Bloodshed.

A masked figure moved with lethal precision. You couldn’t see his face fully but you were certain of who he was. A knife gleamed in his grip, flashing under the dim light as he drove it into the first man’s throat. Blood sprayed, and before the others could react, he turned, slashing across another’s chest. The man screamed, stumbling backward, clutching at the gaping wound.

He moved like his old name, slipping between them, dodging fists and blades, his knife finding a home in the flesh over and over again. His body still remembered who he was before everything. The Ghost.

One man lunged at him, but he ducked, driving his knife up into the attacker’s ribs. Another came from behind—too late. The stranger spun, slashing his throat in a single, fluid motion. Bodies fell around him, the floor slick with crimson.

It was a massacre.

Simon was hiding outside all this time. He climbed out the window and kept himself flat to the wall as he waited. And he should have just stayed hidden, should have just waited until the help he called would come. That would be smarter, safer.

But he couldn’t bring himself to. Hearing your screams, your cries. He just couldn’t bring himself to do nothing. Perhaps, it was because it was the first time he saw you truly break. And he didn’t like that, even though all this time he tried to break you. Hypocrite.

For the first time ever he wanted to see that damn smile on your face.

It was as if his body moved on its own, slipping inside and going on a rampage.

You didn’t run nor hide, looking around for something to do, to be useful yourself despite how  you lacked any knowledge in combat.

A click.

The last man standing, who was trembling, raised a gun. Aimed it at him.

And you didn’t think—you just moved.

He watched you throw yourself between them. A deafening gunshot rang through the air. And  white-hot pain exploded at the side of your head.

His eyes widened at the familiar scene flashing in front of his eyes, from when the one he loved died the same way.

Your knees buckled and you fell.

Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed. His own voice that he didn’t recognize, low and furious, filled the air.

He could feel his heart thumping in his ears as he froze.

Another mistake.

Simon was too shocked, too focused on you to pay attention to the last man. 

A blinding pain exploded in his chest. His breath hitched as he stumbled, the world tilting. The force of the impact sent him to his knees. He pressed a shaking hand to his shirt, feeling warmth bloom beneath his palm.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself up. His body protested, his heart hammering wildly—too wildly. His pulse was erratic, his vision blurred, but he wasn’t done yet.

The gunman aimed again.

With the last of his strength, Ghost lunged, knocking the weapon aside just as it fired. The shot went wide. Knife lodged deep into the man’s throat, sending him gasping to the ground.

Then—silence.

His legs gave out, his body slumping against the bloodied carpet. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, blowing warm air beneath his mask. The wound was bad but worse than that—his heart was failing. He could feel it, every skipped beat, every strangled attempt to keep going.

The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the distant wail of sirens.

…

When he woke, everything hurt. The sterile scent of the hospital filled his lungs, monitors beeping steadily beside him. He found himself disappointed for waking up once again, for surviving everything, to live another day. Just when he thought it was all over.

His former captain and sergeant,who had been waiting outside, were allowed in after the medical staff checked on his condition.

“How are you feeling Simon? ” John asked as he pushed his former lieutenant back down when he tried to sit up.

“Horrible,” He responded curtly.

John then explained everything that happened. Some old enemies he made in the past seeking revenge. How everything was taken care of during the time he was unconscious.

Simon just stayed silent the whole time. Not relaxing a bit at the news.

Then, John’s voice softened, as if to speak more carefully as he told him about your condition.

Brain death.

Just then, he finally relaxed. His shoulders sagged and he had to hold himself back from sighing in relief

Finally, you were gone.

A cruel thought. But really, it was better for you to not be around him anymore. You would only get hurt more whether he tried to be better or worse, it didn't  matter. And if death was the only thing that could save you from him, then so be it. Your life was torture anyway from what he’d seen, as much as his life was. If anything, he was envious.

But then John didn't stop talking.

Simon felt his heart stop as he processed every word, his limbs went cold, and his throat felt constricting.

“The gunshot had torn through scar tissue from your previous injury, weakening your heart even more. The doctors had stabilized you, but your heart wouldn’t last much longer. Without a transplant, you were living on borrowed time.” John explained his injury to him, which made Simon turn his head to look his former captain in the eyes.

No.

John smiled, not  noticing  how Simon looked at him with horror. “You would’ve died if it wasn’t for her, Simon”.

You were an organ donor.

Of course you fucking are.

He was in need of an immediate transplant and you were there, compatible with him  in a way that you two weren’t before.

His ears drowned every word  after that. He caught fragments—something about them trying to reach your family, but no one responded, and the consent form you’d filled years ago from when you signed up for the program, became a greenlight to save his life. To give up yours entirely.

"You're a lucky bastard Simon, a rare bird she was." Kyle finally spoke up beside him, and Simon looked at him who sported an apologetic smile. He wanted to punch that smile, because no- he didn’t feel lucky at all.

His heart- your heart, thumped in his chest. Climbed up his throat, to his skull, defeaning.

Simon Riley considered himself to be  a level-headed man, all the way from his childhood to his days in the military and after. He wasn’t one to make a scene.

So he didn’t recognize who was being held down to the bed by the men beside him as he started screaming and trashing  the bed, almost pulling the tubes that were  attached to him.

You were a part of him now.

He could never get you away from him, huh?

taglist : @niazrzl, @iiriam, @defronix

[booksfansworld]

James potter x reader

The thing about Hogwarts was that it was easy to be two different people. In class, you were confident hand always raised, voice steady, not afraid to challenge even McGonagall when you were certain you were right. But outside the structured world of lessons and textbooks, where people spoke in jokes and easy camaraderie, you faltered.

You weren’t shy, exactly. Just awkward. Coversations never seemed to flow the way they did for others, especially when James Potter was involved.

Which was unfortunate, considering James Potter had decided today was the day he was going to talk to you.

"Blimey, you were on fire in Transfiguration," James said, plopping down beside you in the common room. His hair was as messy as ever, glasses slightly askew from where he'd shoved them up his nose. "Even McGonagall looked impressed."

Your stomach twisted. "Ohum. Thanks?"

Brilliant. One word. Very compelling.

James, of course, didn’t seem to notice your internal struggle. "I swear, if I had half your focus, I'd be top of the class." He stretched his arms out, slumping back against the couch. "Well, second to Evans, obviously."

You laughed softly—an actual laugh, not the awkward chuckle you sometimes gave when you didn't know what else to do. "You'd have to stop doodling Quidditch plays in your notes first."

James gasped, mock-offended. "You wound me. Those plays are works of strategic genius."

Rolling your eyes, you shifted slightly, hands resting in your lap. Talking about academics was fine. It was the other part the casual, social part that tripped you up.

The conversation lulled, and you bit your lip, feeling the pressure to fill the silence. Before you could think of something to say, James let out a long sigh, stretching again before letting his head fall against your shoulder.

You froze.

James Potter was asleep. On your shoulder.

His weight was warm, grounding, and entirely unexpected. His breaths evened out, ruffling a loose strand of your hair. The common room bustled around you, but it felt distant, like you and James were in a pocket of quiet.

You should move. Should shake him awake, laugh it off. But for once, you didn’t overthink it.

Instead, you let yourself sit there, still and steady, as James Potter charming, boisterous, endlessly confident James Potterslept peacefully against you.

The common room buzzed around you, but James was dead to the world, his head warm and solid against your shoulder. You weren’t sure what to do—what did one do when James Potter, Quidditch star and Hogwarts’ most effortlessly charming student, decided your shoulder was a perfectly acceptable pillow?

Panic? Wake him? Run?

You did none of the above.

Instead, you sat there, spine rigid, as your mind raced. What did this mean? Had he just been that exhausted? Or no, stop, you were overthinking it. Again. It was just a nap. People fell asleep in the common room all the time.

Except they didn’t usually do it on you.

After what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, Sirius Black strolled by, stopped, and grinned like he'd been handed front-row seats to the greatest show on Earth.

“Well, well, well," he drawled, crouching to your level. "Didn’t realize you’d taken up a side gig as James’ personal headrest."

Your cheeks burned. "He just… fell asleep."

Sirius smirked. "Mhm. Sure."

James shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose, and without thinking, you carefully nudged them back into place. Sirius’ smirk deepened.

"I like this," he mused. "You should keep him."

Your brain short-circuited. "What?"

"You know, as a pet. Like a very needy, very loud golden retriever."

"I hate you," you muttered, but there was no real venom in it.

Sirius chuckled and ruffled James' hair before standing. "Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Just try not to scar the poor bloke when he wakes up, yeah?" He winked and sauntered off.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the flickering fire in front of you. Your heartbeat had not slowed. James was still leaning against you, oblivious to your internal crisis.

And then, in a voice rough with sleep, he muttered, "You’re comfy."

Your breath caught. "What?"

James shifted again, eyes still closed, a lazy grin on his lips. "S’nice. You should let me nap on you more often."

Your brain stalled completely.

James Potter wanted to nap on you. More often.

You were never going to survive this.

[ghostedgwen]

don't blame me | j.potter [part one]

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 : I decided to rewrite this one as I had a pretty good plot in mind going - but kinda fumbled it with the following part and I didn't like the original direction I took it so I've decided to rewrite this one and give a better plot line :>

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀/𝗌 : 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝗃𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝟧 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗌.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 : 𝟦𝗄

Your life has been pretty normal up until the summer of 1977 when you found out that you have been engaged to someone for most of your life and you never knew until your parents dressed you up and dragged you all the way to the Potter Manor for a dinner party.

You remembered that night very well and desperately wish you didn't because it gives you a headache every time you recall the unfortunate chain of events that leads to you now, attending school with your fiancé whose guts you hated.

"Here we are," your Father announced, stepping out of the fireplace where you three floo'd in and reached his hand out to your Mother who accepted. "That was a smooth trip."

You bite the inside of your cheeks and stepped out as well, running your hand through the skirt of your dress - wondering why you're all dressed up and having dinner with the Potters out of nowhere. 

Your families have been friends for many generations but you were certain you're not carrying on that tradition - specially when James Potter was one annoying bloke who made a point to be so eccentric and a menace every day he spends at Hogwarts.

Not to mention the whole pining for Evans, what a nuisance. No one cares about his stupid crush, so there was no need to announce every bloody morning! He's so full of himself that he really thinks he's some main character in a novel, prancing around being all charming.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter came into view,  greeting your family warmly, and you look around - you haven't been here in a while. The last time you were here was back when you were 11 and very eager to go to Hogwarts.

"Lovely to see you again, dear." Mia greeted you, giving you a hug which you awkwardly returned by patting her back and you stepped back - spying James come into the living room and you raise a brow.

He dressed up as well, all pampered-looking in a suit and his messy hair looks a bit on the tame side this evening. He caught you staring and frowned at you, you only rolled your eyes at him and turned to your parents and his striking up a conversation.

"Well, no need to stand here - come to the dining room," Fleamont gestured to the hallway. "We've prepared lots."

"You really didn't have to." Your Mum chuckled, but began following them anyway. 

"Nonsense! Anything for such important guests."

The adults left the room and you cross your arms, turning back to James. "You actually look decent, congrats." you tell him, despite yourself.

He frowns at that - he recognizes you. He's sure he's known you before Hogwarts but that was only because your family and his got along well, and that was it. You never interacted at Hogwarts. He has no idea why you dislike him so.

He thought he was very likable.

"Thank you?" 

You began walking away, heading towards the voices of the adults chatting in the dining room and you entered - making them all turn to you and James was right behind you, you can only feel nervous when you see the look your Mother had on her face, seeing you with James.

You take a seat at the table and the night progressed normally. You had dinner and the adults engaged themselves in random conversations about the wizarding world while you and James stayed quiet.

He was mostly busy trying to figure out why you seem to dislike him, and he keeps coming up blank. While you tried your hardest to remain civil and not tell him off for staring at you the entire time, looking so conflicted.

"Now that dinner's out of the way, it's time we actually discuss the reason we're all here today." Fleamont announced, making you turn to him.

"You're right, it's time." Your Father agreed, lightly dabbing his lips with a napkin.

"Dad? What's going on?" You ask, frowning at your Mum who only smiled at you.

"Yeah, what's up?" James asked. 

"Well, you only have one year left at Hogwarts - so we thought it's finally time to discuss the wedding."

You felt your hand grow colder and the hairs at the back of your neck stand, you struggled to speak and was glad James took over that for you. This can't be happening.

"What wedding?"

"Yours, of course. You two have been engaged for quite a long time," Mia clapped her hands excitedly. "We thought it was time to discuss."

"What?" You choked out.

"Oh don't you worry, dear. There's no rush, we only want to start preparing to make sure everything goes well and you two have the best wedding."

You blink, unable to form a proper sentence, and didn't notice how all the feelings left your arms when you dropped your fork and it clanked loudly against your plate. James was watching you - realizing you also had no idea.

"We're engaged?" James asked. "Since when?"

"Did you forget?" Fleamont asked his son,  a deep frown on his wrinkled face.

"You proposed when you were ten," Mia answered for him. "I could never forget the way you got down on one knee and offered a flower to _____ here."

You felt your chest burn and your vision began blurring, this is all too much and definitely not what you expected. You couldn't even make this up in your literal nightmares. How does one even act in this situation?

"I proposed when I was ten and you think - I still want to marry her?" James was stunned beyond all reasons, he couldn't even process it entirely. He knew his parents were a bit much but he didn't think they'd be able to pull this off.

"It was in your oath, was it not?" Mia frowned. "I do recall your little speech about not looking at any other girl for the rest of your life."

Despite the horror that is your engagement to James Potter - in your very shaken state, you feel the tension release from your shoulders and you began laughing. Laughing at the irony of it all, some oath that was!

You've been engaged for most your life and never knew because you never thought your parents and his would take that seriously? Specially when it was made 7 years ago and one of his oaths was to never look at another girl - when he's spent all his years in Hogwarts pining for one redhead.

You remembered. Unlike him, you kept that promise in mind - but not once in your wildest dreams could you have predicted this outcome

Everyone at the table was too stunned by your reaction, none of them able to say or do anything except James when he saw the tears brimming in your eyes. Aside the laughter, you were about to cry both from frustration and from laughing too hard.

He got up, chair scraping against the polished floor, and went around the table to assist you, pulling the chair out for you and ushering you away from the dining table. Your laughter died down as James got up to go around the table to escort you off your seat.

"I'll calm her down," he nods at the adults and began steering you away from their prying eyes. "We'll be in my room."

You let him guide you down the halls, you still had tears in your cheeks and you quickly wipe them away - feeling embarrassed and stayed quiet as you enter his room. He gestured for you to take a seat on his bed and you did.

Looking around to find his room to be surprisingly organized. Barely any posters on the wall, just a framed poster of his favourite Quidditch team, bookshelves lining the walls and his bed was a bright red and gold.

"Feeling better?" He asked, shrugging his coat off and throwing it over the chair next to a bookshelf. Throwing a look over his shoulder to watch you sit stiffly on his bed.

"No." You answer, fiddling with your fingers on your lap. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"I could have asked you the same thing." 

"Not my breakdown - the engagement."

He paused, turning to you and seeing how shaken up you still are over the whole thing, and he felt bad. He admits he was taken aback by the entire thing as well, but given your treatment of him earlier, he could sense that you weren't too fond of him.

And now you found out you're engaged to him.

"I have no idea, if I'm being honest." James shook his head - about to ask you something when a knock on his door made him look away from you. He walked over and opened it, Sirius Black is standing outside with a grin.

"What did I miss?" He asked, peering through his shoulders and his jaw going slack when he saw a figure of a girl on James' bed and audibly gasped. 

James shrugged and opened the door wider, allowing Sirius to enter his room and shut the door closed behind him. Sirius took slow and careful steps, slowly drinking in your appearance and frowning when he recognized you.

"Meet my fiancée, mate." James threw his hand to gesture to you lazily and you scoff at him.

"What? Fian - what?" Sirius exchanged glances between you two and could feel his thoughts spiral from confusion. "Are you two messing with me?"

You groan into your palms. "I wish."

"I don't understand."

"How about you take a seat first, mate?" James offered and you watched as he settled on the beanbag chair.

It was no secret that Sirius Black ran away from home and has been living with the Potters who warmly welcomed him into their family. You did feel pity for the boy, he was too young to be going through something so difficult and you can't say you understood his struggles.

You didn't have the world's greatest parents but they weren't abusive, just terrible at providing a child the emotional support they needed. They were too caught up with work that they forgot a child didn't just need clothes, food on the table and a house to live in.

You do admire their friendship - something you can't relate to. You have friends from your house but you can't say you've formed a bond with anyone similar to the one Sirius Black and James Potter has.

It was almost disgusting how close these two are - their personalities fit so well and they look damn good next to each other. Still, you have a lingering distate for Sirius Black and his. . .endeavours all around the castle that never failed to reach your ears.

But even if you didn't hear about it - you'll see it. Down the halls, during meals and even while you did your rounds. 

It's probably bad etiquette of you as a Prefect but you really don't bother with him at all. The moment you spy that long black hair in the dark halls after curfew - you just turn the other direction and go about your night, forgetting you even saw it.

Sparing yourself the awkwardness of it all. You didn't exactly fancy interrupting students making out - they always glare like you just deprived them of their greatest plasure and it's just overall disturbing to stand there, waiting for them to fix their appearances and then having to escort them back to their dorms.

You'll leave that job to the others.

After letting James explain the whole situation to Black who just got back from Lupin's - you three sat down in his room in silence. No one knowing what to do. Because what do you even do after finding out you've basically been engaged to someone all your life?

And your parents are expecting to plan a wedding before you even graduate from school?

You sat on James' bed while he and Sirius occupied the bean bag chairs and talked amongst themselves. You felt too out of it to join their conversation and only listened in, occasionally making a comment.

"How about Evans, then?"

"What about her?" You ask, allowing yourself to fall backwards and land on the soft bed with a quiet thud, your hair sprawling on his bright red sheets and James frowned at you from where he sat.

He didn't exactly expect you to grow comfortable in his room - given how you acted towards him earlier.

"Well - Prongs here has been in love with her," Sirius points. "And-"

"Blood hell, I know that," you yelled, interrupting him and made the two boys jump from your sudden outburst. "I went to school with you for years, I bloody well know he's in love with her. He practically announce it every damn day!"

The two boys were stunned, growing silent as they watch you and you only stare at the ceiling, feeling your irritation travel up and down your spine.

"What I'm asking is why should she be in the discussing when we're talking about my future here," you roll to your side and raise a brow at them. "Who cares about Evans right now? I'm bloody engaged to - that."

James abruptly stood up, walking over to the bed and looking down at you with a conflicted expression on his face. "Do you have a problem with me?"

You roll on your back again and prop yourself up to look him up and down. And he has to admit that the way you treat him was starting to grind his gears, he can't recall ever offending you intentionally or not.

He knows their pranks often get out of hand and innocent bystanders are affected but you didn't stand otu at all so he must've never ran into you while at Hogwarts but for some reasons - you don't like him.

And everyone likes him - except, Slytherins, but that's it.

He's practically the golden boy. Pureblood, rich, good-looking, has great friends and has amazing skills as a wizard.

What did he ever do to you?

"Yeah, do you have a problem with him?"

"Piss off, Black." You said through gritted though you kept your eyes on James.

"Have I offended you somehow?" He asks and you raised a brow.

Merlin, he hates this. You're looking at him like he's the most offensive thing you've ever seen in your life, and it's making his skin crawl. How were you two childhood friends again?

"I don't know, Potter. Have you?"

He's growing frustrated and you are not helping ease him into the situation.

"I'm pretty sure my mate here asked you politely."

You get up from the bed, crossing your arms and switching your glare to Black, who also stood up and is staring you down. You flash him a sarcastic smirk.

"I heard him, there's really no need to sit him on your lap and act as his caregiver - " You roll your eyes and stood your ground despite the sight of an angry Sirius Black taking a step forward. James reached his arm out to stop Sirius. "Control your guard dog, Potter."

"Merlin, what is with you?" James asked exasperatedly.

You turn back to him and see the brewing anger in those hazel eyes through the rim of his glasses and smile, one that was void of any happiness of any form.

"There it is, good. Keeping disliking me, will make this whole ordeal worse for me, and I can have a valid argument to back out of this engagement." You begin heading for the door and turn the knob. "After all, who would want to marry someone they hate?"

You shut the door closed after you, and the two Gryffindors are left stunned, standing in the bedroom. Left to exchange confused stares and the awkward silence that followed was almost deafening.

Boarding the train back to Hogwarts - you can only roll your eyes at the list of Prefects you had in your hand. James Potter got Headboy instead of Lupin, and it was the stupidest news you've received, right under the engagement.

You didn't have it in you to argue with your parents, so you were leaving that up to James. He's the golden boy, spoiled rotten by his parents, so surely he can get you both out of this while you lived your life as if it never happened.

You sat in the Prefects' carriage waiting for everyone else, the only ones already present is some Slytherin Prefect whose name you didn't know, so you kept quiet, reading the list and rolling your eyes at Lily Evans getting Headgirl.

Dumbledore did this on purpose.

You kept your eyes on the parchment, scanning names, even as a few more students entered the carriage and you felt someone sit next to you. You swiftly flickered your gaze to spot the bold colour of red on their robe.

"I was looking for you all over the train." You turn your head to find James Potter sitting next to you, on the Prefects carriage - Lupin right beside him watching the exchange.

"And why would that be?" You frown at him, shaking your head lightly before turning back to the parchment and found your counterpart as a seventh-year Prefect will be Oliver Klove. You're not close, but he's really smart and he performs well in class - should be fine to do rounds with him.

"We didn't get to finish our talk - and you didn't respond to my letters." You could almost hear a pout at the end of that sentence.

"Take a hint then." You shrug lightly and rolled the parchment up, tucking it inside the pocket in your robes right next to your wand and keeping your eyes ahead as the door opened - there walked in Lily Evans in all her glory.

Wearing her uniform properly and despite it looking like everyone else's, she carried it like it was her own and her beautiful red hair swayed as she walked in and took a seat next to a Hufflepuff Prefect. Her curious stares pointed at James next to you did not go unnoticed.

Her eyes skimmed your figure as well but she must've quickly registered that you were watching her as well when she fixed her posture and turned to chatting with the Hufflepuff next to her.

"I get you don't like me but we still have to talk about our bloody en - "

"Okay," you interrupt him. "But let's not talk here, after dinner - I'll be waiting in the Astronomy Tower."

With that, he was satisfied, and he kept his mouth shut until the carriage was full and it was time for both Headgirl and Headboy to commence the orientation. Welcoming fifth-year Prefects who are new to the Prefect duties and addressing the rest.

As expected, Evans was flawless. Establishing her authority but remained a friendly figure, all the while handing off the schedule of rounds, and Potter didn't do too bad next to her. They looked like the picture-perfect couple in their matching robes and with them both being gorgeous people.

James handed you your rounds schedule and you sucked in an exasperated breath through gritted teeth - all your rounds were paired up with his. You lift your gaze from the schedule and spy him adorning a smirk as he went around handing off the others' schedules.

This bloody arse.

Dinner was uneventful - Dumbledore delivered his usual speech, congratulating Gryffindor for producing this year's Headgirl and Headboy and you can only roll your eyes at the obvious favouritism.

You ate dinner quietly despite the bustling great hall. Friends catching up about their summers and discussing Christmas plans, you chose not to partake. Your mind was occupied with the thoughts of James Potter.

You're meeting him in the tower later, and you have no idea what to tell him. How do you even explain all your thoughts and feelings about him in a way that he'd understand and in a way that won't embarrass you?

You actually think you'd rather die than admit the truth as to why you seem vexed by his existence.

Dinner finally ended - you make your way around the castle, carefully making your way around and finally reaching your destination. You expected to wait for him so you brought a book to keep you occupied but you spied him on top of the stairs as you made your way up.

Once reaching the top, you walked past him and quietly addressed him with your gaze before speaking.

"Potter."

Merlin, he really feels weird around you. And he can't tell if it's in a good way or a bad way - you talk to him as if he's some mild inconvenience you couldn't shake off but still disliked nonetheless. As if he was a tiny rock inside your shoe that you could feel with every step, but also barely there to bring absolute discomfort.

He's never been treated this way. It's either he was greatly liked (his friends, fellow Gryffindor and fangirls) or greatly disliked (Evans, Slytherins and otherer purists not agreeing with his tolerance for muggleborns and half-bloods).

You were in between, but leaning more on the dislike side, and he doesn't know what to make of it. You sparked something in him and he couldn't just shrug it off, he needs to know just why you have an evident frown every time you look at him.

"_____." He greeted back.

"I didn't read any of your letters, so I have no idea what you want to talk about," you admit with a shrug. "Why did you mess with my rounds?"

James leaned against the wall coolly, crossing his arms and flashing that infamous smirk on his face. "I don't know whatever you mean."

Annoying you further will probably not help his case but he couldn't help it. He oddly feels excited when you dismiss him with that incredulous look on your face and the look of distaste painting your features.

It was very much unlike with Evans - when it would genuinely hurt every time she rejected his advances, but you seemed fun to him.

He's unfamiliar with all this so he's willing to explore, how convenient is it that you're engaged so there's no escaping him?

You deadpan at him, trying to read that stupid expression on his face to understand the current your situation you're in, but ultimately got nothing. James Potter was a hard act to follow, actually - his entire squad is.

You'd rather decipher ancient runes all day than try and figure out just what is going on inside the mind of a Marauder.

"There's no way Evans would agree to that, did you falsify my rounds?" You ask, raising a brow and he dramatically scoffed in offence.

"My, what a bold accusation," James tilted his head slightly to the side. "Actually, she agreed."

"She did?"

"Gave her an offer she couldn't refuse."

"What could you possibly offer Evans that she'd want?" You ask, chuckling and stepping forward to level gazes with him.

He wasn't backing down, however. He pushed himself off the wall with his feet and stepped forward, looking down at you with a glint of challenge in his eyes that appeared a dark brown in the little light the Astronomy Tower offered.

"I offered her peace," James grinned. "Promised to leave her alone until the Christmas break if she matched our rounds."

Your jaw went slack at his words - your brain almost short-circuiting and it enticed him to know that caught you off guard. You parted your lips but no words came out and he could take a picture to live in this moment forever.

He's been thinking of so many ways all summer to get back at you. You ignored all his letters and avoided him on the train like he expected - this was a good enough payback for that, he revelled in your stunned expression until you recovered and regained your composure.

"Why sacrifice such a sacred tradition?" You ask, voice laced with distaste and sarcasm.

"And here I thought my fiancée would like it better if I stopped pining for another girl."

He didn't expect that to strike a chord in you. You stepped back, feeling your chest burn from both the pain and the anger bubbling inside you, and sent a harsh glare his way.

"I am not your fiancée, don't ever call me that again."

He could tell you were genuinely upset now, but still it didn't stop him. He still found it in himself to close the distance between you two and raise a brow.

"Sure thing, Wife."

to be continued . . .

part two | masterlist

[justlemmeadoreyou]

solace* (famous!harry x masseuse!y/n)

summary: harry is in need of some unwinding and destressing, and he finds the perfect masseuse for that. they end up growing much closer than the relationship they began with, but it's never that easy, is it?

words: 6.4k (she's long)

warnings: smut in this one: p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), cursing, dirty talk, fingering, creampie.

"Just lay down on the table and relax. I'll take good care of you."

Y/N tried to keep her voice steady and professional as she greeted her new client, the one and only Harry Styles. The famous former athlete turned singer was lying face down on the massage table, a towel draped over his lower body.

Y/N had been a masseuse at this high-end spa for two years, but she had never worked on someone so famous before. She was intimidated but determined not to show it. Treating Harry just like any other client was the only way she could get through this.

"You're the expert," Harry's muffled voice came from the face cradle. "I'm in your hands."

Y/N gulped at the unintended innuendo. Get it together, she scolded herself. This is strictly business.

She warmed up some lotion in her hands and began working on Harry's muscular back and shoulders. Almost immediately, she could feel the tightness and knots from years of intense athletic training.

"You've got a lot of built-up tension in here," she commented, digging her fingers in to loosen a stubborn knot. "What sort of athletic background are we working with?"

"Footie, if you go by my English roots," Harry said, sucking in a sharp breath as she worked a particularly tender spot. "Played striker on an academy team as a kid before my interests shifted to music in my late teens."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, impressed. She had no idea Harry was such a talented athlete on top of his musical skills. Somehow that made her former crush on him even more intimidating.

As she moved down to his lower back, she tried to keep her touches clinical and impersonal. But she couldn't help noticing how toned Harry's body was, the muscles rippling beneath her hands. 

Stop ogling him, you're being completely unprofessional! She gave herself another firm mental rebuke.

For a while, the only sounds were Harry's occasional groans as Y/N dug into his tight knots and the relaxing spa music playing softly in the background. But eventually, Harry broke the silence.

"You know, you seem a bit nervous around me. Is it because I'm....well, me?"

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. She should have known he would pick up on her awkwardness.

"I'm just trying to stay focused," she mumbled, unable to keep the embarrassment out of her voice entirely. "I don't want to slip up and disappoint an important client like yourself."

To her surprise, Harry let out a low chuckle. "Love, I may be famous but I'm just a regular bloke like any other. No need to be nervous."

His voice was warm and full of humor, putting Y/N more at ease. She realized she had been building him up as some intimidating celebrity in her mind when really he seemed down-to-earth.

Feeling emboldened, she decided to open up a bit. "To be honest, I may have...had a bit of a crush on you back in the day. Your music was a big part of my teen years."

"Is that so?" Harry sounded both flattered and amused. "Well, I'll take it as a compliment from a pretty lady like yourself."

Y/N felt her traitorous cheeks heating up again. Were they...flirting now? She couldn't tell if he was just being charming or if there was real interest there.

She tried to keep things professional as she moved on to his arms and legs, though her lingering shyness made it difficult. Harry seemed to sense it, not pushing things but keeping up his friendly banter that had her laughing in spite of herself.

By the end of the ninety minutes, Y/N was disappointed for the massage to be over. Some of the intimidation had faded, replaced by an easy rapport. Almost as if...they could really be friends, or more, not just client and masseuse.

As Harry redressed and prepared to leave, he paused and gave her a heart-stoppingly charming smile. "Same time next week? I'll need to keep these knots at bay."

Y/N couldn't resist smiling back, a warm flutter in her belly. "I'll be here. It's a date."

Wait, did she actually just say that?! She wanted to cringe at her awkward choice of words.

But Harry just chuckled easily, not seeming bothered at all. "A date it is, then. I look forward to it."

As he sauntered out, Y/N exhaled a long breath. Suddenly, her job had gotten a lot more...interesting.

Over the next few months, Y/N looked forward to Harry's weekly appointments increasingly more. They had fallen into an easy, teasing back-and-forth during their sessions peppered with plenty of flirtatious banter. 

At first, Y/N firmly kept things within professional boundaries, no matter how strong her crush was growing. Harry may be a laid back, regular guy, but he was still a client at the end of the day.

However, the more she got to know the real Harry beyond his famous persona, the harder it became not to develop deeper feelings. His sharp wit, endless warmth and care for those around him, and genuine humility all endeared him to Y/N enormously.

For his part, Harry seemed to be growing quite fond of Y/N as well. He playfully requested she work extra hard on his "problem areas" and loved to tease her about her technique and bedroom eyes whenever she was really concentrating. Y/N would pretend to be flustered, but secretly loved their charged back-and-forth.

One week, Harry didn't show up for his usual appointment. Y/N tried not to feel too disappointed, figuring he must have just been busy. But when he missed his spot the following week as well with no notice, she began to worry something was wrong.

"Everything okay with Harry?" she couldn't help asking the spa receptionist. "I haven't seen him for his appointments lately."

The petite blonde receptionist gave her a sly grin. "Haven't you heard? There was an issue with his latest music release, so he's been dealing with that whole mess the past couple weeks."

Y/N frowned, concerned. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about work issues. Then again, she realized they had become so comfortable with each other that she always viewed him through a friend's lens rather than a client's now. 

Making a snap decision, Y/N pulled out her phone and drafted a text to the number Harry had given her months ago, just in case she ever needed to reschedule his slot.

"Hey there, just checking in! Missed you the past couple weeks and wanted to make sure everything is alright?"

She hit send before she could overthink it, her heart fluttering nervously. This was wildly unprofessional to text a client like this, even if Harry had become more of a friend really.

To her surprise, Harry texted back almost immediately.

"Y/N! Was just thinking about you, funny enough. I'm so sorry for going MIA, it's been a madhouse with this new album mess. Let me make it up to you with dinner this weekend?"

Y/N's eyes widened as she re-read the text. Was Harry...asking her on a date? Or was he just being friendly and suggesting they grab a bite to catch up? She wasn't sure, but her heart was pounding either way.

Throwing caution to the wind, she typed: "It's a date. Looking forward to it!"

If her massages with Harry had been growing increasingly charged lately, Y/N could only imagine how electric an actual date with him would be...

The rest of the week dragged by interminably for Y/N as she counted down to her dinner with Harry. She agonized over what to wear, settling on a slinky red dress that walked the line between casual date and fancy night out perfectly.

When Saturday evening finally arrived, Y/N felt uncharacteristically nervous as she pulled up to the chic restaurant Harry had chosen. What if she had been misreading everything and this was just a friendly dinner after all? She didn't want to make things weird if that was the case.

But the second Harry opened the door to greet her, looking unfairly handsome in a slick black button-down, her worries melted away. He was giving her the same heated look he got when she was working out a tight knot in his muscles - unmistakably attracted and intrigued.

"You look positively stunning, love," he murmured, taking her hand and giving it a delicate kiss. "Though I don't know what I was expecting, you always manage to blow me away."

Y/N felt her face heating up at his unabashed flattery, her pulse racing. She couldn't resist giving his bicep a playful squeeze.

"You're not looking too bad yourself, popstar. Now are we going to eat, or did you just invite me out to shamelessly flirt?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "Why can't we do both?"

The evening passed in a blur of delicious food, sinfully good wine, and the most scintillating conversation Y/N had ever experienced. She and Harry swapped stories, teased and joked, and delved into surprisingly deep philosophical discussions, all without missing a beat.

By the time they were splitting a decadent slice of chocolate cake for dessert, Y/N felt more relaxed and giddy than she had in years. Despite all her nervous buildup, the date was turning out perfectly.

"You know," Harry began conversationally as he licked some icing off his fork in a way that made Y/N's mouth go dry. "When you started as my masseuse, I'll admit I figured you were just another pretty face hired by the spa. Starstruck and nervous around me because of my image and all that rot."

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at his words, but Harry grinned teasingly to show he meant no offense. 

"But you proved me absolutely wrong in the best way possible, darling. Your skill and your spirit both blew me away. You're always so professional, but with this amazing warm heart and sharp wit just beneath the surface."

Y/N couldn't help smiling bashfully at his earnest compliments. "Well, you hardly made it easy to stay focused and impersonal, Mr. Cheeky Flirtmaster. I'm just glad we were able to become...friends."

She said the last word tentatively, wondering if Harry felt the same growing sense that they had become something more than that recently. His heated gaze and body language said as much, but she didn't want to assume.

Harry seemed to pick up on her hesitancy, his green eyes crinkling at the corners fondly.

"Y/N, I think we both know our 'friendship' has evolved into something deeper, at least for me. I've fancied you for months, maybe longer if I'm being honest with myself. You're bloody brilliant - smart, talented, caring, with a rocking body that drives me spare in the best way."

He reached across the table to take her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. The tender intimacy of the gesture made Y/N's heart skip a beat.

"What I'm asking is...would you want to make this official? Give us a real go as more than just mates?"

Y/N felt like the breath had been knocked out of her lungs. She had imagined hearing those words from Harry's lips more times than she could count. But now that he had actually said them, she was temporarily stunned into silence.

Seeing her speechlessness, Harry chuckled warmly. "No need to answer right this second, love. I know it's a lot to process coming from your formerly famous client-turned-mate. Just think it over, yeah?"

Y/N finally managed to find her voice, emboldened by the caring warmth in Harry's eyes. She turned her palm over, lacing their fingers together decisively.

"You don't have to give me time, Harry. I've been crazy about you for ages if I'm honest. Of course I want to give us a real shot. I can't think of anything I want more."

The brilliant smile that spread across Harry's face sent tingles down Y/N's spine. He brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a soft kiss there.

"Then it's official. We're a couple now."

Y/N felt giddy, like the words were a dream. Her and Harry Styles, the man she'd fancied for years, were entering a relationship together. What were the odds?

"Should we, uh, keep things professional at the spa still?" she asked, suddenly wondering if their new situation would make things weird.

To her surprise, Harry shook his head adamantly. "Actually, I was thinking of finding a new masseuse. I wouldn't want to put you in an awkward position having to work on your boyfriend's body every week, tempting as that sounds."

He gave her a heated look and Y/N felt a rush of arousal, imagining all the new layers their massages would take on now.

"Fair point. I don't think I could keep things totally professional anymore either," she admitted with a coy smile.

Harry signaled for the check, keeping Y/N's hand linked with his posessively. "Then it's settled. I'm all yours now, darling. Though fair warning, I'll expect my massages in private from here on out."

The tone of his voice made Y/N shiver pleasantly in anticipation. Oh, this romance was going to be incredibly fun.

***

Over the next few months, Y/N felt like she was living in a wonderful dream. She and Harry were inseparable, their bonds of friendship strengthening into an unbreakable foundation as their passion grew.

They went on romantic dates, attended glamorous celebrity events, and spent long cozy nights together at Harry's place. Y/N felt herself falling harder and harder for the kind, charismatic man who never failed to dote on her or cheer her on.

One evening, Harry surprised her by having a limo pick her up from work at the spa. Y/N raised her eyebrows in amused confusion as she slid into the sleek black car, wondering what her doting boyfriend was up to now.

To her delighted shock, Harry was waiting inside wearing a dashing tuxedo. He held out a rose to her with a warm smile. 

"My love, you look as breathtaking as ever. Are you ready for our night on the town?"

Y/N laughed giddily, feeling like a princess in a fairytale as Harry showered her with kisses. "You'll have to tell me where we're going, love!"

"Well, first we have dinner reservations at the city's most exclusive new restaurant. And afterward..." Harry trailed off teasingly before pulling a pair of tickets from his inner jacket pocket. "I've arranged for us to have a private vip loge at the opera!"

Y/N's jaw dropped. She knew Harry took great pride in planning thoughtful, romantic gestures, but she was blown away by this grand occasion. The evening was straight out of a storybook.

"Harry, this is...I can't even put into words," she breathed in amazement. "You are the singularly most incredible, thoughtful man in existence. How'd I ever get so lucky?"

Harry just grinned boyishly, giving her a wink as the limo pulled away from the curb. "You deserve all of this and more, darling. Tonight is just a start."

The rest of the evening passed in a blissful whirlwind. Y/N and Harry sipped gourmet cocktails as candles flickered between them at the restaurant. Their heated looks and brushing footsies beneath the table made the anticipation crackle deliciously. 

After the stunning five-star cuisine, Harry surprised Y/N again by hiring a violinist at the opera to serenade them privately in the vip loge while the show played out on stage. He held her close as they swayed to the rich, emotive music, looking into each other's eyes adoringly.

By the time they arrived back home in the limo, Y/N could barely keep her hands off her romantic prince of a boyfriend. She attacked his mouth hungrily as he lifted her into his arms, stumbling inside as they continued to devour each other.

That night was a blur of frantic lovemaking, tearing at clothes and tangling in the bed sheets as release was desperately chased between them. Y/N had never felt so thoroughly worshiped and cherished as when Harry was passionately laying claim to every inch of her body, branding her as his own with his scorching caresses.

"You're everything, Y/N," he groaned into the slick skin of her neck as she writhed beneath him. "My whole bloody universe, all the stars in the sky. Nothing means more to me than you, my perfect girl."

After, when the frenzied haze cleared, Harry held Y/N with indescribable tenderness like she was the most precious thing in existence. Which to him, she absolutely was. Her hands stroked through his sweat-dampened chestnut locks as he pressed fervent kisses to her collarbones, her sternum, everywhere his full lips could reach.

"How did I ever get so lucky?" he murmured, more to himself than her as he gazed up at Y/N reverently. "My entire world in these arms."

Y/N had no words, rendered speechless by the depth of love emanating from her man's bright green eyes. So she simply held him closer, letting her touch express everything her heart was too overwhelmed to put into phrases.

Of course, there were still hints of Harry's internal struggles with fame and the immense pressures of his career. The more Y/N got to know him intimately, the more she saw the tightly-wound tension that still crept into his muscles and posture frequently.

It killed her to see Harry in pain or overwhelmed, dealing silently with the weight of Hollywood's demands. So she made it her mission to take care of him, just like when she was his masseuse but in more intimate ways now.

After an especially grueling day of meetings and recording sessions, Y/N would draw Harry a hot bath infused with relaxing essential oils. She would gently undress him, unable to resist pressing soothing kisses along the protesting knots in his shoulders and back. Harry would let out deep rumbles of pleasure at her therapeutic touch.

One draining evening after he had done promo interviews all day followed by a high-energy concert, Harry came home to their penthouse utterly spent. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion and his mouth was drawn into a tight line, shoulders hunched under the weight of his weariness.

Taking one look at her love in such a depleted state tore at Y/N's heartstrings. She quickly sprang into action, knowing just what he needed to recharge and find his center again.

"Go have a long, hot shower, babe," she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to Harry's furrowed brow. "I'll take care of everything else."

While Harry dragged himself to the bathroom, Y/N set about creating the perfect soothing atmosphere in their bedroom. She dimmed the lights to a warm golden glow and lit a few spicy aromatherapy candles. Then she pulled out her professional massage table and arranged it with all her favorite oils and lotions.

By the time Harry emerged from the steamy bathroom wearing nothing but a plush robe, Y/N had the space utterly transformed into a private spa oasis. Soft nature soundscapes played lightly in the background, blending with the flicker of candlelight to create an ambiance of pure tranquility.

Harry's brow unfurrowed slightly as he took in the scene, a small smile playing at his lips. "You're too good to me, darling," he rumbled in that gruff, sleepy tone Y/N adored.

"Mmm, not possible," Y/N assured with a soft smile, helping Harry shrug off his robe so he could climb onto the table completely nude. 

She warmed up some of the aromatic sandalwood oil between her palms before beginning her sensual ministrations along the perfect terrain of Harry's back and shoulders. His tight muscles instantly began loosening under her skilled touch.

Harry let out a deep, relieved groan as Y/N's strong hands found each knotted snarl and gently worked them loose. He practically melted into the table, boneless and pliant beneath her.

"S'why I love you so much," he slurred, the profound tension seeping from his body. "Always know just how to take care of me, dove."

Y/N hummed in contentment, leaning down to press a line of soothing kisses along the dips of Harry's spine. Between her mouth and her fingers spreading hot oil into every bunched muscle group, he was soon utterly liquid and relaxed. 

This went on for almost two blissful hours, Y/N taking her time to reverently cover every last inch of Harry's body in her healing touch. At one point she gently turned him over to tend to his chest, abdomen, and the handful of other areas he accumulated strain.

By the time she was finished, Harry was borderline unconscious - eyes hooded, face perfectly lax, breaths coming in deep and even pulls. Y/N trailed one last stroke down the miles of inked and toned skin he had exposed to her. Her beautiful boy, wholly at peace once more.

Pressing tender kisses to each of Harry's closed eyelids, Y/N carefully covered him with a plush duvet before slipping out of the bedroom. As much as she would love to stay and watch over him, she knew he needed to fully surrender to restorative sleep now.

Y/N headed to the kitchen, deciding to prepare one of Harry's favorite home cooked meals for when he woke feeling replenished and ravenous. As she moved around the space chopping vegetables and searing chicken, her mind couldn't help drifting to thoughts of the wonderful man in the other room.

She felt so unutterably lucky to be the one person in Harry's life allowed to take care of his weary body and soul in such an intimate way. All the fame, fortune, and success in the world was meaningless to Y/N, compared to earning his unwavering trust and being able to soothe away his struggles whenever they arose.

When Harry finally padded into the kitchen a couple hours later, he looked noticeably refreshed and at peace. There was a soft, dazed expression playing on his features as his bright eyes landed on Y/N in an oversized shirt cooking away.

"There she is," he rasped in that deep, gorgeously gravelly morning voice of his. "Most beautiful sight in the world."

Y/N grinned, warmth blossoming in her chest at the open adoration on Harry's face. Even after going through a draining day, he still couldn't help being an outrageous charmer with her.

"Did you get enough beauty sleep, love?" she teased lightly, moving across the room to wind her arms around his trim waist.

Harry hummed in contentment, ducking his head to nuzzle into the crook of her neck. He inhaled her familiar honeysuckle scent deeply, as if letting the aroma soothe his very soul.

"More than enough. I feel reborn, all thanks to you taking such incredible care of me as always." One of his large hands trailed up and down her back. "You spoil me rotten, darling."

"And you love every second of it," Y/N murmured with a soft laugh, tilting her chin up to search his sparkling green gaze.

The tender look Harry returned her with stole her breath away, like it still did even after all this time together. His calloused thumb traced the line of her cheekbone reverently.

"How could I not?" His low rumble sent tingles down her spine. "When you pour so much love and devotion into everything you do for me. Makes me fall deeper every damn day, dove."

As their mouths slanted together in a searing, drugging kiss, Y/N couldn't dream of a response. Because there were truly no words sufficient enough to capture the cosmic love between them in that moment.

Of course, their intimate times weren't always just about relaxation either. Y/N's massages frequently led to much more heated activities once Harry was completely de-stressed, his desire for her building as she worked her magic on his body.

Harry loved nothing more than to suddenly flip their positions, pinning Y/N to the bed and attacking her neck and collarbone with hot, hungry kisses. His hands would grip her curves possessively as she writhed beneath him.

"You've woken the beast, darling," he would growl in her ear, making her shiver with delicious anticipation. "Now you'll have to tame him."

Their lovemaking was always passionate and intense, the depth of their connection shining through in how perfectly in-sync their bodies were. Y/N never felt more beautiful, powerful, and utterly cherished than when Harry was worshiping every inch of her with his hands, lips, and tongue.

Sometimes their couplings started not from a massage, but simply from them stealing heated looks while going about their day. Like the time Y/N was baking in the kitchen, shaking her hips to the beat of the pop song playing while she rolled out pie dough, careless and free of the world around her.

She didn't notice Harry sidle up behind her until his strong arms wound around her waist, tugging her flush against his solid chest. His lips found the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking a blistering path up to the spot behind her ear that drove her crazy.

"Look at you," he rumbled in that gravelly morning tone of his as Y/N gasped and arched back into his sturdy frame. "Being all sexy and domestic, tempting a bloke with something fierce."

Y/N bit back a throaty moan as Harry's nimble fingers slid beneath her loose shirt, calloused palms blazing a path up her ribcage. "Harry, what-what are you doing?" she breathed, though she already knew the answer if the hardness pressing into her backside was any indication.

"Having a nibble of my favorite snack," he replied cheekily, punctuating his words with a sharp nip to her earlobe that made her inhale shakily, her heartbeat accelerating in her chest.

Before she could really process what was happening, Harry had easily turned Y/N in his arms and hoisted her up onto the wide kitchen counter. She reflexively wrapped her toned legs around his trim waist to anchor them together as he attacked her mouth in a desperate kiss.

His tongue plundered deep, tasting every crevice as Y/N clutched at the dense muscle of his biceps and back. One of his large hands cupped her jaw to angle her how he wanted while the other palmed her breast through the thin fabric, brushing a calloused thumb over the peaked nipple there.

Y/N whimpered into Harry's mouth, already spiraling from how quickly his talented hands and lips had her arousal spiking. He was single handedly unraveling her till she was putty in his hands, the only thought in her mind was what he was planning to do to her next..

Finally, Harry broke the filthy clash of their mouths, panting harshly as he pinned Y/N with a look of pure hunger. His green eyes were near black with want, wandering possessively over her flushed state.

"You make me so bloody crazy, dove," he rasped in a low rumble that had her pulse kicking up another notch. "I can't keep my hands off you."

Y/N whimpered at the pure need saturating her boyfriend's deep tone. She squirmed deliciously against him, desperate for more friction.

"Then don't," she managed to gasp out through her daze of arousal. "Take what you want from me, Harry. I'm all yours."

The low, guttural groan Harry let out at her breathless plea, very nearly had Y/N coming undone right then. His smoldering gaze somehow burned even hotter with carnal intent.

Before she could process what was happening, Harry had ridden her of her shirt and shorts in two effortless tugs. His big palms instantly settled at the curves of her waist, thumbs dipping beneath the lace waistband of her underwear teasingly.

"Look at you...so gorgeous and flushed, ready and waiting for me," he praised in a low rasp, leaning in to drag his tongue up the slender column of her throat. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you baby?"

Y/N was too far gone in the spiral of her own pleasure to respond with anything more coherent than a choked-off whine that had him thickening in his pants. She writhed against Harry's solid frame, silently pleading for him to end her torment.

Seeming to take the hint, Harry ducked his head to mouth along the swell of her breasts and sternum, layering nips and sucking kisses until her skin was covered with marks of his devotion. Y/N arched her back hair sticking to her rapidly dampening skin as breathy moans tumbled from her parted lips.

"So responsive for me, dove," Harry grunted in approval, his big hands sliding around to shamelessly cup and squeeze her backside. "So perfect at taking everything I give you."

With one swift movement, he tugged her skimpy panties aside and plunged two ring clad fingertips through her dripping folds. Y/N cried out shamelessly at the long-awaited relief, her hips bucking forward uncontrollably to maximize the delicious stretch and burn.

"Christ, so wet and tight," Harry ground out, sounding utterly wrecked as he swirled his fingers around her throbbing entrance teasingly. "Made just for me, isn't that right lovely? Made to take my fingers, my tongue..."

His voice dropped to a sinful baritone as he slowly pumped his thick digits in and out of her fluttering, slick heat. Y/N let out a shrill whine of complete surrender, eyes rolling back as she fully gave herself over to the glorious sensations sparking along every nerve-ending.

"Made to take every hard inch of my cock, pushing deep inside this perfect little cunt," Harry continued in that gravelly and raspy tone, leaning down to whisper the obscene words directly against her damp skin.

True to form, his skilled fingers had Y/N right on the edge of shattering with dizzying speed. Her thighs quivered with the coiled tension, inner walls fluttering madly around the deliciously intrusive stretch of his thick digits.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more of the exquisite torment, when stars were bursting behind her eyelids, Harry abruptly curled his fingers upward in a devastating stroke against that magic spot inside her. Y/N's entire body convulsed as she broke into a thousand kaleidoscopic pieces, a strangled scream of pure euphoria ripping free from her throat.

By the time her vision finally began refocusing, her loose limbs were draped bonelessly over Harry's shoulders, her head spinning in dizzy bliss. She clearly registered the achingly slow push and pull of his fingers continuing to work through her fluttering, overstimulated cunt.

Harry's burning gaze was locked onto her sweat-slicked, flushed skin as he methodically wrung out every last spasm of ecstasy from her boneless frame. The soft, reverent look of awe on his handsome face stole what little breath Y/N had managed to recapture.

"Look at you, darling...absolutely wrecked for me," he husked "So stunning like this, falling apart on my fingers. All fo’ me"

Despite feeling completely satisfied, Y/N couldn't help but feel a rush of desire at Harry's words.  He always had been equal parts tender and filthy in his erotic praise and endearments.

Case in point, his next words as he slid his glistening fingers into his mouth to taste her essence were absolutely scorching.

"Clean that essence up for me like a good girl, dove...because I'm going to need you soaked and begging again in about five minutes."

Y/N let out a breathy moan at the promise in his words, knowing full well her legs were going to absolutely sore tonight, her knees wobbly and unable to walk by morning.

She nodded around the slick digits, swirling her tongue around the fullness of them as he sighed at the way she sucked his fingers.

“God, I wish it was m’ cock behind those pretty lips, dove” he pulled them out, placing his hand right over her naked thigh, “but I want it inside your pretty pussy for now”

She nodded, too awestruck to actua;ly process her mind to his words.He shook her head at her, pulling down the pants he had put on earlier.

“Got me so hard. Could’ve burst from listening to you being so filthy for me”

Her cheeks flushed at his risque words, thighs pushing together as his cock sprang free, the angry, red tip throbbing as he took himself into his palm, stroking his length to relieve some of the tension.

She pushed her thighs above each other, feeling utterly flustered and dizzy. He was gong to fuck her, and memories of all the times he had, flooding her mind like ocean water.

Finally, he let go of himself, parting her thighs and slotting himself in between. She let out a broken gasp, mouth going dry as she took a look at her own desperation, red and swollen, yet, so needy and wet.

“Could never get enough of you” he said into her mouth, swallowing her gasp as his cock stretched her open deliciously. A broken moan made its way past her lips, her quivering legs wrapping around him as he slid himself inside her. Her wetness swallowed him up, her pussy gushing with arousal as he angled her hips higher.

“Good, fucking–so damn tight for me” eh cursed, her mouth parting open into another broken sob as he thrust in and out of her, her wet walls taking him in so well. He felt so heavenly, his cock buried inside his pretty, so pretty and perfect girl.

“How did I stay so long without you? Hm?” he asked rhetorically, and she opened her closed eyes. His hand reached between her parted legs, his skilled digits teasing her clit, while his practised strokes made her fall apart under him.

“Oh fuck, yeah–right there” she begged him to keep fucking her, his cock hitting the deepest of spots inside her. It had her mind going numb, her toes curling as he fucked her with delirious intent.

“Pussy’s so good–:” he praised her once again, his fingers finally landing on her clit, a sharp spank that made her cum right then and there.

She arched her back, her head falling back till it touched the counter. She grabbed her nipples, pinching them as he rubbed circles over her clit, his cock fucking her at a pace that had her screaming and begging for more.

“Oh fuck, Harr–Harry, oh my fucking god”

He grabbed her hips, laying her down flat as she choked on another sob, her wetness gushing out and wetting the cold marble counter. Harry was grinning and smirking, watching her fall apart beneath him. He was the only one who could make her mind go absolutely detached, the only thought in her mind being of him. His name. His cock. His hands. The way they made her feel.

“Her orgasm prolonged as he kept her on the edge, her pussy short circuiting is the overstimulation kicked in. She was sore, two orgasms after a day of work would do that to her.

“Harry–” she pouted, her hands reaching out for his, to which he immediately complied, intertwining their fingers.

“Just a little longer, Almost done”

He promised, and began fucking her at the vicious pace again. The room echoed with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, her hips bruised as he sucked a breath in, teetering on the edge of sweet, sweet release.

He came inside her that day, his cock leaking inside her warm, warm cunt till he was fully spent and empty, her cunt full of his load as he stayed inside a little longer, relishing in the way she fluttered around him, squeezing and milking his cock for all he had.

He kissed her knuckles, murmuring sweet words of love as they lay on the counter for a while, her bake affair long forgotten, since she had already gotten a taste of something much sweeter.

***

The next morning, as Y/N was featherlight kissing her way down Harry's chiseled torso with the intent of rousing him for another sensual round, her lips brushed against something unfamiliar on his skin. Frowning, she pushed back the bedsheets to get a better look.

There, etched in thick black ink just above Harry's hipbone, was a new tattoo she had never noticed before. It was a series of numbers, almost like...coordinates?

Y/N felt her breath catch as she recognized the distinctly precise numerical patterning. She had taken enough coding classes to spot geographic coordinates when she saw them.

"Harry..." she gulped, tracing the new ink with a trembling fingertip. "What is this? Why do you have map coordinates tattooed on your body?"

The sleepy, blissed-out expression on Harry's face instantly shuttered closed as soon as the words left Y/N's lips. He seemed to almost freeze for a moment, grimacing ever-so-slightly as he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"It's...nothing to concern yourself with, darling," he finally replied in a tone that was just a bit too overly-casual. "Just a drunken mistake from a mate's stag night a few weeks back. Doesn't mean anything, I swear."

But Y/N knew her boyfriend too well to be convinced by his nonchalant dismissal. She searched his bright green eyes, unable to shake the feeling that there was much more to this strange new tattoo than he was letting on.

What secrets could Harry possibly be keeping from her? And just where exactly would those map coordinates lead if she dared to follow them?

The delicious haze of their previous intimacy was shattered, replaced by a gnawing sense that Y/N was missing out on some important truth about her boyfriend's life. And she knew their relationship could never regain that blissful closeness until she uncovered what Harry was hiding...

(next part)

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! i want to do a part 2, but this one's long, so we'll see! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

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[sodamnradd]

“I’m asking Theodore Nott to the Ball,” said Hermione, dumping her books on the desk. Ginny raised a brow.

“Do you even know who that is?”

“Oh, shush." Hermione took out an emerald green cover from the pile. “I found his sketchbook. The one that's always on his desk."

“Must be some wicked sketches if they've breached your Quidditch-player fever.” Ginny snatched it.

“I suffer from no such ailment,” she scoffed, but her smile gave her away. More seriously, she said, “I’m lonely, Gin.”

All jokes aside, Ginny felt it, too. “But what's so special about Theo Nott?” She didn’t get it. Hermione could have literally anybody.

“Look at the drawings.” Hermione grinned.

“You snooped?” Ginny tutted. “Naughty, Miss Granger.”

She flipped the cover, licking her fingertip to turn the thick pages with an exaggerated flair. “Shut up,” she cried a few pages in. “Shut up!”

“I know,” said Hermione. “There’s maybe a dozen of them in there.”

“And this doesn’t seem creepy to you?”

Hermione shrugged. “They’re harmless. Look, they’re all from a distance. See that one in the classroom? I think it’s from Transfiguration. My hair was braided like that one morning. They’re rather beautiful.”

Ginny sang out, “He liiikes you.”

She handed the sketchbook back, and Hermione began casting spells over it.

“What are you doing?”

“Locking it up.”

“Not only did you snoop, but you also broke his privacy charms?” Ginny’s grin widened.

"I'm Head Girl," she reasoned. "Simply monitoring."

Ginny kicked Hermione under the table, giving her the hurry-up-and-get-on-with-it eyes. Theo Nott had just entered the library with Malfoy, who seemed to have come from Quidditch practice.

Hermione finished casting her spells, then tousled her hair, pretending to study.

As the Slytherins passed by their table, Hermione called out innocently, “Theodore?”

Theo turned at the sound of his name, appearing confused, or maybe distrustful, when he realised it was Hermione. Odd for a bloke supposedly obsessed with her.

“I found your sketchbook,” she said, holding it up.

Malfoy stepped forward, hand outstretched. “That’s mine, actually.”

(340 words, prompt: that's mine actually, cross-posted from twitter, now illustrated by DamnOverdrive)

[luvendiary]

tea, spice, and everything nice / f. g. weasley

fred weasley x reader

summary: having the weasley twins as neighbors was never a dull experience. having one of them hung up on you, was never a bad thing. warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 3k words. i had to pull up pantone's color catalogue for this one.

It had been a normal morning. You had gone about your day as you usually did. You had managed to stick to your routine and get to work on time despite your very strong ache to stay in bed.

Work had been… fine. Nothing terrible, nothing particularly good either. Just the usual: a steady stream of owls, parchment stacks, and a boss who loved the sound of their own voice. You had smiled where you needed to, nodded at the right times, made polite conversation in the break room. The kind of day that wasn’t awful but still drained something out of you, leaving you a little heavy in the shoulders by the end of it.

Now, finally, you were headed home.

The streets of Diagon Alley were starting to quiet down, the usual buzz from the daytime crowd giving way to the lower hum of late shoppers and early dinner-goers. You walked with purpose, your bag slung over your shoulder, the thought of your warm flat and a cup of tea pulling you forward.

Living above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had its quirks — mainly, that it was never really quiet — but it also meant you didn’t have far to go. Just a few steps past the glittering window display and up the narrow, winding staircase on the side of the shop.

And, of course, it also meant you always ran into one of the twins.

As expected, the door to the shop creaked open just as you reached for the stairwell handle.

“Evening, love,” came the familiar voice — smooth, amused, and far too awake for this hour.

Fred stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smudge of something sparkly across his cheek. He looked you up and down like he was scanning for signs of sabotage. “Did you enjoy work today?”

You smiled cynically down at him and offered him an unnamused laugh. “If I’m pulled into another meeting that could have very well been a letter I will start a goat farm in the mountains.”

He grinned. “Tempting.”

“They’d definitely talk less,” you mumbled to yourself as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Truth was, you liked your job. But as it so often goes, people made it difficult.

He chuckled, then reached out and gently tugged on your bag strap, easing it off your shoulder and slinging it over his instead. “You look wrecked. Let me carry that.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. This was part of the routine too — Fred pretending he was helping while also slipping in some excuse to walk you up to your door. You didn’t mind.

“You should’ve seen this kid earlier,” Fred said, as you both started walking up the stairs. “Thought he was being clever, right? Waited until we were both distracted helping some poor bloke who’d sneezed himself invisible, then snuck over to the shelf and stuffed three Tongue Taffies in his mouth.”

You laughed. “Three?”

“He had the gall to look proud about it. Smug little grin and everything. Didn’t even chew them. Just stuffed ’em in whole.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the tongue hit the floor before I could even laugh about it. Poor sod nearly knocked over the Patented Daydream Charms shelf when he tripped over it. George had to levitate his tongue just so he wouldn’t drag it all the way home.”

You laughed harder, pressing a hand to your chest. “Honestly, your shop is going to give some poor mother heart failure one day.”

“That’s the goal,” he said brightly.

You were halfway up when a warm, spicy scent hit you — sharp, slightly sweet, with an edge of something burning.

You sniffed, lifting your head. “Is that… cayenne? Please tell me that’s not coming from my flat.”

Fred tilted his head, sniffing too. “Ah, no. That’s ours. George got a new idea for Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and now thinks he’s a potioneer. Nearly went bald about an hour ago.”

“Of course he did,” you muttered fondly.

Fred chuckled. “Come in for a bit? I’ll put the kettle on, you can debrief while George tries not to poison us all.”

You glanced at your own door, then back at him. The exhaustion hadn’t faded, but the idea of sitting down somewhere not silent and sterile felt better than whatever plan you’d had involving leftover stew and collapsing on the couch. “Yeah,” you said. “Alright. Just for a bit.”

Fred smiled, bumping your shoulder lightly as he reached to open the door for you.

The moment you stepped inside, a wave of spice hit your senses like a hex. You coughed, eyes watering almost immediately.

Fred laughed, helping you out of your coat and hanging your bag near the entrance. “You get used to it after a bit. Or you just lose your sense of smell entirely. Bit of a gamble, really.”

You followed the haze deeper into the flat, Fred just behind you. “George?” he called out. No reply.

You cleared your throat. “George?” you repeated louder.

Still nothing.

The kitchen, unsurprisingly, was the source of the problem. The air was thick with reddish haze, like someone had used cayenne pepper as confetti. George stood at the counter, utterly engrossed, hunched over a clutter of parchment, potion books, and a steaming cauldron. Goggles covered his eyes as he ground a deep red powder into fine dust with focused intensity.

Fred leaned around you and called again, “Oi, Georgie. We’ve got company.”

Still nothing.

Before you could try a third time, the cauldron gave a disgruntled pop and released a puff of red smoke directly into George’s face. He yelped, coughing furiously, and waved his arms through the air like he was swatting at an invisible swarm of bees.

Fred coughed pointedly. “You alright there?”

George turned, wheezing, and finally spotted you. “Oh! You’re here!” He reached to tug the goggles off as he continued swatting the air. You took note of how the rest of his skin was now covered a shade of light red, except for the section covered by the goggles.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

Fred didn’t bother. “You look demented mate,” he said with a soft laugh.

George gave him a pointed look. “I’m working.”

“Well, I for one, think you look adorable,” you said as you stepped further into the kitchen. “Is there a clear surface somewhere under here where we can have some tea?”

George grinned as he started closing his books and clearing the counter. “Hear that Freddie? She thinks I’m adorable.”

You joined him, sliding parchment and a charred spoon off the island and into a growing pile on the far end of the counter.

Fred set the kettle on the stove, glancing back with a smirk. “Yeah, well, she also thought a flobberworm was a baby dragon once, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in her judgment.”

“Okay, you need to let that go. That was one time.”

“You tried to feed it a chicken leg,” George chimed in as he set the cauldron down on the floor.

“I never should have told you that story,” you muttered, lips twitching. You stacked a few stray vials off to the side while George wiped down the counter with a flick of his wand.

Fred opened the cupboard above the sink and grabbed three mismatched mugs. You noted he took your favorite. You had claimed it a while ago, stating that you were stealing it because you liked it so much. Fred promised you that it would be your mug, reserved only for you when you came around. It wasn’t much, just a cup with a handle too big for its body, painted a splotchy blue with some even splotchier stars around it — the result of a pottery class forced by Molly onto all her children. Still, you loved it.

He handed it to you without a word.

“You know,” you said, inspecting the mug for the telltale chip on the rim, “I should be insulted that this was made by a ten-year-old and still somehow holds more charm than anything I own.”

“That ten-year-old was me, thank you very much,” Fred said, as he took the mug from your hands once again and set it on the counter with the other two. “A visionary.”

George snorted as he folded a powder-smeared tea towel in half and tossed it over the back of a chair. “You also made a bowl that collapsed under the weight of a single apple.”

“It was a concept piece,” Fred countered. “Minimalist, fleeting, and fragile. Like…uh, love…”

It came out more as a question, but you couldn’t blame him as he was very concentrated on pouring the hot water onto the mugs. George snorted.

You rolled your eyes, hopping onto the island. “More like structurally unsound. Like you.”

George let out a bark of laughter. “Merlin, she’s mean when she’s tired.”

“I’m not mean,” you said, yawning into your sleeve. “I’m just not deluded.”

“For once I’d like to hear you call me handsome and charming. But for now, unsound and deluded sounds nice enough,” Fred said as he handed you your tea.

You noticed he had prepared it just how you liked it.

You met his eyes briefly over the rim of the mug, letting the steam curl between you. “Charming and attentive. Maybe I’ll reconsider your structural integrity.”

The rest of the evening passed easily, the three of you tucked around the kitchen island like you had done a dozen times before.

Eventually, the warmth of the tea started giving way to the weight of the day. You stretched with a soft sigh and slid off the counter.

“I should head out,” you said after a while, already gathering the mugs and rolling up your sleeves.

George groaned and pushed himself off his stool. “Alright, but only if you do the dishes first.”

“I was going to, but know that you’ve told me I don’t want to anymore,” you said as you opened the tap water.

George grinned, bumping your shoulder as he passed. “She’s a keeper.”

“She’s not yours to keep,” Fred quipped, stepping in beside you at the sink, but you waved him off and nudged him back toward the island.

Fred didn’t argue, but he leaned against the counter just beside you, arms crossed, offering commentary the entire time.

You dried the last mug — your blue one — and set it back on the open shelf.

George, already halfway to the hall, waved lazily over his shoulder. “Night then. Don’t fall asleep in the hall.”

“Not a guarantee,” you called after him, a yawn muffling the words.

Fred held the door open as you stepped back into the corridor.

You turned to him. “Thanks. For the tea. And the company.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Anytime.”

There was a pause. A silence that didn’t need filling but wasn’t empty either.

Then he nodded toward your door. “Get some rest, yeah? And if you dream of flobberworms, don’t feed them anything weird.”

You gave him a tired smile. “I’ll try my best.”

He lingered just a second longer — as if about to say something else — but only nodded his head and stepped back into the flat.

You turned the key in your door and slipped inside, the warmth of their kitchen still clinging to your sleeves.

Normal, you thought, flicking on the light.

Your version of it, anyway.

You woke up with a sneeze so violent, it startled your pillow straight off the bed.

The second one nearly sent your bedside lamp toppling.

By the third, you were upright, bleary-eyed, and already aware that something was very wrong — because your hair had just flared a neon green, reflected clearly in the mirror across the room.

And then it turned fuchsia. And then orange.

You groaned, muffled into your sleeve, eyes watering as another sneeze cracked through your chest.

“Bloody hell,” you rasped, stumbling toward your door, blanket still draped around your shoulders.

There was only one explanation. One infuriating, spice-coated, cayenne-smelling, potion-brewing explanation.

You pounded on the twins’ door with the side of your fist. “Fred! George!”

The hallway echoed with your sneezes. Your hair was flickering like a broken traffic light.

The door creaked open on the third knock, revealing a very sleepy, very shirtless Fred.

His hair was sticking up like it had been electrocuted, and he was squinting at you through one barely open eye. “What in Merlin’s—?”

You sneezed directly into your elbow. Your hair turned aquamarine.

Fred blinked. “Well, that’s new.”

“What did you do to me?!” you said miserably, gesturing to your technicolor head. “I can’t go in like this tomorrow!”

Fred scratched the back of his head, clearly still waking up, though his mouth twitched like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “George did say he was using mood powder as a base.”

You sneezed again. Bubblegum pink. You glared at him. “Mood powder?!”

He held up a hand, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in before you dye the entire corridor.”

You stormed past him, dragging your blanket like a cape, muttering something under your breath about bans and hexes and murder.

Fred followed after you, yawning into his shoulder. “On the bright side, that shade of blue is rather flattering…”

Another sneeze.

Purple.

You threw your hands up in defeat. “Tell George I’m putting this in my official neighbor complaint log.”

Fred raised a brow. “You have a neighbor complaint log?”

“I do now.”

He snorted, heading toward the kitchen. “Alright, alright. Let’s find something to counteract it before you hit plaid.”

From the bedroom, George’s sleepy voice echoed faintly, “Plaid’s still in the prototype stage!”

You groaned into your blanket.

Fred returned with a glass of water and what looked like a fizzing candy. “Here. Chew this. Don’t ask what’s in it.”

You stared at it suspiciously. “Will it stop the sneezing?”

He grinned. “Probably.”

“…If I wake up with scales tomorrow, I’m moving.”

Fred offered a lazy salute. “Dibs on your flat.”

You sneezed again.

Chartreuse.

You were still sneezing.

Not as violently as before, but each one seemed to make your limbs heavier, your brain foggier, and your hair increasingly chaotic. At one point, you were pretty sure it turned the exact same shade of purple and orange as the Weasley Wizard Wheezes logo, which made Fred laugh so hard he nearly dropped the antidote vial George had handed over with an apologetic shrug before promptly retreating back to bed.

Now, you were curled on the twins’ couch, still wrapped in your blanket, blinking slowly like a sleep-deprived owl. Your body was swaying from left to right, rocked by the sneezes combined with your body’s inability to keep straight.

Fred returned from the kitchen with a mug of water and knelt beside the sofa. “You alright there?”

“Mmhm,” you mumble.’ Another sneeze. Your hair flashed coral, then faded to a sleepy lilac.

Fred handed you the glass, steadying it in your hand when your grip faltered. “You’re fading.”

“I’m awake,” you said into the rim, though your eyes had dropped shut entirely.

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of brightly colored hair from your temple. “Alright, genius. I think you’re staying here tonight.”

You made a vague gesture, something between agreement and a high-five, but still you stood up. Stumbling as you did. “Mm’going to work,” you mumbled.

You didn’t make it far, as your leg knocked into a side table and your hands fumbled with the chain on the door.

Silently, Fred guided you back to his couch and made you sit down. “I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

You protested, but your body melted into the soft surface.

Fred chuckled and stood, grabbing a throw blanket from the armchair and tugging a second one from the hall cupboard. He returned a moment later and gently draped them both over you, then paused. You were nearly asleep, lips slightly parted, a stubborn lock of color-shifting hair stuck to your cheek.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and then — with a resigned shake of his head — dropped down beside you on the couch.

You stirred faintly when he shifted, blinking groggily. “Fred?”

“Yeah?”

“You smell like cinnamon.”

He huffed a laugh, arm sliding around your shoulders to steady you as you leaned fully into him.

“Also gunpowder…”

Fred glanced down to find you blinking slowly, already halfway into sleep, your hair dimming to a dusky rose that curled softly around your face. You looked peaceful. A little ridiculous, with the sneezing and the magic-dyed hair, but mostly peaceful. And warm. And close.

For a while, it was quiet. The flat was warm, still scented faintly of spice and burnt sugar, and the only sound was the soft ticking of the charmed clock in the corner and your sleepy breathing beside him.

Just as Fred was beginning to drift off, your voice mumbled, barely audible:

“…I like the lilac. S’nice.”

He smiled into your hair and absentmindedly brushed his thumb along your arm. “Yeah. I like it too.”

You didn’t answer. This time, you were out for good.

And Fred, with you tucked under his arm and your hair still faintly glowing against his side, figured he didn’t mind being woken up at all.

The next morning started with the sound of cabinets opening too loudly and the unmistakable clink of a teaspoon dropped into a mug.

Fred stirred but didn’t move. His arm was still tucked around you, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. Your legs were tangled, your blanket half falling off the couch. His neck was a bit sore, and your hair had taken on a maroon hue, but he didn’t dare shift. Not yet.

Then came the pause. That stillness in the room that meant someone had walked in and was now seeing something.

Fred cracked one eye open.

George stood in the kitchen doorway, a spoon still in his hand, expression entirely unreadable. His goggles were pushed up on his forehead, and he had a tea towel slung over his shoulder like someone who’d intended to mind his business this morning and was now clearly regretting the attempt.

Fred blinked.

George blinked back.

Fred raised a brow, voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t.”

George tilted his head, surveying the blanket cocoon you were half-buried in, still out cold.

Then his face split into the slowest, most irritatingly smug grin Fred had ever seen.

“You two look cozy,” George said in a tone that carried the weight of every teasing comment he was clearly holding back.

Fred exhaled through his nose. “She inhaled your stupid potion dust and turned into a human kaleidoscope.”

George looked entirely unbothered. “And now she’s spooning you on our couch. Fascinating how the universe works.”

Fred made a noise of protest, but George was already walking away, whistling some off-key tune as he disappeared down the hallway.

A beat passed.

Then Fred heard George’s voice faintly call back, “Mum’s going to love this.”

Fred groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. You, miraculously, kept sleeping.

Or maybe not. Because from the tangle of blankets, a very sleepy voice muttered, “Tell him if he says anything to Molly, I’ll dye all his pants fuchsia.”

Fred smiled, eyes closing again. “Deal.”

You sighed softly, snuggling up to the blanket, only to realize it wasn’t a blanket you were holding. But instead the very naked torso of Fred Weasley.

Your eyes shot open, and Fred could feel you tense up.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I, uh. I didn’t mean to — I must’ve just—” you stuttered. “You’re shirtless.”

You were practically draped across him, your face tucked just under his jaw, one leg tangled over his. His arm was still looped loosely around your back, holding you to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chest was bare, warm against your palm, the rise and fall of it steady with sleep.

“And you’re very warm.”

Fred looked down at the tangle you were both in, then back at you, his mouth twitching into a faint smirk.

“You drool in your sleep.”

Your jaw dropped. “I do not—!”

He raised both brows.

You narrowed your eyes and went to push yourself upright, but Fred just tightened his arm around you and flipped you over, so that you were trapped between him and the back of the sofa.

That made you huff a laugh. “I have work in like… an hour.”

“Mm. Sounds fake.”

You considered that. You were still sleepy, your head a little foggy, limbs heavy. And this was… surprisingly nice. Calming, even. Fred’s warmth. His stupid heartbeat under your ear. The faint smell of cinnamon and smoke. The way neither of you had to say anything at all, and it wasn’t awkward.

You sighed, melting back into him slightly. “I think I’m calling in sick.”

Fred rested his chin against your head. “Just sleep a bit longer. We can figure this out after tea.”

You chuckled, and tucked your head under him as you allowed his arm to rub your back lazily. Your fingers traced small patterns onto his chest, and you felt him let out a sound of approval.

You had the feeling there wouldn’t be much to figure out.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! First of all, congratulations on your 7k!

For the bake sale, could you please write “³¹⁾ three people sat on a two-seater sofa” with wolfstar x reader, please?

Thank you!!

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 790 words

There are lots of things to love about your new apartment. It’s charming, not too expensive, almost perfectly equidistant between your work and the boys’. Remus is really pleased about the in-unit washer and dryer, and Sirius is obsessed with the kitchen backsplash. But you think your favorite part is this view. 

You have a TV but you’d argue you hardly need it, what with the spellbinding appeal of your own sitting room window. You have your legs crossed on the loveseat, your knee spilling over Remus’ thigh while both of you sip coffee and watch the sun rise over the sidewalk. 

Yours is a quaint neighborhood, far enough from the hustle and bustle of town that you still have trees and quiet but close enough that you get to see people walking by. With the new chill in the air it’s a fun time to people watch. Remus enjoys it nearly as much as you do. 

“Fucking hell, there he goes again,” murmurs Remus, frowning at the man running on the sidewalk down below. 

“Do you think he owns a longer pair of shorts?” you wonder. 

“I don’t see how he can survive the winter without one.” 

“That girl looks like she’s freezing her tits off.” 

Remus hums. “It’s one of those days. Bring a jacket and you might end up carrying it around all afternoon, but don’t and in the morning you’ll suffer for it.” 

“Maybe her guy friend will lend her his.” 

“Likely. He’s more interested in putting his arm around her. He’s not going to give up that chance.” 

“Wouldn’t he want the gentleman points for giving her his jacket, though?”

“That would be the smart choice, but he doesn’t strike me as a smart bloke. She can do better, I think.” 

You blow on your coffee, letting the steam blow back onto your face. “I bet by the time he walks her home, she’s got his jacket.” 

You hear the groan of the bedsprings, and then a human one louder than that. A minute later Sirius is padding into the sitting room with your comforter drawn around his shoulders. His eyes look half open. 

“How could you do this to me?” he whines. 

“Morning, love,” Remus says placidly as Sirius crawls over the arm of your loveseat, spilling onto Remus’ lap and wriggling his way over until his head lies in the nest of your crossed legs. He turns his face into your stomach, the picture of tortured misery. 

“What are you both doing up?” 

“I was awake,” you explain. 

“And I wanted coffee,” says Remus.

“There was no need to abandon me like this,” Sirius goes on as if neither of you have spoken. His voice pitches with a yawn. “It’s Saturday, you masochists.”

You hold your mug in one hand to put the other in his hair. This seems to mollify him somewhat. He pushes his face harder into your tummy, making a disgruntled whining sound. 

“Would you like some coffee?” you ask him. 

“Coffee is only a balm for having to get out of bed, which neither of you had to do, because it’s Saturday.” 

“But now that you’re out of bed, would you like some?” 

“Yes, please.” 

You ease out from under him. You top yourself off and make Sirius’ the way you both like it, with copious amounts of cream and sugar. When you get back he’s taken your spot, so you pass him his cup and sit half on his lap, squished between him and the armrest. 

You’d have a bigger couch if the room allowed for it. Instead, you’ve put a chair along the wall that Remus usually prefers to sit in, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move now and you don’t want him to. You derive more contentment than is reasonable from all of you smushing together like this, touchy and close in a way that’d be awkward if there weren’t so much love between you. 

“Is that very comfortable?” Remus looks over at you, concerned. “Why don’t you come sit over here, sweetheart?” 

“I’ve got her just fine,” Sirius argues, adjusting so that you’re entirely on his lap, his arm possessively around your waist. 

You turn agreeably, pivoting until you’re sitting sideways with your back against the armrest. Remus pulls your feet into his lap. 

“There he goes again,” you say, looking out the window. Both of your boyfriends follow your gaze. 

“Bloody hell.” Sirius’ face screws up like his coffee is bitterer than he’d expected. “Are those children’s shorts?” 

“This is what you’re treated to when you wake up,” Remus teases. 

“Not worth it. And now that I know you’re out here ogling men that aren’t me, I’m tying you both to the bed.”