#u dont need to make him speaking a fucking spectacle
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stop making mute characters speak. and with shitty 'im not good with words' hippopotamus shit. im biting u and clawing u and maiming u
#idk it rlly annoys me#like sign language exists#or let them be normal when they talk#give them divixe help them speak#anything other than this#biting biting biting#aone doesn't deseve this#he is confident#he locks on to a target and openly point at them to declare war! (volleyball war)#hes not gonna b nervous to talk cuz he might mince his words#hes either mute or selective mute#u dont need to make him speaking a fucking spectacle#idk probs wrong abt this but it annoys me how every fic i read with cannon mute characters ends like this#or by making them a soft uwu pure boi whose soul can never b corrupted
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Hiii! I see the requests are open so if you write for Bo,can you make where the reader suffered from physical abuse from her parents in the past and have some scars? If you aren't confortable with this dont need to make! <3 Kisses from Brazil 🇧🇷💚
Awww the angst! Here u go uWu 🥺💕💕
“I trust you.”
Bo x reader
By jena marie
Summary:
Reader has many scars on her back, which reveals years of traumatic abuse from her only parents. How does Bo comfort her?
The poor girl. The girl who had broken white lines, scars, littered across her rib-engraved back, who when was given the scars-- laid silently with wet eyes as they beat her; again and again until she was blue. Thinking back to that small, broken house brought back the taste of blood and the emptiness in her chest. She didn’t speak a word for two years, until she found that short-tempered mechanic in the pit of nowhere, sweaty, messy, with an old cap that looked like it might fall apart. But in his eyes held a thousand suns, something so warm she seemed to melt-- and made her luminous once more 🥀
I never paid attention to the spectacles of wax specimens, moreless trapped humans, than I did to the way the breeze blew silently across the town and washed away my worries. Nor did I register the occasional muffled screams downstairs than I did when the sun warmed my face or when he walked up to me to take his hand in mine, and tell me that lunch was ready. I loved Ambrose. It was everything I was missing, those few years of mine drained me completely-- but Ambrose replenished me to the brim, and I loved it. I would never leave, ever.
And him— he was everything. I never thought in a hundred years that I would meet such a kindred spirit such as him. I was in shock. I remembered how he stood over me, my hands tied and mouth duck taped— he stood over me and said to his brother, “Not this one.”
He told of his job, what he did for a living, everything— every last honest detail. When I didn’t leave, I became his world too. Once we laid out under the stars— something I suggested as a date to which he rolled his eyes and reluctantly followed— I told of my past, something in return for his own honesty.
He spoke of how he hated my parents, how if it were up to him, he would hunt them down and tear them apart. And he didn’t say this as a gentlemen, he said this blind with rage— tearing through the house ripping up his hair with his mouth spilling blood from biting the inside of his cheek too hard. Vincent has to give him stitches. He wanted to find them, demanded of me to tell him where they are and faced utter disappointment when I told him that they were already dead. “Good riddance.” He spat. We didn’t speak of it ever again, because I never wanted to see him so angry that I was scared for my safety again.
To be honest, there was one thing that was missing, no matter how full I was from the gentle words I received, or the meal I made all by myself, or the warm bed with the warm body curled around me in bliss. I wasn’t truly exposed to the love, not entirely. I wasn’t even sure if I would ever be able to; but the dainty lines that decorated my back like torn white lace were always kept a secret from him, and it was the only way I could feel safe. I was so terrified he would finally see that I am a horribly flawed and broken-winged creature-- someone in no condition to love or accept love, but I still wanted to show him. I always did.
“Y/n.” His voice reverberated off of my neck, in the dark room, his arm thrown over me as usual in our bed. His voice was gruff, tired, but determined.
“Mhm?” I replied.
“Do you like it here?” His softness was forced, clearly not liking the topic of discussion but still wanted to be gentle-- considering my background.
I shifted a bit, turning more towards him.
“I love it here! Why?”
He loosened his grip, “I don’ know. You jus’ seem… Forget it.”
There was silence, and I endured it for several moments before I used the small amount of bravery I had, and sat up.
I couldn’t let him drop it. I saw it in his eyes, every time I pulled away when he got too frisky, his words of frustration when I slipped away to the back porch in solitude-- when his fingers slipped underneath the fabric of my back. I wish I could’ve stayed then.
“I know what you mean.” I uttered flatly, and I could see his eyes, grayed from the darkness, stared up at me anticipatingly. It was a heavy silence.
“It’s something I’ve been meaning to talk about.”
He didn’t respond, he only stared up, mind running blank on what to say.
“I’m sorry, I just— I’m not exactly proud of them, Bo—“
He sat up quickly, and turned to the side to twist the lamp on, and he turned back to me with eyes filled with a softness I’ve never seen before in my life. I could barely utter a word afterwards.
He took both of my wrists in his hand, and I became putty in his grip.
“Don’t.” His voice was like jagged rocks, and scary serious. I wanted to cry.
“I can’t.” My voice was slow, deep. I couldn’t understand myself.
“Don’ talk like that. I,”—he was trying to find the right words— “You know… how much you mean to me.” He seemed uncomfortable, but I knew and he knew that it needed to be said.
“You shouldn’t be self conscious, baby,— I know you ain’t proud— Hell, I ain’t proud of these,” he spoke softly, gently, like how an adult would encourage a young child. He revealed his own scars on his wrist, all while looking into my eyes which I started to lose myself in.
He saw how my expression was changing, and he was silent, moving his calloused hands to the sides of my face this time. I thought for the first time in the two years that we’ve been together, how much blood his hands were drowned in, and how yet I trust them completely— and seek safety in them with my entire being.
“If you think, I’ll be disgusted by anything about you, you’re wrong.” His voice started to break, he was in tears, and I was too.
I finally fell apart, the floodgates were open, drowning any more doubts in my mind, and I wrapped my arms around his neck— and buried my face in his shoulder.
I just felt so safe and sound— something that was so foreign for so many years that feeling this again was like walking for the first time. He wrapped his arms around me too, feigning the embarrassment— but he was silent as he choked down his emotions once more.
“Fuck, I hate you for makin’ me do this.” He said, his voice recovering.
“I love you.” I said softly as I positioned myself back into the blankets, his arm of eternal protection around me— closer than before, tighter too— and he curled himself around me.
“I love you too, baby.” He said gruffly and quietly, and turned off the light.
We didn’t speak another word that night, and yet I was a new person.
The shining girl, the lion girl. Badges of maturity and beauty marks raked across her skin in intricate designs— and she looked at them with a dancing smile. He traces his finger across them to tell her that he wants her no other way— and took her flower, more gentle than she would have expected. She became a lioness, and he was proud to carry a crown as gem-encrusted as hers 🌸
I hope u liked ittt🌷🌺🌷🌺
#slashers#slashers x reader#bo sinclair imagine#bo sinclair x reader#bo sinclair#slasher imagines#house of wax#house of wax x reader#vincent sinclair#vincent sinclair x reader#ask#i made a thing#scarred!reader#abused!reader#hurt!reader#bo x reader
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Katsuki x Leese HCs
I uhhh have no excuses for this. This turned out so much longer than expected and I just?? Hope you don’t lose too many braincells hehe Inspired by our mutual obsession love for the Yakuza. For @lookslikeleese 3.5k! U make my kokoro doki doki ♡︎ \٩(๑`^´๑)۶/ ♡︎
So we all know Weese Leese as this saint, an angel sent from above, a pure soul that could do no wrong.
Leese, who puts up with our spamming, random bursts of thirst at 4am, answering everyone with nothing less than kind words straight out of a self-help book.
The reincarnation of Mother Theresa herself, if you will (minus the controversial problematic part)
Except I’m bout to blow your mind right now, cue the big TRIGGER WARNING: MIND BLOWING INFO AHEAD:
She’s a bit of a closet brat. No, not the kind that’s outwardly sassy, she’s just not a pushover. And maybe a lil stubborn.
Especially if someone who has no right to challenge her is speaking down to her.
See: 6’3, beeg beefy undercut Katsuki
Katsuki, who’s patrolling his district in the Kabukicho, making sure no one’s doing illegal business in his area, his property
He probably didn’t need two bodyguards with him, he could handle himself just fine. (He doesn’t know that they were just there to keep him in line, make sure he doesn’t blow up a hostess club because a man walked in who looked like Deku)
But it was a spectacle to see either way, three massive tatted men storming down the rowdy streets like it’s nobody’s business— (soon there might be none left if they keep scaring the fucking customers away)
Don’t get impatient, we’ll tie them together somehow I promise, and no they’re not going to fight over spilt boba this time
(Or any mugging of any kind, though that’s a good fuckin trope that I will shamelessly re-use)
Weese Leese is walking home from work, and sees some sketchy men in a dingy alleyway in sunglasses and suits— she knew right away that they were Top Tier suspy
I mean, if the way they were trying to coerce an innocent-looking girl in school uniform didn’t already give it away, the sunglasses at 8pm definitely did the job.
So Weese Leese took her whole Mother Theresa, Thou Shalt Not Hurt an Innocent Girl (pls no one religious attack me please) ass over
Because she’s too good for this world, honestly
Can’t help but jump in to try and help someone in potential danger, she knew it all too well herself.
Of course the men flip out, screaming at her to fuck off or take the poor girl’s spot
(for the sake of this AU we’re going to pretend that either we all speak fluent anime Japanese or it’s in English, plotholes be damned)
This is when Big Boss Katsuki comes marching in, wide as the alleyway itself, and—
Doesn’t come to Weese Leese’s aid, SIKE yall thought he was gonna be a knight in shining armour?
Nah, he’s pissed that a random woman is sticking her nose in somewhere she doesn’t belong
There’s a lot of ‘aniki’s and ‘oyabun’s and ‘kumicho’s going around, and Weese Leese has seen enough Yakuza movies fantasized about enough tatted men with missing pinkies to understand that she fucked up
Sort of.
This 200lbs of pure muscle of a man is the Head of Some Family, probably, and like, yeah, realistically she should be flittering in fear, but the only thing she’s getting are fanny flutters (alliteration or whatever, we out here)
BUT how much she wants to fuck this man still doesn’t excuse the fact that his subordinates were trying to force a (most-likely) underage girl into fuck-knows-what
So when Katsuki, in true aggressive on-brand fashion, practically roars out a
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, woman? Stay in your lane, this is my business”
She actually, to everyones surprise, retorts:
“Maybe teach your subordinates to use their brains a lil and pick out someone who’s not clearly underage and still in uniform next time, then.”
So now we’re back to the beginning, end of the: record scratch, freeze frame, ‘Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here’ sequence
Told you it’d all tie together, sans-boba
Back to the show:
Katsuki’s fucking shocked, kinda impressed, but mostly pissed off that some ‘stupid woman’ is talking back to him telling him how to run his business
Weese Leese is… kind of terrified, mostly turned on though, because her brain’s wiring must’ve gotten tangled when she turned into this alleyway.
Sucks for him because she had a point, and Katsuki’s not fucking blind— he can see the uniform clearly on this stupid girl’s body.
They deal with it some Yakuza way, I’ll spare yall the details and me the work of doing research and writing more nonsensical irrelevant waffle (because weese has the attention span of a 3 year old and doesn’t like long drawn out narratives boohoo)
Cut scene back to Katsuki, his two irrelevant bodyguards, and Weese Leese, stood alone in the alleyway.
He’s fuming because she’s demanding an apology for his attitude, his bodyguards are only slightly worried they might have to repave the alleyway (again), and Weese Leese is…
scanning any sliver of exposed skin for some yummy scary tattoos
Long story short, one long passive aggressive (from Leese’s end), straight up aggressive (from Katsuki’s end), argument later, he swallows his pride and offers her a drink at a local bar he owns as a means of apology.
because he’s not saying those words
(also to flex, he’s a proud bastard, he is)
We’ve all read Weese Leese’s hcs about drunk! Leese right? So we know how bold she is?
And how touchy she is and how her brain-to-mouth filter takes a holiday on a Caribbean island so she’s spouting shit like ‘show me your tattooooooos’ and not noticing how he’s blushing in response?
Drunk! Leese gets too drunk, and conveniently loses her keys (she just can’t find them, dont worry we’re not losing deposit money here) so in true Josei manga fashion, he takes her to a hotel
(THAT HE OWNS, HE OWNS EVERYTHING, OYABUN KATSUKI COMING THROUGH)
Because he can’t take her back to his, obviously. Not only is that embarrassing but also dangerous.
(Not that he cares what happens to her, obviously)
Stupid fucking tsundere
Do they diddle the do at the hotel? You decide, but they definitely diddle the do the next morning when she wakes up, sees him splayed on the bed on his stomach and she absentmindedly traces over the back-piece he’s got.
Yeah, he’s for a back-piece. It’s entirely self-indulgent, I don’t care. He’s also got all ten of his fingers because I say so.
And he wakes up with a raging boner mighty need and a half naked girl in his bed caressing the muscles on his back and
BLEEP
Insert censor bar here.
He doesn’t admit that he likes her, of course he doesn’t. Do you even know how tsunderes work?
He just thinks she’s nice, and comforting, let’s him be loud and angry all he wants, but can also stand her own ground and so, so lovely fun to be around. She’s great company, that’s all.
The head of a house needs a woman to play around with, right? That’s what all his shateis say (see: Yakuza term for younger brothers)
So what if they don’t buy their women flowers, take them to fancy dinners at restaurants they own, pound them against the penthouse windows of hotels they own, and begrudgingly take hot soaks in the fancy marble bathtubs the morning after.
He’s just better than them, that’s all.
He’s always the best at what he does, always has to be #1, so courting a woman shouldn’t be any different.
It’s not until his shateis poke fun at how soft he’s become and asks him when he’s inviting her to move in when he realizes—
fuck.
He’s in too deep.
But there’s something special about fucking his woman on the ancient tatami flooring of the house, (he’d only had to replace two holes, so he’s doing alright to be fair)
Or outside on the wooden planks of the hallway, legs pushed down to her ears as he plows her in front of the judging eyes of the Koi fish in the Japanese garden.
Or having her parade around in clothes he chooses for her, proudly displaying her as his. And so they live happily ever after, Yakuza movie style.
They might pop out an heir within the next two years, but that’s all for the better, right? Gotta continue the bloodline and whatnot.
edit: weese made a picrew with yakuza! katsuki
#I literally#this felt like a fever dream#on GOD I had a random spurt of an idea and I snatched it and Usain Bolted with it#I'M SORRY HAHA#don't hate me for the pov change weese pwease#:((((#matchup hcs#crackheads in the psychotic server
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2P!Spain BF Headcanons
(((i dont really know how to write for his character completely yet, but i will try my best pals!)))
oooooooooKAY so ya boi
- y'know
- y'boi
- andres?? andres carriedo????????
- he ur boi righteeee???
- oh litty LEMME TELL YOU ABOUT HIM
HEY WHATS UP U GUYS ITS YA BOI ANDRES HERE and he is ready
- is he???
- no,, he isnt,,???
- okay so uh hold up
andres isn't very good with emotions
- he's not entirely sure why you're interested in him
he typically shuts people out, right, so they can't interfere with his persona he puts on
- then you come along
- nice mcfucking job you've gone and mucked it all up now havent you??
- damn cute s/o going and making him,, feel, or whatever,,,, ,,,, >:/
youre this perfect person in his eyes, right
- he sees you and he's like ffs
- "i cant do this,,?? this person is??? so good,,"
he's a troubled boi. he's all tsundere, im sure he had a bad upbringing, having to compete with his brother and all. he got into alcohol. not good. until you show up
- you're treating him like a person
- you know, people usually see him and decide not to interact with him after a while
- they dont think he's interested in hanging around them
- but you stay?
you stay and you talk to him, or you sit next to him in comfortable silence
- he feels like he needs to fill it
- he doesn't
- it's fine bb
and you know, you're into him. you eventually start dating because, "well they're already this far in my life, let's see how much it takes to break me lol :,)"
- but you don't???
he was probably drunk one night and just started spilling to you
you stayed
you sat with him the whole time
- you were there for him
so naturally you're bound to be together omf
you understand him and vibe with him on another level and it flusters him so well
- he doesn't like admitting you make him get this feeling in his stomach
- "yeah its not hangover sickness i'll tell you that"
"andres what the fuck"
you get along with his couple of friends?? how do
- " they fucking suck how do you like them"
" andres dont say that they're your friends lmao"
" i dont even like them that much"
" you were crying on francois telling him how pretty his ey-"
"n O I WW A SN T"
SO LIKE HE'S SO INTO YOU AND SO BLUSHY ALL THE TIME RIGHT
LIKE HE TRIES TO INITIATE PDA BUT THEN HE RETRACTS LIKE ITS COLD OUT AND HE JUST JAMMED HIS JIMMY IN A DOOR
- BB U GOTTA START IT SO HE KNOWS ITS OKAY TO BREATHE THE SAME AIR
lmao so he's spanish, spain is known as the country of passion
- he tries his best to be romantic bU t w e ll
- hes about as romantic as a freezerburnt box of taquitos
he's trying
LIKE IMAGINE KISSING HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME
- HE TRIES TO BE SO COOL BUT HES LIKE BLUSHING SO HARD
hhhhhhh don't???? touch his hair???? it makes him sleepy but it's v soft???
- im lying totally touch it
HE DOES TAKE YOU ON REALLY CUTE DATES THOUGH
- he actually puts a little too much thought into them but they're always perfect??
he is low key into body worship lemme tell you you have endless praise from this man
- it's definitely only in spanish because he's shy with you, so, if you don't speak spanish then,,,,,, ;))
he cracks his knuckles directly in your ear when he comes up behind you
- hwo ro m an t ic
he's actually quite the good photographer, Gilen was showing him stuff and he's like "oh lit"
sometimes he'll take "test shots" of you if he's using a camera awhh
he loves ice cream so you should totally take him to get some
YA BOI HAS TATTOOOOOOOOOOOOOS THEY'RE VERY GOOD ;)))))))))
also he is very forgetful, lucky you
- read: you get all the clothes he leaves at your house
always squinting because
- a.) he stays up too late and it's bad for your eyes
b.) he's always tired
c.) ya boi needs spectacles
honestly the amount of times he trips in the span of a minute is s ur prising
- blease catch this boi he doesn't know where he is lmao
everyone thinks he's mean but you know it's just a facade
- he is vvvvvv shy and tries to be gentle toward you but just gets heated and embarrassed if something goes "wrong"
- it's v endearing bc he'll blush over things that arent perfect like if he messes up a compliment
he kisses your knuckles a lot
- he;;;;; whispers cute things in spanish if you're in a room with other people, probably like running his thumb over your knuckles and hands (more for himself because he has a fear of crowds)
sometimes he'll point out things out of no where and cause you to have a slight existential crisis
he's totally a night owl and if you aren't then YIKES he will make you stay up with universal inquiries
- it's pretty astral lmao
he's kind of a good cook but
- dont trust him
- your stove will die
is pretty helpful but will probably do whatever you want wrong lmao
- he's trying
likes to give gentle cheek kisses and hand kisses
- also stomach ones
- and,, thighs ;))))))))))
very hands-on but does it absentmindedly, more of a grounding technique
so ya boi andres is tryin
- and he all urs ;)))))
#2p spain#andres carriedo#andres carriedo fernandez#aph 2p headcanons#2p headcanons#boyfriend headcanons
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Hey! How are you today ? 🖤 If that's not too late, would you please do the prompt 152 ? Thanks 😊
Rating: T
Warnings: Crack treated seriously, suggestive themes, and explicit language (Harry has quite the potty mouth in this). Typos are my own.
Prompt: “Stop Texting me weird stuff so late at night.” + Tomarry
This was actually very fun to write. It is not serious whatsoever. I think this was something short and funny to write in order to decompress from my other more…sinister story. I hope you enjoy! (Thank Peixe for the interesting text, btw. It just made this crack all possible).
Buzz.
Harry groaned aloud, shifting in his bed to reach for his phone. He had only just settled into bed, his day far longer than he had wanted it to be.
Finals were around the corner. The holidays were nearing and he wanted to do nothing more than sleep. He didn’t know how late it was, didn’t even know when he had finally settled the anxiety thrumming through his veins when he’d laid down.
It could have been minutes. It could easily have been hours.
All that had registered before bed was the cloying darkness around him and the delicious press of cool sheets against his skin.
A decadence that he had not indulged in in what felt like months. And considering just what time in the semester it was, it was most likely the case. He hadn’t caught a break the entire semester, and he didn’t expect to get one once classes ended after exams.
Lord knew when he would catch a break that entire month.
Harry was beyond upset that someone had dared shoot him a message.
The person at the other end just had to know what point in the semester it was. All his friends were bloody university students. His parents never texted him, and considering how hectic December was before the holidays, his parents would never dare bother him until at least after his exams were over.
Fucking arsehole.
Harry cursed under his breath repeatedly as he reached, almost lazily, for his phone before he finally grabbed hold of it on the nightstand by his bed. He fumbled with it for several seconds, nearly dropping it on his face once or twice when the stupid thing slipped from his fingers.
It was a sleek iPhone. Not new, and definitely not the latest model of the year. It normally fit nicely within his hands. But not today.
The phone was fighting him tooth and nail, refusing to settle comfortably in his hand. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to drag it up to his face, but there was no one around to witness the spectacle.
It was just him and the six football posters he had plastered in his tiny dorm room.
Harry didn’t bother putting on his glasses, leaving the frames underneath his pillow. He wasn’t about to spend another five minutes trying to look for them.
Sure, he had shitty vision. But that certainly did not mean he was blind. He didn’t need it to figure just who was the arsehole that texted him. He also wasn’t about to waste more time he could be using to sleep by fumbling for them, either.
Not that he needed them much anyway. He always kept the font on his phone to a relatively large size. You just never knew when you’d be stuck without them. At least, that’s how Harry justified it.
Harry knew for a fact that he wouldn’t always have his glasses on hand. His entire life was testament enough to that. Hell, the current semester was more than enough proof that he didn’t have his life sorted out enough to keep his glasses on him.
Harry had forgotten his glasses numerous times already this term alone. It wasn’t his fault that his alarm did a piss poor job of waking him up on time for those ungodly morning classes he had every week.
Harry practically smashed the phone into his face before he clicked on the center button.
The phone immediately came to life.
Harry swore when it nearly blinded him.
He blinked repeatedly to chase away the black spots dancing along his vision, caught completely off guard by the brightness of his phone screen. It was on full brightness. He must have somehow forgotten to lower the brightness before he’d settled into bed.
Nice going, Harry.
Once he managed to blink all dark spots from his vision, and he determined that he had not actually blinded himself, Harry began to, or at least tried to, read the bright blue notification on screen.
What the–?
It was a message from Tom Riddle.
At three in the bloody morning.
It was a giant mass of text that Harry had little hope of transcribing, without his glasses, at least. There was a myriad of emojis in between the white text, and Harry was at a total loss at how to make sense of it. It was too dense. Practically a paragraph.
Harry was not even close to equipped to deal with this bullshit so late at night. Not that he was equipped to deal with it on any other night, but still, it was particularly irksome in that moment.
Just who sent a paragraph of messages anymore?
Harry tried to make sense of the letters, but they were beyond blurred. The combination of the cellphone’s brightness, his exhaustion, and his brain’s outright refusal in reading the message making it an impossible task. The only thing legible were the emojis.
…Harry would have to grab his glasses if he wanted to know what the message said. He was not happy.
Bloody perfect.
Harry grumbled before he reached underneath his pillow with one hand for familiar metal. He stopped when he felt cold metal beneath his fingertips, and pulled them out with little issue.
He quickly pressed them onto his face, satisfied that at least this didn’t take him three years to put on. Harry had fully expected his glasses to give him just as much trouble as his phone, but he supposed, it was punishment enough that he was awake rather than asleep like he was supposed to be.
But Harry had a message from Riddle. He just couldn’t ignore it.
Riddle never texted him.
Harry could count in one hand the amount of times the man had gone out of his way to text him. Perhaps, twice in one year if he was being generous?
And never with so many emojis, or any, for that matter. Riddle didn’t seem like the sort. It was painfully obvious from the few evenings Harry had to interact with him that Riddle was about as dry as sandpaper, and as prickly as a cactus. If he messaged you, it was for a reason. Harry knew that much.
The message on his phone was telling him entirely different story, however.
Harry was not nearly delirious enough to imagine all those emojis. That Riddle, in fact, had sent him a paragraph of text. Easily more words than Riddle and he had shared in the past three years.
It was…curious. Too strange and out of character for Harry to leave it well enough alone.
Harry pressed his finger against the phone screen, and watched as the message opened up, not sure of what to expect.
“whats poppin in that peppermint 🍬🔴⚪️ pussy 🐱💦 u little snowhoe ❄️👅👀🎄 DICKCEMBER🎄 is here 🚨🍆🍒 and the only way to stay warm is to ride daddy’s christmAss tree 🎄🍑✔️ all month long until his SAP comes out 🍻👅💦💯 but dont forget ❌❌ to lick off any syrup 👅🍯 from daddy’s HARD candy cane 🍭😩 if u want to get RAWED 🚼🍆😩😏 under the mistleHOE 🌿 then send this to 2⃣5⃣ of your thickest elves 💁🙋🍒 if u get 0⃣ back 😔 then ur an UGLY GRINCH 😷😴 if u get back 1⃣0⃣😊 ur a BAD JINGLE BELL BITCH🔥🙌 If u get back 2⃣0⃣ 😏 then get ready for daddy Claus and st DICKolas on christmAss eve 🎄❗️🎄 SHARE in 6⃣9⃣😉💦 seconds or you wont end 2⃣❗️0⃣❗️1⃣❗️7⃣❗️ with a BANG 😩💦💥.”
What?
Harry was completely floored. He was staring so intently at the message that it was a miracle in itself that he hadn’t burned a hole through his phone from the intensity of his stare.
This was the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever read in his life. Single-handedly worse than the time Ron had drunkenly texted him about his massive crush on his now-girlfriend, Hermione. Sending him messages after messages, and even pictures, of himself in his underwear, desperate for advice that Harry had been unable to give at the time.
It had taken weeks of apologies from Ron’s end to get Harry to talk to him again. Though, the image was unfortunately still burned to the back of Harry’s head. Especially the picture of Ron’s damn elephant undies with the trunk located right where his–
Harry banished the thought before he even dared go down that route.
This was about Riddle, not Ron. Harry didn’t need to add more fuel to the fire. The fact that Riddle of all people had sent him something like that, in the middle of the night, was just wrong. It was absurd. It was something straight out of an episode of the Twilight Zone.
Riddle was the last person Harry would have expected to do something like this. To send a chain message of that sort to Harry of all people, no less.
Riddle was practically the most boring person Harry knew. He was the complete opposite of Harry in almost every way. Harry at least had a sense of humor, while Riddle was just smug and unapproachable more often than not.
Riddle also hardly ever smiled, and literally everything that left his mouth was infuriating. There wasn’t a time in Harry’s short association with Riddle that the man did not say something offensive. It was as if Riddle were incapable of saying something nice. Well, around Harry mostly.
Harry couldn’t speak to his behavior around others, but still, Riddle was a smug and condescending bastard. It was a skill in and of itself to be as disagreeable as he was with Harry.
No words needed to be exchanged, even. Just a look from Riddle’s direction said it all.
Rather than a resting bitch face, Riddle had a resting arsehole face. As if Riddle was begging for Harry to punch him, or to knock him down a peg or two.
It was just awful that the man was so pretty. A bloody shame, really. It should be a crime to be as attractive as Riddle was when he was such a fuckface. He didn’t deserve those sharp cheekbones, those plump pink lips, nor the perfectly piled hair at the top of his head.
Riddle deserved none of it. It was a complete waste.
Though, that still didn’t answer the most burning question at the forefront of Harry’s mind.
Harry still had no bloody clue of how to even reply to that, of how to even draft a response.
Should he even reply back? Why was he even considering replying to such an obvious chain message? It had to all just be a joke. It had to be a mistake from Riddle’s end, and nothing more. For all Harry knew, Riddle could have been drunk and that was why he had sent Harry of all people such an unsolicited message in the first place.
There were plenty of possibilities that could readily explain away why Riddle had sent the text.
And all of them had little to do with Riddle wanting to actually talk to him at three in the morning.
But what if he did it on purpose? A traitorous voice whispered in the back of Harry’s head.
What if Tom was sober and he had intended to send you something like this? What if, for all his douchebaggery, he wanted to talk to you?
Harry started typing before he realized it, before he could truly consider just what it was that he was doing. It was bloody stupid that he was even writing a response to this tosser. But Harry was just too curious for his own good, too interested in seeing just what response he’d get from Riddle.
The what ifs in the back of Harry’s head were too alluring and much too tempting. This was Riddle. This wasn’t some random bloke sending him a message in the middle of then night.
And you think he’s pretty…a mocking voice whispered in the back of Harry’s mind. Harry wanted to smack himself for the thought, for even going down that route. He would sooner walk into oncoming traffic before he ever admitted something like that. Riddle was attractive, Harry was not blind.
But Riddle was a dick. Whatever allure the man had, his personality made it impossible to appreciate.
You still think his arse looks nice in a nice pair of tight jeans, however…the same damn traitorous voice mocked, and Harry wanted to scream in frustration.
Harry was not attracted to him. That was not the reason why he was going to reply. He was curious. Nothing more and nothing less.
It wasn’t the first time his blasted curiosity had gotten him into trouble, and Harry was certain it wouldn’t be the last even as he finally drafted up the perfect response for the situation.
Maybe Riddle would fail to answer. Maybe Riddle would ignore it all together and pretend he never sent the ridiculous text to Harry in the first place.
There was only one way to find out.
“Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent message, but it was enough to get his point across.
Satisfied, Harry hit “send.”
And then he waited, too awake now to settle back into bed. Especially after Tom bloody Riddle had sent him a fucking message about getting dicked down in December.
Harry couldn’t just let this pass him by without knowing for certain that it was Riddle that sent this and not one of his friends trying to play a joke on the man. Though, now that Harry thought about it, it was more likely that one of Riddle’s friends did manage to snatch his phone or something.
It was more plausible than Riddle being drunk out of his arse considering Harry, in all the time he had known Riddle, had never let more than one glass of wine pass through his lips at the ridiculous friendsgiving parties Hermione threw every year.
Why Riddle went to those things and why Hermione invited him at all was a mystery, even now.
Harry was ripped from his thoughts when his phone burst to life in his hands, the vibrations traveling from the tips of his fingers all the way to his elbow from the intensity. It took him a second to open the message and read it.
“Wat r u doing?”
Harry squinted, confused.
Huh?
“Riddle, have you been drinking? That was too many misspelled words.”
Harry tapped up the message and sent it with a speed he had not known he had. None of this made any sense. The Riddle he knew would never make so many glaring errors.
It was sickening, in a way. To see someone that typically behaved so full of himself act almost…like a normal college student. Tom Riddle just didn’t do normal. Harry couldn’t reconcile this fact.
It didn’t take long for Riddle to respond, and Harry sucked in a surprised breath.
“R u alone?”
Harry pinched himself to assure himself that he was not still sleeping. Unsure if he should laughing or be deeply concerned with Riddle’s behavior.
“Riddle, it’s three in the morning, of course I’m alone.” Harry replied immediately, unsure of why he even kept replying when the best solution to this entire thing was not answering. It was easy. Simple.
It would take little effort from Harry’s end to stop replying.
Harry sent a second text before he could stop himself.
“Please stop texting me.”
Harry should just silence his phone. It would be just as easy as ignoring Riddle’s texts.
He knew how it worked, had silenced his phone numerous times in the past. It was the best way to avoid a lecture from Hermione’s end or to focus on studying when he had a looming deadline. He really did know how it worked. It’d take seconds to do it.
But his fingers refused to tap on the crescent moon and silence his phone. It was as though Harry was physically unable to pry his eyes from the screen. He had exams soon, he couldn’t afford to mess around with Riddle. He couldn’t afford to lose sleep over something as stupid as this, but–
Then, a message bubble appeared right at the bottom of his messaging app. Riddle was typing a response.
Go to bed, Harry…said a voice that sounded too much like Hermione’s motherly tone.
It is three in the morning on a Thursday. You have exams next week, go to bed.
Harry wanted to listen. He was more than aware of this, and that he would certainly regret this all the next day when he had to wake up to start studying against.
But Harry ignored all the warnings.
He wanted to see how this all unfolded. He wanted to know for certain that this was Riddle. He wanted to know if Riddle was capable of being drunk, that he actually had a whole other side to him that Harry did not even know existed. This was a once in the life time opportunity, in a way. It wasn’t every day that someone with such a stick shoved up his arse could loosen up.
The phone vibrated in his hand, and the blue bubble appeared on screen.
“Invite me over.”
Harry frowned. He would most certainly not. It was three in the morning. He had classes to study for, and he refused to be alone with Riddle.It was one thing to humor the man by responding to his text messages, but entirely another to actually meet with him face to face.
Lord knew what might happen, considering the man was drunk and that chain message had been a bit…racy.
Not that you minded very much, you’re not even mad that he woke you up at three in the morning anymore…
Harry ignored the thought.
“No, you’re drunk. I’m going to sleep. I promise I’ll pretend we never had this conversation.”
Harry replied before, finally, silencing his phone.
He was curious, but should he really keep this going? What if Riddle was drunk and woke up the next day with messages from Harry? What if Riddle took that opportunity to irritate him, to make himself into more of a nuisance than he already was in person?
Harry didn’t want that, even if it physically pained him not to see this through.
God, you’re turning into Hermione. Who are you, Harry Potter?
Harry shifted into a more comfortable position on his bed, ready to shut off his phone and forget that Riddle had messaged him at all when his phone buzzed within his hands once again, nearly half a second after he had replied.
It was as if Riddle was somehow glued to his phone, desperate to see Harry’s response.
Harry snorted at the ridiculousness of the image. Riddle desperate to talk to Harry? It was absurd.
Yet, it didn’t stop Harry from picturing Riddle’s pale face flushed with drunkenness, sitting down in the middle of a rowdy university party, phone in hand as he waited for Harry to answer. Perhaps he had a cheap Pabst beer in hand, or even a bottle of cheap red wine in his free hand as he tried to chase after the allure of intoxication?
It was just so plebeian. So ordinary and unassuming that Harry discarded the image as quickly as it had formed. Though, that didn’t stop him from laughing lowly to himself.
Harry unlocked his phone against his better judgment and opened the message.
“Im outside.”
Harry swore before jolting in shock when he heard heavy knocking. It was coming directly from the front door at the opposite end of his room.
Harry tried to not to cover his head with his sheets in frustration.
There was no way that Riddle had actually fucking come over. No one was allowed into the building unless they had the key to get onto the elevators. It was strictly enforced. The security in the building notorious for calling the cops if someone stood out in front of the lobby for longer than permitted. Unless Riddle somehow flew into the building through an open window, in the middle of bloody winter, Harry sincerely doubted Riddle was actually outside.
Harry’s phone buzzed again.
The phone felt hot and heavy in his palm. As though it were physically burning through his palm with the weight of Riddle’s message. He should have ignored the chain message like any sensible person would have.
But no, Harry just had to be curious. He just had to know. And now, Riddle was standing outside his door, somehow. It was easy to ignore someone through text, but a whole other feat to ignore them while they were standing in front of the door.
With a sigh, Harry glanced at his phone.
“Its cold out here, harry.”
Ugh.
Harry ripped his sheets from his body, leaving his phone on the bed. He was too upset to even think of taking it with him when he stormed to the door. In fact, it was better that he had left it. Knowing him, he’d fling it directly at Riddle’s face and break the screen, making it the third time in one year that he’d broken his phone.
Harry couldn’t afford to pay for another replacement screen.
Irked, Harry grabbed onto the door and slammed it open. He didn’t care that he was only in pair of green checkered boxers and an over-sized white T-shirt. Riddle was not invited, and if he had a problem with his attire, then he could go suck it.
Riddle was standing inches in front of the door, hair disheveled and clothes completely rumpled. He was dressed in a white, rumpled dress shirt that had several buttons undone at the collar and black dress pants that looked as though they’d seen better days.
Just what kind of party did Riddle go to?
Harry stared, noting the bright pink flush on Riddle’s cheeks, as if he’d been drinking excessively and had walked through inches of snow in the dark. His eyes were bright, and lit with a mirth that Harry could not recall ever seeing on the man’s face before.
Riddle looked pleased; almost…happy to be standing outside despite the icy breeze that had to be cutting deep into Riddle’s bones. It was bloody freezing, that much Harry could tell when his own feet felt like were turning into ice blocks. The couple seconds Harry had been standing showing just how cold it was, and just how inappropriately dressed he was for the weather.
Not that Riddle was dressed any better.
“Is there a reason you’re standing in front of my door at three in the fucking morning?” Harry seethed, growing angrier when Riddle suddenly smiled, lips stretching into a predatory grin.
Harry was immediately put on edge.
“I have to tell you ssssomething.” Riddle slurred, taking a step closer.
“And that couldn’t have waited until, you know, later today? After you sobered up?” Harry said, exasperated when Riddle shook his head. The same stupid smile plastered on his handsome face before he took another step closer to the door.
Harry caught the movement, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I thought it was better to tell you in person.”
“Well, go on then. Let’s get this over with so I can get some sleep. Not everyone can be ‘Mr. I’m Too Hot and Too Smart To Study Like Everyone Else.’”
Harry wanted to smack himself. What was he bloody saying?
Had he completely lost his mind? Was he somehow getting drunk by just being in Riddle’s presence? Just what was wrong with him?
Why would he ever say that Riddle was handsome and intelligent to his face?
“Harry.”
Harry was ripped from his thoughts by the authority in the man’s tone. The obvious slur not at all detracting from the seriousness in his voice. It didn’t seem like Riddle had picked up on what Harry had said, and Harry could not have been more relieved.
He was just about to speak, to ask once again for Riddle to get to the bloody point when Riddle bridged the space between them.
It was no more than a second. Riddle had moved so quickly that Harry did not even think to take a step back before the man was invading his space.
Riddle’s breath was warm against his face, a sharp contrast to the arctic air brushing against Harry’s bare legs as he stood frozen by the open doorway.
Riddle’s breath smelled of alcohol–like the whiskey Harry’s dad would break out only on special occasions. It was rich and bitter, and Harry inhaled the sharp scent deeply through his lungs as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
Of what this was because Riddle had never been this close before. The man avoided physical contact like the plague. Always distant, always with his nose held up in the air and completely untouchable.
Riddle was so close that Harry could touch him if he wanted.
“I..think I may not find you as annoying as I once thought.” Riddle murmured, the heat in his voice making Harry’s insides curl pleasantly.
Harry was horrified at his reaction.
“I find that instead of wanting to throttle you for half the things you do that I would much rather do something else.”
Harry’s brain short circuited. His skin was hot, his stomach fluttering so wildly that it was a wonder he hadn’t thrown up the noodles he had eaten for lunch earlier that day. Or was it yesterday, Harry did not know anymore.
This was unbelievable.
Harry did not understand what Riddle was telling him.
No, Harry amended, awestruck, I just can’t believe this.
Harry opened and closed his mouth to speak, but the words refused to come. The way Riddle was looking at him made it impossible to speak, the short distance between them making him hyper aware of just how tall Riddle was and how smooth his skin looked.
Riddle was so close that all it would take was one measly step and they’d be touching. There would be no gap between their bodies, no space between the skin exposed temptingly at the top of Riddle’s chest or the lips still stretched into a mischievous smile.
Get a grip, Harry.
But there was no shaking off his shock or his attraction to the man. It was impossible to deny that he was interested, that he was tempted by the way Riddle’s lips curled and how those eyes flashed with desire.
It was devious, and the promise in those eyes was impossible to refuse. Especially when Riddle suddenly leaned in, bridging what little space was left between them, to press his lips lightly against his. As though he had somehow sensed the direction Harry’s thoughts had gone and he was only fulfilling the interest Harry was somehow broadcasting on his face?
Harry did not know.
“…won’t you let me in? It is very cold outside, and you look so very warm.” Riddle spoke into his lips.
Harry swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
This was dangerous. A complete and absolute mess waiting to spill over. He was torn, genuinely at a loss at what to do when Riddle sounded so interested and sincere.
It was unacceptable that Harry was floored. That he didn’t think to automatically push the man back and slam the door in his face. It was the correct thing to do. The sensible and responsible reaction to employ when Riddle was drunk and he had exams to deal with.
Everything about the situation screamed “no.”
But Harry was curious, too bloody interested in finding out just what Riddle had in mind. Even when Riddle, on a good day, just made him want to scream obscenities at him.
This was a bad idea, and he knew it. Hermione would not approve. Hell, not even Ron would approve of something as dumb as this. But Harry was just so curious.
You know what they say…curiosity killed the cat.
Against his better judgment and every strongly held principle Harry had, he slowly nodded in acquiescence.
There was simply no way Harry could refuse.
Not when Riddle was looking at him like he was something to eat, and he wanted nothing more than to be devoured.
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