![BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/320854565-256-k623009.jpg)
BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]
- LECTURES 167,975
- Votes 4,169
- Chapitres 57
Contenu pour adultesEn cours d'écriture11h 55m
Dernière publication ven., déc. 6, 2024
"Katie, this is Harry, Elijah, Niall and Lucas," Louis introduces me to the four tattoo artists sitting in the back room. They're each working on different designs at their separate stations.
"Hi," I greet them, waving awkwardly.
Niall, Elijah and Lucas smile at me warmly, each saying a quick hello. Harry looks me up and down, scoffing and rolling his eyes before glancing back down to whatever he was doing.
What the hell was that?
"Ignore him," Louis whispers. "He's like that with everyone."
I stand there nervously and chuckle, trying to brush off the strange reaction. A wave of uneasiness towards the tattooed man with curly hair comes over me.
Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?
-
TRIGGER WARNING FOR:
SEXUAL CONTENT / DRUG AND ALCOHOL ABUSE / VULGAR LANGUAGE / DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE / MENTAL ILLNESS / SELF HARM / TALK OF DEATH AND SEXUAL ASSAULT / SEX CRIMES
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"You're not going to leave me, are you?" I asked as I looked ahead at nothing, focusing on feeling his breathing on the back of my neck. "Never," he whispered. "I'll be here until you get tired of me." He was holding me in his arms, with his back to the wall of my bedroom. Both of his arms were wrapped around me, and I could see the prominent cross tattoo on his right hand. I had had another attack, feeling like the world was caving in on me. As soon as I felt that familiar pang in the bottom of my stomach reaching up to my chest, I would call him. Almost immediately, I would hear a knock at my door. He would always drop what he was doing if he received a call from me, telling him that it's happening again. He would be on my front step, always, with a few pints of ice cream and comfort. He was my rock. He was my sedative. My cure.Terminé![Coach Styles [l.s]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/51131644-256-k275567.jpg)
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[BOOK 2 OF PULSE, ONGOING] They made it out, but now they're on the run, caught in a dangerous game with no allies and no clear path forward. Fighting to regain their freedom, they face a growing web of secrets, betrayals, and deceptions that threatens the one thing they thought they would always have: each other. -- "Ever wonder what drives you to act on impulse?" I look up and see him standing behind me. Our gazes lock through the mirror, and a chill runs up my spine. His eyes are dark, filled with a dangerous intensity that makes my heart race. "Every decision you make in the heat of the moment," he says, his voice a seductive whisper, "reveals something deeper." -- **WARNING This story contains heavy use of violence, drug abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, suicide, addiction, self harm, torture, and illegal activities. Read at your own discretion. Disclaimer: The characters depicted in this story share names with famous individuals, but they are entirely fictional and do not represent or depict any real-life personalities.
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Rejected
Love. Tattoos. Drugs. Fights. Pain. Heartbreak. Suspense. Agony. Mystery. Him. **Note: This book is not edited. This is the first book I have completed years ago as an inexperienced author; therefore the work is not my best. The chapters are also very short and rough in the beginning, because this was originally a short story. Please keep this in mind. Thank you for reading!** {completed} This story is protected under copyright laws. © Copyright 2016 stylesdeliriousTerminé
"You're not going to leave me, are you?" I asked as I looked ahead at nothing, focusing on feeling his breathing on the back of my neck. "Never," he whispered. "I'll be here until you get tired of me." He was holding me in his arms, with his back to the wall of my bedroom. Both of his arms were wrapped around me, and I could see the prominent cross tattoo on his right hand. I had had another attack, feeling like the world was caving in on me. As soon as I felt that familiar pang in the bottom of my stomach reaching up to my chest, I would call him. Almost immediately, I would hear a knock at my door. He would always drop what he was doing if he received a call from me, telling him that it's happening again. He would be on my front step, always, with a few pints of ice cream and comfort. He was my rock. He was my sedative. My cure.
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