#And let's not mention the fact that I work at a sushi place

[the-tough-blondie]

the fact that I have to work TODAY and can't just stay home reading hofas seems so unfair

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[wardenparker]

Alright, I have come out of the woodwork and I will now be A Nuisance. For your microfic celebration, please give me whoever you think will be the funniest with the prompt "I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous". You are my queen and I would die for you immediately upon request thank you for existing 😘

I know this prompt is very, very old, but let's have some fun with it! Co-written with the lovely and talented @absurdthirst.

Dieter Bravo. 1,173 words. "I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous." (Warnings: cursing, flirting, mention of drugs)

"There are a couple of things where I draw the line." Just because you had been assigned to be Dieter Bravo's assistant on set for this film did not mean you were going to make yourself a laughing stock for the Oscar winner. You're a professional and you have your dignity, dammit. That's why you're standing in his trailer having this conversation right now.

Dieter narrows his eyes in confusion and looks around. "It's a drink order, right?" He asks. "I didn't ask you to pick up my blow or order a hooker." He pauses, "unless you know some?" He waits for to you huff at him and shakes his head. "Never mind." He pouts. "It's just a coffee. A coffee I need." He groans. "I'm fucking hungover."

"I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous." Looking down at the sheet of allegedly useful facts about the star, you read off the insane, often contradictory order listed there. "Venti, half-caf, triple-shot, soy, no foam, extra whip, extra hot, upside-down, caramel drizzle, with seven pumps of caramel syrup and seven pumps of mocha syrup, double-blended Frappuccino." You heave a heavy sigh and look back up at him. "It's literally impossible, that order. You know that, right?"

Dieter gives you a skeptical look. "I order it all the time, what do you mean impossible?" He snorts, pushing up off the small sofa that is provided in his trailer and moves over to the trash can. "Where the fuck is it?"

"You can't order an extra-hot Frappuccino. Frappuccinos are frozen." Still, you are obligated to try to help this man, and you purse your lips watching him root around. "What are you looking for?"

"My cup." He looks behind him, shooting you a glare and then pulls out a wet wad of paper towel and tosses it on the floor. "From yesterday. Before the studio sent me a defective assistant."

"It was down to melted ice, so I threw it out." It's flat out annoying to find him hot when he growling at you like a pestered puppy, but facts are facts. "Make this order make sense, and I'll get you one four times a day with no complaint."

"It was on the cuuuuuuup." He whines, throwing out a paper bag that probably held the sushi he had ordered yesterday when he suddenly had a craving and insisted his character loved tuna rolls. "Where is it?"

"I have the order right here." Again, you hold up your clipboard to show him the sheet of neatly organized information about himself that his regular assistant had sent over to the production company. Why she wasn't here, you don't know. "But you can't have a drink that's both frozen and hot, so it makes no sense."

"Can you just order my drink?" He huffs, whirling back around when he reaches the bottom of the can and there isn't that cup in there. You must have thrown it away somewhere else, which irritates him.

"Do you want it hot or frozen?" This absolute nonsense needs to be taken care of right now, otherwise this entire shoot is going to be as ridiculous as this moment.

"I want an extra hot Frappacino." He throws his hands up. "What is so hard about this?" He demands, looking at you like you are a complete idiot. This movie is a piece of shit, so it's fitting they hired the same caliber of people to work on it that they did to write it.

You're starting to actually question whether or not you know anything about Starbucks coffees in the first place or if you've just gone around on this so many times that you're actually starting to go a little mad. "You're getting a frozen drink." You decide, putting a stop to all of this craziness before your head starts to spin.

"Extra hot." Dieter nods, looking almost happy that you have decided to get his drink. He turns back to the table to grab his script. "Now I can learn these shitty lines once I have my coffee." He flips open the page and squints so he can try to read the small font. He needs glasses, but his vanity wouldn't allow that.

Groaning to yourself, you turn on your heel and open the trailer door again, cursing your stupid ass decision to ever become an on set assistant in the first place. "No," you mumble once you're out of earshot. "A Frappuccino is frozen, not hot."

Why do the hot ones always have to be completely off their rockers?

There is a certain routine that Dieter goes through when preparing for a role. He loves to find the character's voice. Repeating the lines in different cadences and tones, throwing his pitch until he feels that it reflects the character's personality. "How do you do it?" He warbles, sounding a little like Christopher Walken as he runs through the lines and huffs as he finds it too pitchy and waves his hand around again. "How do you do it?" He growls slightly, dropping his tone and making his voice more gravelly.

When you come back twenty minutes later from the Starbucks on the lot, it is after a world of conferencing with the very sweet barista who apparently made his convoluted as fuck order yesterday before the other on set assistant refused to work with him anymore. The girl had laughed, told you she steamed the milk for the drink to aerate it before putting everything in the blender, and just shrugged. 'Movie stars' she had intoned like it excused everything at all. "Coffee is here." You announce in your most neutral tone possible, while Dieter is prancing around his trailer talking to himself in as many different voices as he can muster.

"Oh thank God." The script is practically tossed over his shoulder as Dieter rushes forward to take the drink, straw already in it and immediately taking a large sip. Groaning as he swallows several mouthfuls before he sighs. "Perfect." He praises, eyeing you with a new found respect since you had gotten his order right. Coffee was life and now you are the bringer of life to him. Dieter tilts his head, finding it rather sexy when you roll your eyes. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

There needs to be a girl version of the saying 'Never stick your dick in crazy', because for just a split second, you actually consider it. Instead, shaking off the haze, you swallow down the impulse answer and pierce him with your most withering expression. "If you behave yourself, I'll think about it," you bargain, wondering if what you've heard about him being completely submissive is true.

"Amazing." Dieter practically beams at you, his cock twitching in his baggy sweats and he takes another sip of his venti, half-caf, triple-shot, soy, no foam, extra whip, extra hot, upside-down, caramel drizzle, with seven pumps of caramel syrup and seven pumps of mocha syrup, double-blended Frappuccino. "I'll be a good boy." He promises, content with his coffee and now daydreaming of having sex with you.

______

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My Masterlist!

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #25

Olympian 🏛️ / Kaiju Attack! 🐙

It's been a little over a month since the restaurant reopened when Mako spies him through the little window between the front and back of house. Blond hair, pale skin, navy sweater — she’s seen his headshot on every review he’s ever done.

“Hey,” she says, grabbing Newt the next time she sees him. “I’ll take out table five’s food when it’s ready. Leave it to me.”

Newt squints at her, then stands on his toes and peers through the little window. “You know him?”

“That’s him,” she says, widening her eyes. “Becket.”

Newt looks at her blankly. “The critic,” she says impatiently. “From the Jaeger.”

“Oh, your guy?” Mako nods. “Huh. Thought he’d look a little edgier. Yeah, I’ll leave his food for you. Want me to give him some complimentary sake or something, warm him up a little?”

“No!” says Mako, and Newt grins. “No, I want his honest opinion. Not his opinion after one of your sake pours.”

“All right, all right,” says Newt, holding up his hands. His vibrant movie-monster tattoos practically glow against his crisp white waitstaff button-down. He’s not supposed to have the sleeves rolled up, but Mako’s already gotten tired of reprimanding him for it when it never works. Sensei might have been more militant about it, but Mako can’t bring herself to care that much. She’s got bigger fish to filet, like the fact that her favorite food writer is sitting just through the door.

She slices and rolls with practiced precision as she waits for Newt to pop back in with Becket’s order. She’s been reading the Jaeger for the better part of five years, studying what factors merit a good review and what factors have tanked restaurants she otherwise respected. She’s spent ages dreaming up her own omakase lineup, how she’d introduce each dish and what flavors she would include, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined how she would present it to Becket, specifically. She’s even imagined what he might say to review it, praising her use of seasonal produce to enhance the menu — chirashizushi with salmon and braised pumpkin, carrot, and burdock root— or her take on Edomae-style comfort food —- marinated tuna and conger eel donburi with akazu, shiso bamboo shoots, and shredded egg crepe —- or her unconventional use of traditional ingredients — a totally vegetarian hand roll with miso-marinated grilled Japanese eggplant and matsutake mushrooms that has won over even the staunchest sushi purists.

Newt makes a beeline for Mako the instant he comes through the swinging doors. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, and Newt says, “He ordered karaage and ramen.”

Ten years of omakase menu plans crash down around Mako’s slip-resistant boots. “What?”

Newt shrugs. “I talked up your menu! I even mentioned the wagyu tataki and daikon salad. But no. He was pretty confident that he wanted ramen.”

“Which one?”

“Spicy tan-tan.” Newt shrugs. “He asked for it with everything, as hot as possible. He’s not a coward. You still want to bring it out?”

Mako purses her lips. Their tan-tan ramen is hot, and the menu makes that clear. “I guess so. It might be my only chance to ask what his problem is.”

She stews while the kitchen prepares Becket’s ramen. He’s reviewed every other omakase in the city, but he comes in here and orders ramen? Does he think her place is too offbeat or too new to have perfected an omakase menu worth his time? And who made him the expert, anyway?

She pauses in chopping carrots and takes a deep breath, trying to find Sensei’s voice amid the boiling in her brain and focus on it. He wouldn’t let this get to him. Sensei put in the training; he taught her practically everything he knows. He’d never cared about reviews, just that he was making good food that people enjoyed. He’d be confident enough in his own expertise not to worry what some white guy thought. So too will Mako.

She carries Becket’s food out carefully and sets it in front of him. “Tan-tan ramen,” she says, bowing her head. “For the critic.”

Becket smiles ruefully. “You recognized me, huh.” It’s strange seeing him in person after reading so much of his voice online: he’s a real person, a flush in his cheeks and a few more pounds on him than in his headshot. His jaw isn’t as sharp, his frame broad and soft, folded over the little two-top in the corner.

“Mako Mori,” she says, extending her hand to him. “I own Kaiju now. I’ve been reading your work for a long time.”

He shakes her hand, his own skin warm and a little rough, though his face falls a bit, unexpectedly. “Raleigh Becket, but you know that. Is Stacker Pentecost still here?”

She takes a step back at Sensei’s name. “He passed a little over a year ago. I’m his daughter. I took over after some renovation.”

“Oh,” says Becket. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was an incredible chef.”

“He was,” Mako agrees, and the follow-up question burns on her tongue: Then why have you never reviewed us?

But Becket sounds genuinely saddened by the news of Sensei’s death, and it throws her off her game just enough to feel uncomfortable actually asking. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “Please, let me know what you think.”

But Becket leaves without a word, several bills shoved beneath his plate before she or Newt can even duck back out with a check. He overpays, but it doesn’t get the sour taste out of her mouth.

—

Mako keeps an eye on the Jaeger page for her review. When it doesn’t appear after a week, she sets a Google alert and tries to forget about it. But no alerts come in, and she starts dreading that it ever will. Surely so much time between his dining experience and his review can’t be a good thing? Or maybe he’s got a long backlog of stories queued up and hers won’t be published for months still. Or maybe he doesn’t review places where he actually talks to the chef. Or maybe —

“He’s here again,” says Newt one night, maybe a month later. “Your man from the Jaeger.”

Mako’s heart tries to sink and leap at the same time and instead skips a few beats altogether. “He’s back?”

Newt nods. “Guess what he ordered.”

She frowns. “Ramen again?”

“Yup. Kara miso this time. And takoyaki. That’s progress, eh?”

“I’ll take it out to him,” she says, setting down her knife and taking a long sip of water from the plastic quart container that she’s marked as her own with a little cat doodle on the bottom, its ears forming an M. “Give him the extra sauce for the takoyaki. If he ordered the tan-tan last time, he can handle it.”

“You got it.” Newt salutes and hurries off, and she takes another sip of water, brushing her bangs back from her forehead with her wrist.

Becket is wearing another sweater when she goes out with his order, though this one is oatmeal-colored and intricately cable-knit. It’s been so long since Mako has knit anything; the last thing she wants to do when she gets home is another fiddly thing with her hands, but his sweater’s cable has a pattern like a fishtail and it makes her fingers itch to figure out how to recreate it.

He half-smiles when he sees her, his round cheeks pink. “Chef,” he says, nodding, and she returns the nod with the barest trace of a smile.

“Your ramen,” she says. “What did you think of the takoyaki sauce?”

His eyes light up. “The citrus one? Amazing. Was that — blood orange? And togarashi?”

“Yes,” she says, surprised. “And some pickled ginger.”

“Yes!” he says, grinning, and for a moment her guard drops and she grins back. “You don’t bottle that, do you?”

“No,” she says. “It’s a Kaiju exclusive. And you have to ask for it. I only trust certain people to appreciate it.”

“Well, I’m honored to be one of them,” he says, and when she goes back into the kitchen, she dices vegetables like a madwoman as she tries to process the interaction. What is his deal? He can’t just come in here and appreciate her flavors and light up about her food and then not review her. That’s counterintuitive to the whole process. He’s supposed to leave the restaurant already bursting with adjectives and metaphors to tell the Jaeger’s readership how much they need to taste her food. He’s supposed to order the omakase!

She sends Newt out with the check and a complimentary dish of salted plum sorbet and she’s not even happy about it. It’s not a gesture of goodwill, it’s a challenge. If he can eat that and still not feel compelled to evangelize Kaiju’s menu, then she’ll forget all about him. Sensei used to warn her against putting her heroes on a pedestal, and apparently this is what he meant.

She waits and waits. There’s no review.

—

It’s a while before he comes back, and Mako mostly succeeds in wiping him from her mind. As autumn deepens, she develops a new donburi around taro root, soy-braised tofu, and kombu, a eel and sweet potato tempura roll with umeboshi sauce, and a roasted kabocha nigiri. She’s still making up her mind about which one she’ll add to the omakase when Becket shows up again.

It’s fate, or something like that, that he walks in the moment after Mako has clocked out for her break, planning to go sit on one of the parking barriers in the tiny, leaf-strewn parking lot and enjoy the crisp fall air. But as she watches the host lead him to table five through the little window in the swinging door, she hears Sensei’s voice in her head, telling her to go after what she wants. The whole world is hers, or at least the whole world between the four walls he left her. He’d even chosen the name Kaiju for her, after the old monster movies they’d spent evenings and snow days watching together.

Raleigh Becket is not Godzilla. He’s just a guy who writes a column, and he owes Mako some answers.

She lets Newt swoop out and pour him water, but motions him back into the kitchen before he can take his order. He comes when he’s called, one eyebrow raised over his glasses, and she shakes her head.

“I’m taking care of him,” she whispers, and Newt shrugs, nods.

“Fortune favors the brave, chef.”

She waits until Becket has opened the menu to pounce. He looks up and smiles when he sees her, and she does not like the feeling that bubbles up in her chest, like sparkling sake shaken too hard.

“Hey,” he says, and she pulls out the chair opposite his and sits down.

“Hi,” she says. “Can we talk?”

His sweater today is a deep spruce green; she likes it on him better than the oatmeal. The knit is equally complex, and she stops herself from trying to puzzle it out in front of him. “Sure,” he says. “What about?”

Mako girds herself the way Sensei would. She is the expert here. She knows what she’s doing; she knows what she’s made of. This person’s opinion doesn’t mean she’s any less of a chef.

“You’ve reviewed every omakase in the city,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Except for mine.” Then, when he opens his mouth, “Except for ours. I know you didn’t review my father’s, either. Like I said, I’ve been reading your work for a long time. You’ve never reviewed us at all. Why?”

To his credit, Becket looks sheepish. “Believe me,” he says. “It’s nothing against the food. Actually, it’s because of the food.” He clears his throat. “My brother and I used to come here all the time for ramen. We grew up near Pan-Pacific, and when I heard that your father was opening his own place, we defected here instead.” He smiles a little. “I didn’t know your father beyond meeting him a couple times at local events, but I knew I wanted to follow his cooking wherever he went.”

It’s so strange to hear him say the name of the restaurant where she grew up, where she learned almost everything she knows, stranger still to hear him claim such devotion to her father’s cooking. Why has he never written about them, if Stacker’s food meant so much to him? Becket’s not shy about injecting his reviews with personal experience; he’s written extensively about Trespasser, the Chinese-Peruvian fusion restaurant uptown, and his long friendship with the head chef, Tendo Choi, and the travel diary he kept during his trip across Eastern Europe and Asia a few years ago was almost as much about the people he met as the food he tasted.

She squints at him, trying to make sense of it. He’s not meeting her eyes, and she doesn’t love that. “So?” she prompts, trying to keep the steel from her voice. “Why not write about that?”

He exhales. “My brother died two years ago, and it completely took me apart. I even missed the news about Kaiju closing and reopening. When he was alive, I never reviewed it because it was our place, you know? I didn’t want it to get overrun. And after he died, I wanted to keep it somewhere I could come for comfort and always get a seat.”

“Oh,” says Mako softly. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

He nods, staring into his lap. “I’m sorry, too,” he says finally, raising his head. “For not doing this place justice, and for wanting to keep it for myself.”

Mako sits silently for a moment. “I can understand,” she says. “It was the opposite for me. After my father died, I needed to make sure everyone remembered him through his food. We hadn’t even really talked about my taking over after him; I think part of me thought that it would never happen. That it could never happen. But I couldn’t just let it go. I had to make sure he was still alive somehow, even if the menu has a lot more of my fingerprints on it now.”

“Well, let me be the first to thank you for that,” he says, smiling wryly. “It’s been a huge comfort to me since my brother passed.” He rests his hand on his stomach, its round swell visible even through the thick knit of his sweater. “Probably more than I need. The omakase really does look good, I swear. I just get in my head about deviating from the pattern we always kept, you know?”

Mako nods. Even though the kitchen has been updated since Sensei’s death, she keeps everything exactly where he would have, even if it doesn’t entirely make sense. She’s honed her own knife skills through plenty of YouTube videos and high-level culinary classes, but at the end of the day, she always returns to what she learned from watching Sensei’s large, brown hands when she was barely tall enough to see over the counter.

“Come back tomorrow night if you want to try it,” she says. “A little before closing. I’ll do something special for you, so it can feel different.”

He smiles, a little sadly. “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” she says, standing up. “Ramen tonight? I’m impressed by your spice tolerance.”

His smile broadens. “Thank you. It’s taken a lot of time to hone. I really liked the kara miso last time. Anything else you’d recommend?”

“The kabocha nigiri,” she says without hesitation. “I’ll bring it out first.”

—

“Mr. Becket,” she says the next night, stepping out from the swinging doors. “I’m glad you could make it.”

He gives her a little wave from where he’s standing by table five. “You can call me Raleigh,” he says. “Mind if I sit at the counter?”

“No, please do.”

She’s been prepping all day, letting her kitchen staff take the lead on the usual daily activities. She’ll close up at the usual time and do a private event for Raleigh, just the two of them and the menu.

Sure, the prep has taken up a significant amount of her time, but the distraction of the menu has taken up the rest. She intentionally designed it with eleven courses, an homage to Sensei’s own menu. He’d originally designed his own with ten courses to represent having survived his first bout of cancer — the number nine traditionally being associated with suffering in Japanese superstition — but when Mako had gotten interested in cooking, he’d added one course that he’d let her choose, and he’d had the omakase offerings printed on little menu inserts each day, always with one of the ones in 11 stylized smaller than the other to represent himself and her.

Raleigh chooses the stool closest to the swinging door and sets his bag on the seat next to his. Today he’s wearing a navy cardigan over a blue button-down that looks endearingly like it fit better a few pounds ago.

“Do you drink?” she asks, and Raleigh nods.

“I trust your judgment. Whatever you think pairs best.”

She chooses a junmai that’s a little fruity and just a little spicy, almost like sake’s answer to mulled wine. He nods approvingly after a small sip, and she smiles.

“There are eleven courses,” she says, bracing her hands on the counter and leaning forward. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” says Raleigh. “Hit me.”

She starts him off easy with salmon belly nigiri with scallions and yuzu ponzu, then starts rolling the next course — uni with bird’s eye chili mayo, sweet white shrimp, and cucumber — as he eats.

“This sauce is fantastic,” he remarks after the first bite of salmon and ponzu, and Mako grins slyly.

“Wait until you try the next one.”

The bird’s eye chili mayo makes him set down his chopsticks and just stare at her for a moment. Mako beams.

“You see what you’re missing?” she teases, assembling the next course’s wagyu nigiri and snuggling it in between bunches of pickled ginger and daikon.

Raleigh shakes his head. “I can’t believe I told you I came here for comfort ramen and then you made it impossible for me to be satisfied by your ramen ever again.”

She pauses, unsure of how to respond, but he clears and throat and adds, “That was a joke. Mostly.”

“You’re always welcome to order the ramen,” she tells him, sliding him the wagyu nigiri and starting in on the eel and sweet potato tempura maki. “From now on, at least. And you have my permission to ask for the bird’s eye mayo on anything you want.”

“Thank god,” sighs Raleigh, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “I’m already thinking of how good it would be with your karaage.”

“Or I could build a ramen around it,” she muses, drizzling umeboshi sauce over the maki rolls. “I couldn’t name it after you, though. People might think you were biased.”

Raleigh laughs. “Maybe I am. I definitely would be if you designed a ramen for me.”

“I guess you’ll just have to keep coming,” she says, pushing next plate in his direction.

“Oh, good luck getting rid of me now. I’m thinking about asking if you’ll lease me table five.”

“Maybe a seating plaque wouldn’t seem quite so biased.”

They grin at each other, and Mako blushes and looks back down at the bowl of chirashizushi she’s preparing. She layers in salmon, braised pumpkin, carrot, and burdock root over a bed of rice, then drizzles tamari and a sprinkle of chili flakes over it all. Normally people order omakase as a group: this is her first time preparing the whole thing for one person, and she’s becoming aware that it’s a lot of food for just one. But Raleigh accepts it all gamely, making satisfied sounds and enchanted faces.

Next is a torched tuna roll with black salt and togarashi-strawberry chutney to cut through the warm umami of the chirashizushi. Raleigh actually moans when the chutney hits his tongue, and Mako thrills as she rolls marinated crab with avocado, oshinko, and seared salmon.

“How did you even come up with this?” he asks, popping the last roll into his mouth. “I’ve had a lot of unusual hot pepper flavors, but not that one.”

“Strawberry is my favorite,” says Mako. “And it’s a surprise with the togarashi. It tempers the heat and the pepper brings out the sweetness of the fruit, but also some of the acid.”

“I want to put it on ice cream,” says Raleigh. “Have you tried it that way?”

“No, but now I want to. Is Kaidenovskys' still open?”

Raleigh checks his phone. “Nah, I think they close at eight.” Then, at her raised eyebrow, “I live right over there, I don’t just have an encyclopedic knowledge of every restaurant’s hours in the city.”

She laughs. “Well, maybe we can go sometime. I’ll bring the chutney. Do you want more sake?”

He hesitates. “Maybe half a glass. I want to focus on the food.”

He starts on the marinated crab as she pours, sighing happily at the contrast of sweet seafood and sour pickle. Mako smiles to herself and shapes the miso-eggplant and matsutake hand roll between her palms.

“Oof,” says Raleigh, shifting on his barstool, and she glances up at him.

“Getting full?”

“Starting to flag a little,” he admits. “But I’m in this for the long run.” He pats the swell of his belly. “I can handle a lot, don’t worry.”

Her heart jumps like water in a hot pan. “I believe in you,” she says solemnly, and they both laugh.

“You know,” he muses around his first bite of his next course, “I’m not even really an eggplant guy. Or, I wasn’t. But this may have converted me.”

“It has that effect. One of my staff is a real meat guy, very into beef, and it’s one of his favorite rolls on the menu. Even more than the wagyu.”

“Wow. You’re a magician,” he says approvingly. “This has all been incredible.”

“Thank you. We’re not done. I saved some of the best for last.”

“Oh, man,” says Raleigh, pretending to rest his head on the table. “What’s next?”

“Pan-seared Hokkaido scallops with soy sauce aguachile.” She arranges the scallops on the plate so that they overlap. “This is the final crest of the ride.” She mimes a roller coaster with one hand. “We’re going to go savory-sour, then savory-savory, and then finish on sour-spicy-clean. Ready?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, and she slides the plate in front of him. Then, after his first bite, “Oh, that is sour. But perfect. Those scallops are like butter.”

“They’re my favorite,” she says. “In the summer I do them with a grapefruit aguachile and they’re even better.”

He sips his sake. “That sounds incredible. I’ll come back for those. I mean, I’ll probably be back tomorrow, if I’m not too full to move. But I’ll also come back for those.”

She laughs as she plates the amberjack nigiri. “Are you familiar with Edomae? I’m working on putting more on the menu, but I like what I’ve experimented with so far.”

“Fermenting, right? And aging?”

“Yes. This is jukusei aged amberjack, dried and pickled in salt.”

“I haven’t tasted much of it, but I’d love to learn more about it.” He takes a small, experimental first bite, and his eyes go wide. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good. Sorry for the language, but oh my god.”

She laughs aloud. “I’m so glad I got to witness this.”

“Can I sponsor you to get more into Edomae?” he asks, covering his mouth as he chews. “Is that weird?”

“Yes, you can,” she says, smiling. “Through a process called ‘eating at my restaurant’ that will benefit both of us.”

Raleigh laughs. “Okay, fair.”

“All right, last one,” she says as he clears his plate. “How are you feeling?”

“Definitely full,” says Raleigh, palming his stomach. “But also having a religious experience, I think.”

“Well, don’t have it all just yet,” she says, presenting the last plate. “This is kombu-cured sea bass with wasabi oil and lemon.”

Raleigh exhales hard, chopsticks poised in his hand. “All right,“ he says. “I’m ready.”

She watches the sea bass melt in his mouth, watches his eyes close as the kick of wasabi hits, then the zing of lemon. He chews slowly, silently, and then he lays his chopsticks down across his plate.

“Damn,” he says finally. “That’s one hell of a closer, Mori.”

“Thank you,” she says, bowing slightly. “And please. It’s Mako. I don’t do private omakase for anyone I don’t consider a friend.”

“So we are friends,” says Raleigh, leaning back as much as he can, a playful smile crossing his face. “I wasn’t sure before tonight.”

“No, we are,” she says with a sheepish smile of her own. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, no apology necessary. I should have reviewed you years ago. You have my word, I will this time. And not just because of the private omakase.”

He muffles a burp in his fist and his cheeks go pink. “Oof, sorry,” he says. “That was … so much food. But so worth it.”

Mako nods. “It’s the first time I’ve seen anyone finish all eleven courses on their own.”

“No!” he says, laughing. “Oh, god, really? I swear I’m not this much of a glutton all the time.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” says Mako, pouring herself a glass of sake and opening the salted plum sorbet to scoop some out for him. “I’m flattered. It’s the best compliment you could give me.”

—

A week later, there’s a new post on the Jaeger’s site: Kaiju’s Homage to Old and New: An Omakase’s Journey through Family, Tradition, and the Best Damn Spicy Mayo You’ll Ever Taste.

[sav1ored]

🍒 Don't roast me too bad bestie 🫶

send  me  🍒  +  a  url  and  i  will  write  positivity  for  them. || @twiicetheheart

//. where do i even begin to say when it comes to my lovely michi ? i already told you i've been lurking on my old ass ramsay blog stealing aesthetics/musing that are negan relatable --- but I've also realized I've come across fond moments between us, can you believe that we've also known each other since around 2017 ? At least that's what it shows when I find things of us back in my many ramsay blogs. BUT WOW ! I was shook by that cause I didn't realize how long it had been ?!

But let's start with just how fantastic you are inside and outside. HOW MUCH I ADORE YOU AND HOW MUCH I MISSED YOU--- yes you know why, we don't have to speak of that. LMAO. I am just happy to have you in my life, always. My fellow Virgos sita for life, always. I hope you know that no matter what, you always had/have a place in my heart and have brought so many beautiful memories into my life that I am thankful for. And I do cherish to this day. And we have so many more memories to create between us, all the food places we can eat LMAO ! Also the ribs matt already promised to make us. UGH--- I'm already drooling at how much food we can pig out together. And also I'm hoping when we go see a horror movie together, we get it all to ourselves like we did when we watched Annabelle xD ! I found my old post talking about that and how we got sushi before the movies. I was like LOOK AT US always getting food even back then AHAH !!! Where is our restaurant au LMAO xD xD ! Or food blog au AHHA !

Seriously though let's also mention how precious your oc is, and how much I adore her, and how much I live for her. She's so perfect, you can tell just how much love you put into her, how lovely she is--- and how much love she brings out of my muses. like negan and Soldier Boy for example. I MEAN FIRST OFF--- soldier boy x Michelle came out of nowhere OMFG--- like in started out at a coffee shop, to a hug and now I'm like.... damn just kiss already-- I TOLD YOU I WAS BAD A SLOW BURNS AHHA. No but that's the fun part of finding someone you roleplay with and having chem with them and their muses ! cause obviously I love the way our muses just work together when we write--- it just flows beautifully, I'm honestly thankful to have you as one of my fave rp partners on here, and it's an honor to write with someone as amazing as you, it's an honor to be able to call you one of my close friends, the fact the connection is still there just goes to show how strong our friendship was/ and still is.

I love you so much. Never change, and keep being amazing, and keep making me sob with our things or with yours and jen stuff. cause I love y'all so much. <3

[flame2ashes]

For the questions for Commander Shepard, with the Twist Assist AU:

1, 9, 16, and 49

Oh man Assist AU is so different compared to the canon version so preemptive apology for walls of text. Gonna do this with the latest set I reblogged:

1. Where would your Shepard go back to play tourist? Are they going alone, or bringing someone(s)?

John goes back to Toronto as a tourist years after spending his teenaged years there as a street kid. It's a completely new perspective. The area he had lived in gets cleaned up when the gang's influence gets pushed out, and now it's a thriving community supporting disadvantaged kids through the Shepard Foundation (which is modified from the Shepard Scholarship that gets mentioned in ME2 for Earthborn!Shepards). He brings Jane along for that particular trip; he ends up pointing out a lot of places and telling a lot of stories, including how he fought a Canadian goose and lost GJKFLSLJKGD

Also this is canon to me :)

Jane also brings John to Mindoir to be tourists, because that place after the Mindoir raid is a completely different world to her now. She does, in fact, feel like a tourist in her hometown, but that's because the version of her hometown she remembers no longer exists. John thinks the place is beautiful. Whatever he sees, Jane doesn't. But maybe she will one day

Post-ME3, John's mercenary crew rolls up to his and Jane's new home on Mindoir and complain that he hadn't fulfilled his promise to give them an Earth vacation. They eventually get it; notable moments include an incident with a gondola lift and all the aliens finding out that sushi does not actually come from France

9. What does Shepard like to wear when they’re out of the armor?

The casual outfits I use for my Shepards basically summarize what they like to wear. Jane likes hoodies and cardigans, John likes button-ups. Markus just wears the Alliance Fatigues because he doesn't see himself wearing anything else (tbh I can see him as a leather jacket and hoodie combo type)

16. What does Aria think of Shepard?

I think Aria sees all my Shepards as potential allies or tools, except she would not think of them as friends. She thinks Jane would be hard to work with because they clearly have different opinions on things, so in the Assist AU, she tries to recruit John for Omega instead. She also calls John "Jane's guard dog," which bothered him so much he outright asked Jane if she actually thought of him like that

Aria's time with Jane is mainly canon stuff, but she actually met John first, about a year and a half before Jane woke up. She was satisfied with him because all he cared about was looking for someone who was causing a ruckus with the Blood Pack and leaving with them, so he didn't actually disrupt the order or cause any chaos himself. So she assumed that he'd let her do things her way

Unfortunately, John essentially agrees with Jane's mindset, so when Aria's like "Overload the reactor!!!" John is like "Yeahhhh no, I'm not killing civilians" and sides with Nyreen most of the time. tbh I'm not sure what he'd do with Petrovsky; I'm 50/50 on either he kills him because he thinks he's being annoying (which is essentially what he does in canon), or he just punches him so hard he breaks his nose and renders him unconscious (which is what I think he'd actually do given the chance). Also because he thinks he's being annoying. Jane has to reckon with the fact that Mercenary!John would kill/punch a war prisoner

TL;DR they get the job done, but Aria isn't about to invite either of them for tea anytime soon. lol. lmao

49. Do they have any morning or evening rituals?

John is a "Don't talk to me until I had my coffee" type of guy except on the days where he actually gets a decent amount of sleep (rare occurrence), so I think his morning ritual is wake up, bathroom, dress, then immediately go for coffee before actually having breakfast. The only problem is that even though he knows how he likes his coffee, he somehow can't get the measurements right. (Kaidan, on the other hand, observed what he likes, so he gets it right every time. John thinks he's a miracle worker)

It used to be that John would go from 0 to 100 when he woke up, but that was out of necessity for his well-being. He's not naturally a morning person; he's just a morning person when he's not trying to die

Jane's is similar. She would love to just stay in bed, but work is a thing she has to do. She gets up, dresses, then starts working while she's having breakfast. For the majority of ME3, if she's awake, she's working. The only time she's allowed herself to have a break is if she's sleeping. And even that started decreasing as time went on

[p0ssywhippedcream]

FOR TICKET TIME… PLEASE WRITE SUB L PLEASE BC ILY OPHE

Hi lovely! Ilysm thanks for the support🫶

You know how it’s a cliche that CEO businessmen like to relinquish control in bed because they spend the whole day commandeering people around? L is like that, but 100% worse.

He will do anything and everything you say, even things you don’t say. You murmur to yourself that your back hurts? He’s pulling you to bed and rubbing your sore muscles until you’re groaning.

You mention that sushi might be good for dinner? Pretty boy has a whole buffet set up in the hotel room so you can get whatever kind you want.

Don’t even get me started on when he notices you’re feeling a certain kind of frustration. Your plush thighs are squished together, hands coyly playing with his shirt as you sit next to him.

You’re supposed to be watching the movie that L picked for tonight but currently your mind is elsewhere and your ever-attentive boyfriend can tell.

“My love?” He calls your attention and you look at him with love, hunger and a question in your eyes.

“Mhmm?” You respond and toss your legs over his lap to bring you two ever closer.

This is the part L fumbles. He’s learned that asking “Would you like to have sex?” is barely better than “Would you like to engage in sexual intercourse?” and even that took months to figure out. So instead of both those horribly embarrassing options, he places his hand under your chin and brings your lips to his.

A smile blooms between your kiss but it’s unclear who owns it. You let loose an airy giggle his mouth captures and bring a hand to his hair. Pulling his head closer to you at a new angle, you’re leaning back against the couch as his mouth ravishes yours.

Through the kisses, his hand transfers to your waist and tickles you just enough that the feet on his lap jump and brush his erection.

You pull away with a shark-like grin, “What’s this?” You trace your toes around his bulge and reveal in his groan.

“Evidence of my attraction to you, I suppose.” How he maintains his composure, you don’t know, but you do know that you’ll love breaking it.

“To the bed.” You stand and promptly lose your balance as he literally sweeps you off your feet and carries you into the next room. You wiggle out of his arms and free yourself, dropping down to the bed and stopping him from following with a foot to the chest.

“Undress me.”

Slowly and with loving caresses, you soon become bare on his mattress. Something about that fact drives him a little bit crazy, that this beautiful woman is laid bare in his bed, in his room, more than a little bit wet for him.

He leans over you unsure of himself until you fist his shirt and bring him towards you. You peck his lips then replace your grips with fistfuls of hair and give him gentle pushes towards your crotch.

He makes eye contact with you and realizes that his best try for a intimidating look is ruined by his messy hair and the feral look in his eyes.

“Make me cum,” You supply as his chin bumps your lower belly, where hair growth meets stomach, “With your mouth.”

He nods, spreads your legs and is completely ready and willing to obey orders until your hands force him to make eye contact again.

“What do you say?”

L clears his throat but evidently that didn’t help because when he speaks, his voice is rough with lust and breaks on the last word, “Yes, ma’am. Please.”

You release him and push your thighs farther apart, biting your lip as his tongue meets your clit.

His control shatters. He buries his face in your cunt, slurping and sucking and moaning as he tastes you. He’s completely pathetic, and his right hand is stuffed in his right jeans as he works himself to the same pace.

His mouth alternates between tongue-fucking your pussy and greedily pulling your sweet clit between his lips. He needs you so bad it hurts. His moans are almost louder than yours, only stopped by the fact they’re muffled by your mound.

His cock is soaking his boxers, practically crying as he satisfies you. When your thighs clench around his head, your back arches and you gush down his chin, he floods his pants as he pumps himself dry.

He probably looks an awful mess, his hair every which way, his lower face covered in your essence his jeans have a prominent wet stain. He looks even more pathetic with the fact that he immediately dives back in with much more enthusiasm than he ever shows.

[birdstooth]

I’m pressed like this sushi lol

Ya so I came across an article about an actor discussing his ~physicality (I can’t name names bc his stans will put me on watchlist lmao), and it reminded me of when Jon Hamm literally went ham over ppl objectifying him in grey sweatpants and spreading rumours about how the Mad Men directors had to specifically ask him not to freeball on set bc his junk was too big or whatever.

From this Slate article

Do men realize how tone deaf they are when they say shit like this? I guess it’s pretty cold of me to have zero sympathy for him but like…

It’s the lack of insight for me fam… like ya, his feelings of discomfort are legit but he’s speaking as if he’s so shocked and stunned and affronted that something like this could happen to him, an Actor.

Rly?? u have truly never heard of this happening before? Like, not from any of the many female co-stars u have worked with?? Or just like, as a general issue that women have in the workplace??

Why are u saying “part of the deal” as if u aren’t aware of the fact that ppl have been using the “don’t be famous/act/go out in public/been seen if u can’t handle public scrutiny about your appearance” line on women since before u were born? My brother in Christ there was even a Marilyn Monroe storyline in Mad Men lol.

The fact that this incident is newsworthy to him and worth bringing up as a talking point speaks volumes bc I feel like an actress in the same boat wouldn’t be able to do the same w/o experiencing severe backlash…I mean, ppl would automatically be like “Mamma Mia, here we go again 🙄🙄🙄”

And it’s always a lose-lose situation when women try to contribute to the body image discourse

Eg: a “conventionally attractive” Hollywood actress mentions how difficult it is to meet the film industry’s standard of beauty

Response: shut up Margot Robbie/ScarJo!! it’s not your place to talk about this!! U are obviously a 10 so stop lying about having image issues 🙄

Eg: an attractive but not “Hollywood attractive” actress

Response: shut up Amy Shumer/Mindy Kaling!! Why are u complaining about how u are size 6/8/10/whatever when the average person is a size 12/14/16!! Stop acting like u are fat for attention 🙄🙄

It’s like on one hand, ppl who “have nothing to complain about” are shamed for discussing their insecurities, but then when “plus size” actresses (who may or may not actually be plus sized) visibly lose weight, everyone is like “wow, way to give in to the industry standards!! U are letting down other women!! U should just embrace being fat and take one for the team!!”

Anyway do u guys this I guessed this book correctly or

[unavernales]

Of course Serghei didn't need to be doing all that. He could just go find someone easy and simple, someone that was just dying to have his attention, and still, the tall man was doing extra work to impress Noori. And he sure felt flattered by that fact. He didn't mind that Serghei would get comfortable immediately, he liked it, that when they saw one another, things were usually easy. He was feeling comfortable with the blond male, liked the way his gaze would linger on himself. Noori himself carried the bag of sushi-tacos into his kitchen, getting out a plate to place them there properly. "Do you want a plate for your burger?" And he found himself pursing his lips shortly. "Water will do, I assume you're not drinking lately?" After seeing that sad burger without a bun, he felt like alcohol was not on the menu as well. "Or else we could have had some wine." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I guess we could keep it warm, yes, I prefer it warm." And his gaze was slowly wandering over the male. Maybe food could wait. "Do you regularly wash someone elses face?" He had been surprised about that request, but didn't mind if Serghei really intended to do that for him. "I mean, I did have my face cleaned once or twice by professional spa-people but I can't say it's something I do often."

"nah, my coach would fuckin' kill me," he comments as he warms the oven and places the brownie inside. "if you want wine, drink some wine, baby. don't let my shit-" he gestures to his food. "influence you." they've only talked briefly about serghei's career turned hobby in mixed martial arts. as much as flexing his stats and muscles had gotten him dates before, he knows noori wouldn't be so easily impressed. at noori's question, he shrugs and adjusts the snapback on his head. "i used to help my sister." it's the first time he's ever mentioned farrah. he doesn't usually bring her up to fuck buddies, but. well. it's noori. "she's in cheer and dance and whatever the fuck else. broke her collarbone once real bad. had to help her put on her makeup and wash it off." he takes a sweet potato fry into his mouth, standing up straighter when he feels noori closing in and looking at him closely. "you deserve to be pampered." serghei says it like it's scientific fact. no room left for arguing. "c'mere." he nods in front of him, impatient with the fact that he hasn't been able to get his hands on noori quite yet. "been thinkin' about you."

[foreverindreamlandd]

Need more of that blue in my life

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Reader

WC: 3.2k

Based on the request by @nessie2183: “What about reader finding out she's pregnant. It was TOTALLY unplanned. How would she handle telling Bucky, how would he handle hearing the news. I feel like in true Bucky fashion he wouldn't have the best first reaction bc he's scared but would totally make it up to reader.” Thank you for sending in this request and I hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: Cursing. Allusions to an unwanted pregnancy and throwing up. Mentions of periods and unprotected sex. Angst that ends with fluff!

-----

You knew something was up when the smell of sushi had you running for the bathroom on your lunch break.

You hardly ever got sick, let alone so immediately sick that you felt like you were running to beat some invisible timer.

Once you believe everything had come out that will come out, you sat with your back against the bathroom wall, pulling out your phone to google the signs of food poisoning. The sushi was from your favorite restaurant, so the idea that they might have fed you bad fish seemed unlikely, but it still couldn’t hurt to check.

Your eyes glanced over your period tracking app while looking through your home screen and you froze, all the blood draining from your face.

Oh shit.

There’s no need to open the app. You knew it had been a while since you last had your period.

Too long, actually.

Frozen in place, you remained on the floor, eyes blankly staring at your phone screen which has now gone black.

------

You left work early and ran to the nearest drug store -- buying what some might consider way too many pregnancy tests -- before returning home.

Now, you were in a different bathroom, feeling nauseous for totally different reasons, staring at five positive tests.

You were pregnant.

“Oh my god,” you murmured to yourself. And then the tears started to fall.

I’m pregnant.

You covered your face with your hands, taking in deep breaths.

Oh my god.

You lowered your hands, a grin spreading across your face and you breathed out a laugh.

I’m so excited.

The sounds of the front door opening caused you to jump, turning to look outside the bathroom door.

“Doll? You in here?” your favorite voice echoed throughout the house.

Bucky.

“I stopped by the store and grabbed some stuff to help you feel better,” he continued, and you could hear him down the hall as he placed the items on the counter. “We got saltines, soup, tea, ginger ale, bath salts, and I’m prepared to give you a back rub for the rest of the day.” You heard his steps heading toward the hallway. “Hello? Y/n?”

You wiped away your tears, grabbed one of the tests and walked out of the bathroom. “I’m right here, Bucky.”

He met you in the hallway with a smile, and you felt your heart swell as your eyes fell upon your gorgeous husband. You and Bucky had been married for only six months, but they felt like the best six months of your whole goddamn life. And the fact that you got to spend the rest of your life looking at that smile? The way his ocean blue eyes crinkled in the corners? The fact that you were usually the cause of that smile?

You were the luckiest person on the whole goddamn planet.

His smile dropped as he noticed fresh tears welling in your eyes. “Hey,” his pace quickened as he moved forward to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug, cheek resting on the crown of your head, “What’s wrong, love?”

You gave him a small squeeze before you pulled back, smiling up at him. “Bucky, I have news.” His brow furrowed as you lifted your hand and revealed the positive pregnancy test. He gave you a confused look for a second before recognition set in, and you felt his whole body go still.

“You sure?” he mumbled out.

“I took five,” you chuckled, slightly embarrassed at your thoroughness. “They’re all positive. We’re having a baby, Buck.” Tears fell down your face and you smiled.

Bucky pulled you back toward him, his grip on you even tighter from before. You smiled into his shirt. The two of you hadn’t planned on having this happen so quickly. Bucky had said that he wanted to wait a few years to let you two get settled, to make sure you both felt ready. You were still on birth control, but since you were married to a super soldier with….certain enhancements, the two of you still used a condom to make sure all your bases were covered.

There was that one time, almost two months back...at a gala where Thor had brought that deadly Asgardian meade, and Bucky had gotten a bit tipsy and a bit frisky. When you got home from the party things were a bit escalated and a bit rushed. You hadn’t been as careful.

Still, you had always been excited about the idea of starting a family with Bucky. You couldn’t wait to start this chapter with him, to see him as a father. There was no one else you could imagine being a parent with. Having it happen sooner than expected felt more like a dream.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Bucky choked out, and you were instantly brought out of your head and back into the present moment. Your smile dropped, and you felt all the blood leaving your body. “I can’t believe I did this. It must have been the damn gala, I shouldn’t have drank so much and then not used a condom that nigh-”

“Wait,” you cut him off, pulling your head from his chest. You looked up at those blue eyes, now filled with tears. Apparently they weren’t tears of joy like yours were. “Why are you sorry?”

Bucky was shaking. “Because I got you in this situation. It’s all my fault and now you’re pregnant.”

“Situation?” You pulled back more, now out of his arms and you crossed your arms over your body, guarding yourself from the love of your life. “You’re calling our baby a ‘situation?’”

He looked at you with confusion. “I...I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to wait-”

“Well, yeah, but that was because you did. And I was okay with waiting but if it happened sooner I would have still been thrilled which apparently is not the case for you,” you could hear your voice growing more tense and Bucky winced at the sound of it.

“It’s just…” Bucky ran his hands through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts, “I wanted to meet with Helen and get tests done. You know, with the serum and everything running through my veins. I don’t want this baby to hurt you in anyway-”

You let out a bitter laugh, cutting him off. “Bucky, Steve and Peggy had kids and she was fine.”

“But that was different!” Bucky’s voice grew more and more panicked. “Steve’s serum was different from mine. Who knows what kind of shit Hydra put in me, and now that could affect you. I justed wanted to wait two years-”

“God, Bucky, what is with this two year plan? That’s always the number you give when talking about starting a family. Why did you want to wait so long? Did you want to enjoy our marriage just the two of us, or is it something else? Did you hope that you would die on a mission before then and not have to worry about it?”

Bucky froze, and you felt for the third time like you were about to be sick as bile rose in your throat.

“No,” you choked out, more tears falling, “That can’t seriously be it, is it?”

“Love,” Bucky whispered, walking toward you and you took a step back, disgust painted across your face.

“So, what? You would rather die than spend the rest of your life raising a family with me? The idea of being parents horrifies you that much?” A part of your brain knew you were being unfair, yet the anger consuming you was too strong for you to stop.

Bucky’s face crumpled. “Of course not. Doll, let me just explain-” He tried once again to step toward you and felt a second of relief as you walked towards him as well. That relief quickly diminished when you shoved his metal arm aside and walked past him and toward the front door.

“I gotta go,” you bit out, putting on shoes and grabbing your purse. “I need some fresh air. I need….I don’t know. I’ll be back.” Your hand touched the doorknob, but right when you moved to turn it a hand covered yours.

Bucky stood next to you, eyes pleading, a look of pain covering his face. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

You almost agreed, almost took your hand off the handle and allowed this man, the love of your life, to take you in his arms once more and forget this whole situation happened. But then his voice from earlier echoed in your ears.

I’m so sorry, Y/n.

“Bucky, you just ruined what I thought was going to be one of the happiest days of our lives. I love you, but I honestly can’t look at you right now. Not while it feels like my heart is being ripped in two.”

Bucky let out a sob, lowering his head in defeat as he lifted his hand from yours, stepping back from the door.

You lifted your free hand to reach out to him, but stopped short, lowering it back to your side.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered out before opening the door and leaving a devastated Bucky behind.

---------

“I feel like I fucked up that conversation,” you sighed into your phone, head resting on the steering wheel of your car which was currently parked in a lot overlooking one of your favorite views of the city. “I mean, he also fucked it up. I guess we both could have done more to have fucked it up less.”

“Man, your husband sure has taught you to swear like a sailor,” Laura Barton chuckled. You called her as soon as you stopped driving, then proceeded to sob uncontrollably as you gave her the rundown of your no-so-pleasant pregnancy announcement with Bucky.

Laura had become a close friend to you over the past year since Nat passed. You both had loved her so much, and having someone to share stories with about your sassy redheaded friend had been what anchored the two of you together. Now, Laura was the powerhouse mom, wife, woman you relied on for support and strength when needed. And right now? You needed it.

You groaned. “Sorry. I guess I should start being better about that. Seeing that I’m going to have young ears listening to what I say sooner than expected.” You lean back in your seat, resting your free hand over your stomach.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve been parents for years and Clint still has a problem keeping his language in check. You’ll learn to take the wins and losses of parenting as they come. As for the Bucky situation, I agree that it probably got more heated than both of you planned. I’m sure he’s just as excited as you are. But he has demons he still needs to learn to fight off. Ones that probably make him feel scared and unworthy.”

“He shouldn’t, though. He’s going to be the best dad. The love and warmth he’s brought into my life ever since I met him proves that.”

“And did you tell him that?”

You paused. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well, I’m sure he needed to hear it. Just like you needed to hear that he was happy to be having a baby.”

“So what do I do now? Did I totally fu-mess it up for good?”

“God no, Y/n. Clint and I had a similar situation when we found out I was pregnant for the first time. We were both terrified and excited. We didn’t know if we could safely raise a kid with Clint always having a target on his back. We fought for days about what we were going to do. I wanted him to retire, he felt like his work wasn’t done. In the end we worked it out. It hasn’t ever been easy, but it’s never not been an amazing experience.”

You groaned. “You’re right. I should talk to him.”

“I’m always right.” You heard Clint bark out a laugh in the background followed by the sound of him yelping out a sorry. “Go talk to him. Let him know how you feel and what you need and allow him to do the same. And just remember that he loves you. That part is painfully obvious to the entire fucking world.”

“Woah! We got a curse from Laura Barton? This day keeps getting crazier and crazier.”

Laura laughed. “Let me know how it goes and if you need anything else. Clint says congrats, by the way.”

You smiled. “Tell him thanks. And thank you. For listening, for being here, for everything.”

“Anytime. You’re going to be fine. All three of you. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” You hung up the phone, let out a loud sigh, then turned the keys in the ignition.

------

“Fuck,” you heard Bucky curse as you slowly opened the front door.

“Bucky?” you called out softly. Now you heard the clattering and shuffling coming from the living room to your left and you turned your head in that direction to find your husband sitting on the floor looking up at you, panicked, holding a screwdriver and a piece of wood.

He was sitting next to a half-assembled crib, as well as four stacks of books, five bags of diapers, and a giant u-shaped pillow.

“What’s….” you paused as you tried to process everything you were seeing, “What’s all this?”

Bucky gave you a weak smile. “Sorry. I meant to have this all put together before you came home. These fucking directions suck.” He sighed, putting down the crib pieces and standing up.

“You bought a crib?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

He chuckled, turning back at the piles of his haul from today. “Yeah, well, I wanted one less thing to worry about. I called Clint right after you left to ask him what I needed.” Bucky moved to the giant pillow and picked it up. “He said that this was Laura’s favorite thing when she was pregnant. He joked saying that he’s pretty sure that thing got more action than he did during those nine months.” Bucky chuckled. “Which is fine. Whatever helps you feel more comfortable.”

“You called Clint?” You tried to come up with more things to say other than these simple questions, but your mind kept coming up blank.

“I did. I needed advice. And I needed someone to confirm that I was being an idiot and then tell me how to try to make it better.” He sighed, putting the pillow back on the ground and placing his hands on his hips, eyes trained on yours. “Not that any of this is enough to make up for how horribly I acted earlier. It was shitty, and I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am.”

You nodded, feeling fresh tears welling in your eyes for what seemed like the millionth time during this very long day.

Bucky took your silence as a go ahead to continue. “I have many regrets in my life, doll, but I think my biggest one yet is how I reacted to you telling me that you were pregnant. That I made you believe that I wasn’t so fucking excited, because I am. I’m just also terrified of fucking up, which it looks like I’m already off to a great start.” He let out a half-hearted chuckle before continuing.

“I wanted to wait two years just so that we could have time to plan. Not because I thought you weren’t ready to be a mom. God, I think you’re going to be the best fucking mom in the whole world, love, and I am honored to raise a family with you. It’s just, I’m also terrified about being a dad and I wanted to try to plan it and feel like I had some sense of control. Of course I don’t want to die and leave you behind. I want to live fucking forever so that I can spend forever with you, and our kids. I just...I panicked and I fucked it up and I’m so sorry-”

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. Bucky stilled for a second, heart pounding in his chest before relaxing into your touch and putting his arms around you.

The two of you stayed that way in silence for a few minutes, allowing your heart beats to sync up as you both started to feel a sense of peace for the first time today.

“I’m scared too, ya know,” you finally whispered into his shirt. Bucky said nothing, just gave you a gentle squeeze. “This is a huge deal, and I’m terrified that I’m going to make so many mistakes and that I’m going to fail. But that’s how it is with everything in life, Buck. We can only control so much, but more often than not things don’t go according to plan, and we need to find ways to make the new unexpected plans work.

“I think you’re going to be the best dad ever, Bucky. Sure, you’ll mess up and I will, too,” you chuckled, “But from all of the love you’ve shown me, the way you have supported me and encouraged me and built a life with me, I have zero doubt in my mind that you are going to do all of that and more for this kid, and any other kids we may have. I’m scared, but I’m so happy and so excited. And I’m sorry for not giving you time to explain yourself earlier and giving you time to process such a big thing. I shouldn’t have left you like I did. That was wrong. I think my fear took over and then it turned into a dumpster fire of a situation.”

Bucky chuckled. “It sure as hell did.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear then leaned down to kiss you, and you let out a content sigh into his lips. “I love you, Y/n,” he whispered, then knelt down so that he was eye-level with your stomach. “And I love you, kid.” He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I can’t wait to fucking meet you,” he looked up at you and you could see tears forming in his eyes, probably matching the ones that were currently falling down your face. You lifted a hand and used your thumb to wipe away a tear from his cheek.

“I really, really, really hope this kid has your eyes, Buck. I need more of this shade of blue in my life.”

Bucky laughed. “Well, I hope they have your smile, doll. It’s the brightest thing I’ve ever seen, I swear it could give the fucking sun a run for its money.”

You gave him said smile as Bucky stood back up, taking you in his arms once more, your chin resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “We need to start working on our language before this little one arrives.” Your eyes narrowed. “Speaking of which, we need to call the Bartons.”

Bucky furrowed his brows in confusion. “And why is that, sweetheart?”

“Well, first of all, we need to thank them for basically fixing this situation for us. And we might as well ask them to be godparents while we have them on the line…”

-----

Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out my other stuff here. :)

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me through my kofi account!

[harrys-titties]

Y/N and Harry hate each other, until they don’t. 

29K+

Warnings: Asshole Harry, A LOT of swearing (I’m sorry,) mentions of anxiety, a questionable game of drink or truth & smut 

(A/N FINALLY I FINISHED!!  Blood, sweat and tears has been put into this one, so I hope you all enjoy! Love you all <3 Also you may have to open in your web browser bc she is big af xx) 

-masterlist-

It wasn't that Y/N didn't like Harry, in all honesty, she didn't know him well enough to come to that conclusion. But from what she'd seen so far, she wasn't too impressed. She had never found it too challenging to make new friends, often finding herself able to get along with even the oddest of characters, but with Harry, it was a different story.

Perhaps if they weren’t forced to stay in the same house during quarantine, having to spend days on end with only each other and their housemates to cure their boredom, things would be different. Maybe, just maybe Harry wouldn’t have come across as so disagreeable and overbearing. 

However, at this rate, Y/N was led to believe it was just who he was. An asshole who had somehow tricked the entire planet into believing he was the epitome of the ‘boy next door’ stereotype. 

Sarah, Y/N’s cousin, had called her sometime around July, asking her if she wanted to quarantine with her, her boyfriend, Mitch and a few mates rather than alone in her somewhat dingy apartment. Y/N had immediately jumped at the opportunity. Quarantining by herself had already proved to be somewhat tricky and incredibly depressing. While she loved her charming little abode, she was certainly not prepared to spend the next few months stuck inside it, alone, watching ‘Friends’ reruns with a bottle of wine and only her three potted cacti to keep her company. 

So, naturally, that led her to the doorstep of Sarah and Mitch's huge shared house with butterflies in her stomach, imagining what her new housemates would be like. 

Sarah had told Y/N all about Mitch, Jeff and Harry, exclaiming how funny, kind and welcoming they would be, and well, Y/N was excited, she needed some new friends. After her last break up about a year ago, had lost her a boyfriend and subsequently the mutual friends of his that she thought had become hers too, she felt slightly lonely. For Y/N the chance to cure isolation boredom blues and make some new friends was an offer she wouldn't dream of refusing. 

Upon arrival, Y/N noticed that Sarah's description fit Jeff and Mitch to a tee, but Harry? Well, he barely managed to squeeze into it. When she'd walked through the door, Mitch had immediately offered to take her bags and even offered her some of his favourite tea to help her relax after her relatively stressful journey. Jeff gave her a huge hug and asked what her favourite snacks were so he could add them to the shopping list. And Harry? He sat in silence with his head practically glued to his phone, hardly even sparing a glance in her direction. 

Y/N didn't let this discourage her. She prided herself on being friendly and often easy to get along with and so approached him readily. However, greeting him with a cheerful, "it's nice to meet you!" and her renowned smile had only earned her a grunt and a disinterested look. Maybe he was just having a bad day?

On the drive to Sarah’s house, Y/N had been thinking about how exciting it was to be able to meet him. While she’d never been an avid fan of his music, she wasn’t blind to the enormous impact he had on the industry. He seemed kind and beyond charming, and well, Y/N had a working pair of eyes, she knew how handsome he was. She had only ever heard good things and was excited to get to know the man who had made her cousin's dreams come true. 

However, Harry's blase and borderline rude personality really rubbed her the wrong way. Y/N could understand having a rough day, even she could get a bit grumpy the days leading up to her period, but Harry's impertinence surpassed a simple 'bad day' or two. He was impossible! He would hardly even acknowledge her existence, and on the rare occasion when he did, he was insolent and passive-aggressive. He would nitpick everything Y/N did, from the way she would dress to something as simple as how much soy sauce she had on her sushi! Y/N didn't know how she would survive another week with him, let alone the whole of isolation. 

Maybe loneliness, copious amounts of alcohol and friends reruns would’ve been the better option. 

——

It wasn't that Harry didn't like Y/N, in all honesty, he didn't know her well enough to come to that conclusion. There was just something about her that grated on his nerves. It could possibly be the fact that Sarah had insisted she was his type before he'd even met her. While Harry had countered, unless she looked exactly like the ex he was still very much pining over he doubted it to be true, Sarah had insisted. She showed him picture after picture from their trip to Europe together, pointing out how pretty Y/N's hair looked, or how dazzling her smile was.

While there was a resemblance to the girl on his mind, Harry doubted it was enough to remind him of the heartbreak she had instilled upon him. Alas, Harry was wrong. When Y/N had floated through the door without a care in the world, Harry had frozen. While Y/N did kind of resemble his past girlfriend Elle, it was the way she acted that frustrated Harry more. She had the same air about her, carried herself in the same way that Elle did, with humble confidence and poise.  

Harry hated it. The more he got to know Y/N, the more he realised that she was somehow simultaneously similar and completely different from the girl he was still in love with, and he hated it. She was a constant reminder of what he could no longer have, and he didn't know if he wished Y/N were more like Elle so he could have a part of her back, or if he wished she was a completely different person altogether.

Either way, Harry could hardly hold in the frustration he felt around her, snapping at anything she said and nit-picking her every move. 

While he knew he was acting unreasonably, he barely had a cause to stop it. 

——

Y/N was usually self-confident and relatively sure of herself, but she was also stubborn, and for some reason was bothered by Harry's opinion of her more than she cared to admit. 

So, over the first few days of her staying at the house, Y/N had tried her hardest to get Harry to like her, but her endeavours only seemed to further annoy him. She baked him carrot cake because she'd heard it was his favourite, but with a screwed up nose, Harry had swiped his finger through the icing to taste it and grumbled, "way too sweet," before retreating back to his room. Y/N was embarrassed as Sarah had given her a sympathetic look and insisted "everyone else will love it!" 

When doing her washing, she added Harry's whites with hers and even went so far as to dry and fold them too. But when she woke the next day, the clothes had been taken from the laundry, and Y/N was not given a spare glance.

 Harry had insisted they watch a horror movie during their weekly movie night, and Y/N didn't say a word of opposition, even though she knew she would have nightmares that night. Sarah had even tried to say something on her behalf, but Y/N quickly hushed her, not wanting to cause a scene and have Harry hate her even more than he already did. 

But Y/N's quick agreeance to watch 'Halloween' disagreed with her a lot more than she thought it would. She had hardly slept at all, jumping at the smallest of sounds and debating the probability of a murderous man being able to break into the house. When she turns again for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night, only to be met with the glaring '3:30' from the mickey mouse alarm clock she had nearly forgotten to pack, she gives up. 

In an attempt to calm herself down from the numerous haunting images flashing through her mind, Y/N begins her trek to the kitchen. A cool glass of water and perhaps one of the cupcakes Sarah and herself had baked the day before, would surely put her overworked mind at ease. 

As Y/N begins to walk down the stairs, she can't help but imagine behind every door a murderer with a knife, that each step in the pitch black was one closer to her death. The eerie silence of the house full of sleeping people only made her feel worse. 

Scolding herself for ever agreeing to watch the stupid movie in the first place, she turns around to flick on the lights to the hallway and stairway. Feeling slightly more comfortable now that she could see, she walked downstairs only to repeat the process in the kitchen, dining room and living room until the whole house, bar upstairs, was flooded with light.

Standing in the fully lit kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate she had found in the cupboard and munching away at the sweet treat, Y/N finally begins to feel somewhat safe. That is until a dark figure suddenly emerges from the hallway.

 "Harry! What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me," she exclaims while clutching at her rapidly beating chest. With his chestnut curls in a tangled heap upon his head, one sock on and clad in only a white shirt and boxers, he looks slightly worse for wear. "What the fuck are you doing, making such a racket at four in the fucking morning?" His voice sounds strained as if he'd just woken up and his face is screwed in annoyance as he points at the provincial-style clock hanging on the wall for emphasis. 

Y/N hesitates, she knew telling Harry his movie choice had kept her awake would not end well, "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you or anything." At this, he scoffs, "didn't mean to wake me, huh? Turning on every fuckin’ light and slammin’ cupboards will usually do that to a person." 

Now Harry knows he's being mean, can hear the way his accent thickens with annoyance and can see how she flinches with every raised decibel, and it makes him pause some. He realises there’s more than likely a reasonable explanation as to why she’s awake at such an hour. He's a dick, but he's not a bloody monster, and as he sees her eyes well up with tears, he decides his anger can be put on the backburner.

 "Why are you even awake?" At the softened tone in his voice, Y/N seems to visibly relax some but still remains tense. "I, um, I really hate horror movies, and I was scared, and I couldn't sleep." He sighs, and his voice lowers even more, "Is that why all the lights are on?" She nod's sheepishly, "why didn't you say anythin'? You were the first to bloody agree to watch the movie." 

"You already hate me enough, I didn't want to give you another reason!" Harry's not sure why his chest slightly aches at that, because if he's honest, she's right, he doesn't really like her at all. As soon as she’d walked through the door and up the stairs to get sorted in her new room, he'd approached Mitch. He'd even made a proper scene, asking why she had to quarantine with them. Mitch had defended her, pointing out that everyone else liked her perfectly fine so far, which Harry supposes was a part of his problem with her. He had made sure she knew of his distaste too, barely even paying her mind, and only doing so to mock her. 

So why it felt like his heart was cracking just slightly, he'll never know, but it does lead him to walk towards her slowly, "I can't really sleep either, did you want to watch tv with me until you can?" If Harry was truthful, he'd actually been sleeping like a baby before he heard the cupboard doors shut slightly above acceptable volume considering the time. However, the way her mouth pouted somewhat, and her eyes misted as she acknowledged his dislike for her made him feel awful. 

So as he sits on the couch with her, now donned with his own steaming cup of hot chocolate, he leaves the lights on and gives her his favourite blanket to wrap herself in. He sits on the opposite side of the couch and tries his hardest not to fall asleep, so Y/N could feel somewhat protected.

After a few episodes of 'SpongeBob' had played he looks over to the other side of the sofa and sees Y/N fast asleep, snoring with her head tilted at a slightly unnatural angle. He can't help the smile that finds its way onto his face, as he turns off the television and settles himself further into the couch to hopefully catch a few hours of sleep too. 

——

To say Y/N is confused would be an understatement. While she wasn't expecting to wake up to Harry presenting a friendship bracelet and a new found love for her, she was expecting him to at least stop hating her.

She was surprised at his kindness last night. She knows Harry gave her his favourite blanket. Jeff was always griping on movie nights because Harry manages to nab it before Jeff has the chance and although he claimed he couldn't sleep, Harry's croaky voice and dishevelled hair led her to believe he was in fact lying.

She definitely hadn't expected him to offer to watch cartoons with her. She also definitely had not expected to wake in the middle of the night to find herself pressed against him with his arms tightly wrapped around her.

 Y/N briefly considered moving back to her side of the couch, but if she was being entirely truthful, she missed cuddling. It was one of her favourite things about being in a relationship, and ever since her last one had crashed and burned, she missed the simple feeling of being held. So in her sleep-muddled state, she decided to stay put and hope Harry was as avid a cuddler as she was.  

To be honest, after all that, she thought he'd at least start to acknowledge her existence, or at least not act as if it was the bane of his. However, when Y/N awakes the next day, Harry is in the kitchen with Jeff and Sarah, debating on where to start their tour when quarantine ends. He moves animatedly and is clearly laughing and joking about as he usually does with the other occupants of the house. But when she enters, he instantly stops talking and instead puts his head down, seemingly very focused on shovelling his pancakes into his mouth. 

Y/N hopes, with every part of her being, that he didn't wake up feeling disgusted by her unconscious affection, but she knew it was a real possibility. And suddenly it feels like she had taken one step forward and two giant steps back.

So yes, Y/N is understandably confused. 

——

When Harry had woken up overheated, and with a stifling sense of claustrophobia, he was understandably confused. As he opens his eyes, he recognises the living room's shaggy carpet and cream walls; however, it takes him a few seconds to process why he was actually here rather than in his own bedroom.

The pressure against his chest causes him to startle some, and when he looks down to see Y/N still huddled under his favourite blanket but now pressed against him rather than the opposite end of the couch, the feeling doesn't fade but instead escalates.

How did they end up in this position? Harry knew he was a cuddler, any past lover would be able to tell you that, but that was usually with people he... liked? Why the fuck was she on top of him?

He can just see the side of her face, while the other looks to be uncomfortably pressed against him. Her hair no longer resembles the bun she usually goes to sleep with but a nest upon her head, and what looks like dried drool is smeared across the corner of her rosy lips. 

Harry can admit she's cute. In a puppy that's just been kicked kind of way. He feels compelled to brush the strands of hair away from her face and wipe the spit away with the hem of his shirt, but Y/N moving in her sleep draws his focus away. He sees his lanky legs tangled with hers and for the first time notices his arms also wrapped around her, keeping her close. 

While a half-asleep Y/N is clearly trying to change her position, his gangly limbs keep her from doing so. And Harry panics. He should not be cuddling with Y/N of all people. Instantly and as gently as possible, he rolls her off him and stands from the couch, only to hear a muffled groan of opposition from the sleeping girl. 

Harry was confused, to say the least. He knows it's not a big deal. Two, friends? No. Acquaintances? Hm nope, 'roommates?'... had fallen asleep next to each other on the couch and woken up slightly tangled. It wouldn't be that much of an issue if the last person Harry had woken up next to hadn't been the ex-girlfriend he was very much still broken-hearted because of. Don't get him wrong, it had felt nice to be close to someone again, but perhaps that's the reason why Harry begins to panic even more. 

So, Harry folds up the blanket he had been using, walks to the toilet and convinces himself not to think of it again. And it's also for this reason, that Harry can't seem to look Y/N in the eye as she walks into the kitchen. He knows she's looking at him in confusion, and he feels slightly guilty, but what was he supposed to do? Greet her with a cuddle and ask if she'd slept as well as he did? No, Harry would act like nothing had happened, and pray that a problem wouldn't arise from that.

But of course, Harry should have known better. 

——

Y/N was quite the baker. She had worked a few summers in her Aunties little bakery and had loved it, but even with her passion and keen eye for icing cakes, there was only so much sweet treat making she could do. She was more participating in copious amounts of isolation baking to please poor Sarah, who was struggling with boredom, and who also happened to love sweets. 

So, whenever Sarah would run into her room with a new suggestion, or send her a link to a 'totally awesome' muffin recipe, Y/N would simply bite her tongue and help gather the ingredients. They had already managed to make cupcakes, banana bread, chocolate chip cookies and cheesecake. So when a new recipe comes through while Y/N reads her book in front of the pool, she wonders what other baked goods could even possibly exist for them to make. 

Alas, macarons. Y/N sighed and walked to the kitchen, where she knew Sarah would be preparing their ingredients. "Hey bug, ready to bake the best macarons ever?" On the inside, Y/N started dramatically weeping, but on the outside, she exclaims, "sure am! These might be a bit more difficult than anything we've tried though." Sarah scoffs, "oh please, we're up for the challenge." 

It's then Y/N notices Harry sitting at the island bench, and he catches her staring, "what? 'M bored." She only nods in response, not really one for conflict. "Are you helping us cook? We could use an extra hand." Y/N kind of hopes he'd say yes, maybe a bit of cooperative, team bonding would mend whatever weird rift they had between them. 

However, Harry screws up his nose at her suggestion as if what she had said was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Before he has the chance to snarkily reply to her, Sarah butts in, "Harry actually used to be a baker! Didn't you H." Harry can see Y/N's eyes light up and knows that whatever comes out of her mouth next, he was more than likely going to despise. "I used to work in a bakery too!"

Now, if there was an award for sarcasm, Y/N's sure Harry would probably win it. When he pulls his lips into an over-exaggerated smile and says, "twinnies!" with such derision that it burns, Y/N's smile falls. She didn't know what his problem was. Had it really bothered him that much that they'd accidentally cuddled in their sleep? Who had hurt the poor guy so much that a simple night-time spoon was the be-all or end-all? 

She really hadn't meant it, guessed she'd missed sleeping next to a warm body and naturally gravitated towards him. She liked a good cuddle, for fuck's sake, who didn't? If she could turn back time, she would've stayed in bed, wracked with fear if it meant she wouldn't have to deal with Harry's bullshit.

Rather than responding, Y/N puts her head down and begins to read the instructions Sarah had helpfully printed out. Harry is about to make a snide comment, praying that her baking abilities have improved since the carrot cake she had attempted to make, but he gets distracted by the way the afternoon sun is hitting her skin. 

Was Y/N kind of attractive? For the first time, he notices that while she had similar features to his ex, Y/N was pretty on her own accord. 

While often messy, her hair looked so soft, and her eyes were wide and held a sense of innocence. If Harry looked close enough, he could see the tiny acne spots she hadn't bothered to cover and the small bags under her eyes. He briefly wonders if she'd been getting enough sleep and if he had any of the 'sleepy-time' tea left that had worked so well for him before he realises what he was thinking. 

This was Y/N, not Elle, not some chick he'd been fucking, it was Y/N. Maybe he was just confused about his feelings. That was the first time he'd slept next to someone in a while. And well, Y/N was an admittedly pretty girl, and Harry was an admittedly lonely guy who was attracted to pretty girls…

Yeh, there was nothing for him to worry about. 

Y/N mistakes Harry's staring as a glare and does her best to avoid looking at him. She didn't want him to see the well of tears in her eyes and give him the satisfaction. By now, she knew he had meant to upset her, and he had succeeded. 

It was a shame, he really was an attractive guy. Y/N is fully aware that if she'd seen him at a bar, acting the way he did with Sarah and the guys, she'd be instantly in love. She imagines him at school years ago, he probably would’ve been the guy that everyone developed a crush on at least once, boys and girls alike, and has no doubt he probably knew it too. 

Unfortunately, Y/N had not met him in a way akin to a romantic novel. No, she only knew him as an ass who tended to treat her like the dirt stuck to the treads of his overpriced shoes. The only thing Y/N could do was just try her best to ignore him. 

——

As it turns out, Y/N was right, macarons were a lot harder than anything Sarah, and she had previously tried to make. Y/N was tired, frustrated and too sweaty for simply baking glorified cookies. The macarons had taken so long to make, and worst of all, the first batch had come out of the oven flat and stiff as a board. Sarah had pulled out the tray as Y/N was beginning to wash the bowls with a hesitant, "are they supposed to be flat?" 

Turns out they were not supposed to be flat at all. Y/N tried to hide her distaste as she chewed through one of the shells, but when she saw Sarah's face mirroring hers, she giggled. Harry, who had been sitting at the bench, completing a crossword puzzle, also laughed, "guess you aren't as good at baking as you thought you were." 

Y/N would be offended, but notices he's mainly talking to Sarah, and his jesting tone suggests he's not even acknowledging her. "Here, try one. They aren't that bad," Sarah hands him one and he huffs before taking a bite, "better not poison me. You'll have millions of fans to answer to." 

As he chews, it’s apparent that he's not particularly enjoying it. After a hefty swallow, he tugs at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as if in deep thought. "These are single-handedly the worst macarons I've ever had in my entire life. And I say that with absolute confidence." 

While Sarah scoffs and laughs, admonishing Harry with a gentle slap on his arm, Y/N is entirely distracted. She had never seen anyone else with the same habit as her ex. Ben would tug at his bottom lip when deep in thought, and there Harry was, exhibiting the exact same habit. She was astonished, and she hates to admit it, but small butterflies form in the pit of her stomach. She always had, for some unknown reason found it an oddly attractive trait.

While others might be attracted to muscles or deep dimples, Y/N found the little quirks of others most captivating. She loved the drunken ramblings and the uncontrollable tears during sad films. She loved watching people discover their favourite song and the way they would sing under their breath. She loved the unmade beds, dust-covered books, and overwatered plants. She loved the way people would stutter on certain words or adopt weird nicknames they had heard in their favourite movies. She loved pet peeves and the stories behind them and the routines that they followed. Y/N had always loved people. She loved the things that made individuals uniquely them, and this quirk that Harry shared with Ben, was no different. 

If he notices her staring, he doesn't draw attention to it, only continues to banter with Sarah, while Y/N stands in the middle of the kitchen, lost in thought. It’s Sarah's voice that draws her out of her reverie, "c'mon Y/N let's try another batch. I want to surprise Mitch for movie night, he loves these things."

——

This movie-night, Y/N wanted to make sure she would be able to sleep at the end of it, and for that reason, horror movies were off the table- much to Harry's dismay. Sarah, Mitch and Jeff, readily agreed, and after some pushing from Jeff and the girls, everyone agreed to watch a rom-com. The question was which one. 

As Sarah scrolls through the movie selections, 'Clueless' catches Y/N’s eye, and she immediately yells out the suggestion with vivid excitement and is promptly met with... silence. "Guys? Clueless is icon-" Y/N starts, only to be interrupted by none other than Harry, "'s a shit movie, we aren't watching it." Before Y/N can object, Sarah comes to her defence, "oi H, don't be an asshole. We know it was Elle's favourite, don't need to take it out on poor Y/N."

While Y/N prides herself on being understanding and kind, she knows she can be a tad oblivious to what's going on around her at times. She had tried to pick up on it when she noticed it and improve because it had indeed gotten her into some awful situations. And if only Y/N had paid a bit more attention to the situation around her, she may not have spat out her next words. She may have noticed Harry's misty eyes and pursed lips, Sarah's empathetic gaze towards him, Mitch's awkward glance in Harry's direction and Jeff's head buried in his hands. Alas, she didn't.

 "Who's Elle?"  

Silence. Y/N is met with nothing but silence. After a while, she can vaguely hear Jeff letting out the breath of air he had clearly been holding in, and Mitch's mumbled "oh god" under his breath, but she was much too focused on Harry's gaze that was now piercing into hers. "None of your business," he gets out through gritted teeth. 

Y/N is somewhat taken aback, she can clearly see that whoever Elle was, she was a sensitive topic for Harry and immediately tries to backtrack. "Oh, um I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" For the second time that night, Harry interrupts her. "Does anyone want popcorn? We forgot to get some." He stands from the couch, now avoiding Y/N's gaze altogether, and she looks around the room to try and gauge the situation. 

The only one in the room paying her any notice is Sarah, who shares the same empathetic look with her that she had given Harry not two minutes ago. Sarah mouths ‘ex-girlfriend' at Y/N, and it's safe to say she feels awful. While she didn't particularly like Harry, she would never intentionally hurt anyone, and she makes the snap decision to follow him, in order to apologise to him properly. 

When she enters the kitchen, Harry is leaning on the counter facing away from her. His shoulders seem tense, and his hair is dishevelled as if he'd been continuously running his fingers through it.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring up such a sensitive topic." At her voice, Harry's shoulders seem to hunch further, and he turns around while taking a deep breath, "just drop it yeah? Think you've done enough." 

Y/N didn't think that was fair. She really hadn't known, and if she had, she wouldn't have even thought of mentioning it. "I didn't know Harry. I won't bring her up again." Y/N had grown familiar with the way Harry's accent thickened sometimes. It happened when he was tired or bored. It was most frequently when he was angry, which seemed to be a common occurrence when she was concerned, and now was no exception. "No shit, stop stickin' your nose into other people's business." 

In any other circumstance, Harry might have noticed the way Y/N's eyes instantly started to water, or how she'd retreated and hunched slightly into herself in submission. Harry had noted she was a sensitive little thing, and while he often tried to get on her nerves, when he saw her nose twitch and eyes mist up, he knew to back off. But currently, he could only see red, and the fact Y/N had made no attempt to move, made his fury run even more rampant through his veins. “Fuck off Y/N, I'm not kiddin'. Go back to the living room." 

"But Harry, I-" Y/N attempts to get out, but Harry's raised voice causes her to immediately stop. "I said, fuck off!" At that, Y/N snaps. For weeks, she had been doing nothing but try to please Harry, but there was just no pleasing him. He was arrogant, apathetic to everyone around him, pretentious, stubborn and worst of all, just plain rude. 

"You're a real asshole, you know that. I understand you're upset, and I'm sorry I caused it, but you don't need to treat me like shit,” she sniffles. “I have tried so fucking hard to get on your good side, but I'm done trying. It's time for you to wake up and realise not everyone is going to hurt you like precious Elle clearly did." Y/N expects Harry to do many different things, she prepares for him to begin screaming, perhaps start crying? She briefly wonders if he would go so far as to push her out of the way and storm out of the room. 

Although, one prospect she didn’t consider was for him to start laughing. "Oh Jesus pet, you think you're that special? You think you can even begin to be compared to her? Think I'm scared you'll.. what? Break my heart?" As he continued to speak, the sound of his voice grew as did his rage. The veins on the side of his neck only became more pronounced, and the crease in his brow caused his whole face to contort. 

The increase in volume had caused an audience to gather. Jeff, Sarah and Mitch stand in the kitchen entrance helplessly watching the two rip into each other. Mitch is the first to step in, "Harry c'mon, that's enough." 

"Fuck off Mitch, stay out of it." He turns back to Y/N, "please, sweetheart, save yourself the heartbreak. Have you ever considered that maybe I just don't like you? You're fucking annoying, and your pathetic attempts to get me to like you are even more so. What were you hoping would come from it? I'd ignore the fact you grate on my nerves 24/7 and pay you a bit of attention? Maybe even get you off once or twice? Is that it?"

Sarah is next to attempt to break up the fight, "Y/N don't bother, Harry's just upset."

It took a lot to get Y/N mad. She was usually calm, maybe a bit emotional, but very rarely did she raise her voice. But Harry, with his constant grouching and aggressive nature, had pushed her well and truly past that point. "Save it, Sarah. Are you fucking serious Harry? I was just trying to be a nice person. I'm not sure how to tell you this, but not everybody is trying to get into your pants. Guess you'd be so used to girls throwing themselves at you until they have a fucking conversation with you and see what a dick you actually are." 

He snarls at that, "trust me pet, they're proper gaggin' for it." Y/N scrunches her nose in disgust, "You're fucking disgus-" The quietest of the group is the next to interrupt. "Oh for fucks sake, both of you, shut up!" 

Jeff was usually quietly spoken and hardly ever lost his temper, he was similar to Y/N in that regard. As Harry's manager, he had formed a close relationship with the green-eyed boy over the past few years, and not once had Harry ever heard Jeff raise his voice. So when Jeff yells, even Harry knows it's time to back off. He stays quiet and instead gives Y/N one last lingering glare before retreating upstairs to the safety of his room. 

Y/N can't help but burst into tears. She hated conflict, and would usually avoid it at all costs, but Harry deserved to be put in his place a bit. Immediately, Sarah is at her side, attempting to console her, but it only makes her cry harder. Y/N feels pathetic, she hated crying in front of people, and Jeff and Mitch's lost stares were not helping the situation. Sarah follows Y/N's eye line, "can you both get out for a bit?" Both boys all but run out of the kitchen. Now that they were alone, Y/N allows herself to really cry, hoping a good sobbing session would clear her thoughts and emotions from the situation. 

——

Harry was sad. He was not going to say he was always sad, because, in actual fact, Harry was happy a lot of the time. He could admit he had a good life, filled with love, happiness and fun, but there were some times when joy felt more like a mirage to him, something unattainable. 

And maybe it just wasn’t for him, maybe true happiness wasn’t in his cards. 

He was someone who quickly became obsessed, found solace and comfort in certain things. Sometimes so much so it became a flaw, something he felt he would die if he lived without, and one of those was Elle. 

It used to be his mum, then music, then Niall, then Mitch, then Elle and then... nothing. Harry hadn’t found something or someone he felt he could rely on entirely since her. It seemed now he only had himself, and in his mind, that was a potentially dangerous thing. His mum was miles away, Mitch found his own solace with Sarah, Elle had left him, and Harry had never felt so alone. 

Isolation made it worse, he couldn’t distract himself with performing anymore, with drinking his body weight in alcohol or finding pretty girls who looked eerily similar to his ex, to spend a few hours with. So often he found himself uncontrollably crying, alone in bed. Harry never felt shame in crying, but there was something particularly mortifying about being loved by millions of people worldwide, yet still sobbing into his pillow because his girlfriend had broken up with him. Not only dumped him but had cheated on, destroyed him and ripped his heart into little shreds. 

And that’s where Harry was now. Lying in bed, his pillowcase wet with tears, eyes stinging and red, his cheeks stained and raw from his constant rubbing at them, and his back aching from the occasional sob pulling at the already taut muscles. 

Harry just needed a hug. He needed someone to tell him it was okay, that things would work out because at this point he honestly didn’t know himself. 

——

The next few days in the house are hell. Not just for Harry and Y/N but for everyone stuck isolating in the space. Y/N and Harry refused to talk to each other, only sharing pointed glares. Harry does all he can to piss her off, without ever having to say a word. While out for his regular morning walk to buy coffee, he purposely 'forgets' Y/N's. When it was his night to cook, he plays the English rap that he knew she hated at full volume, while making prawn pasta. Which really wouldn't have been an issue, if Y/N wasn't bloody allergic to seafood. While he claimed to not know, Y/N saw through him. Just the week before she had refused to eat lunch when Jeff had made tuna sandwiches and had clearly explained why. 

Y/N tried not to let it bother her and instead did everything she could to avoid him. When he'd come home with everyone's regular coffee order but hers, she exclaimed she "preferred homemade!" and brewed her own cup. She put in headphones and shut her door in an attempt to drown out the crap he called music. And when Harry had placed a massive bowl of steaming pasta that she couldn't fucking eat in front of her, Y/N smiled and ordered pizza instead. 

Mitch struggled through the week, staying as quiet as he usually was. If he was honest, he wished he was just quarantining with Sarah. He loved Harry but also knew that he could be a dick when he wanted to be. So despite Harry's constant prodding for him to join in on shit-talking Y/N, Mitch tried to stay out of it. 

Sarah spent the days keeping Y/N company. She felt slightly guilty that she had invited her to spend isolation stuck in a house with what happened to be the only person Sarah had ever met, who hated Y/N. Instead, she listened to her rant when Harry couldn't overhear. She baked cookies with her, and they sang shitty pop music at the top of their lungs whenever Harry decided to blast his music.  

Once again, Jeff surprised everyone. While they were used to his calming and genuine presence by now, no one expected him to play peacekeeper. Harry supposes he should've seen it coming, being his manager for four years, meant the guy had to have some kind of problem-solving skills. So Harry promptly nicknames Jeff, 'Switzerland' and despite his denials, Harry knew Jeff secretly loved it. 

Jeff spends the next few days quietly talking to all the other house members like some sort of pseudo spy. And finally, after three long days of combat, by some miracle, convinces both Harry and Y/N to talk out their issues and apologise. 

At first, both Y/N and Jeff agreed he should be in the room to mediate, but upon the request of Harry, he was waiting just outside the door, waiting for any sign of a fight, to run in and play referee. 

So that led them here, with Harry sitting on one end of the couch, oozing with confidence while actually being a mess on the inside, and Y/N on the other, nervously picking at the hem of her jumper. 

Harry is the first to speak, "look Y/N I'm sorry. You were right, Elle's a bit of a sore spot for me, and I overreacted." She nods in acknowledgement before speaking herself, "yeh, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have pried like I did.” He nods along, still somewhat convinced he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. 

It’s the next question that makes Harry’s blood turn cold, “I just… I just need to ask why? What did I do for you to not like me? It started before last night. Before I mentioned… her.” Y/N scoots around the heartbreaker’s name.  

She watches as Harry bites his lip in what looked like deliberation before he replies, a deep sigh sitting on his pretty lips. “I don’t know. I know that’s a shitty thing to say, I treated you like shit for weeks, but it’s true. I just don’t know.” 

Y/N’s taken aback. Weeks of torture, hatred and tears and he couldn’t even tell her why he’d acted the way he did. “Harry, you can’t be serious. There must be something! You... you were so mean.” 

Y/N watches as tears well in his eyes, and she briefly wonders if she shouldn’t have pushed the topic. “I don’t know, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He lashes out, once again, his anger getting the best of him. 

Y/N throws her hands up in defeat, “I don’t know what you want from me, Harry. I’m trying here I really am, but you won’t give me anything. What do you want me to do?” 

“I know you are,” he all but chokes out. Harry didn’t know how to express himself, a million thoughts were running rampant through his mind, and he felt like if he were to try and speak, he’d have to spend hours detangling each thought from the other like shitty Christmas lights. He takes another deep sigh. He had to try, he knew it wasn’t fair to Y/N. And well, Harry wasn’t exactly happy either, maybe it would help to tell someone how he felt. 

“It’s just when I look at you... I see her. I see her in the clothes you wear and the way you laugh. You look the same for fucks sake, give me the same doe-eyed look and.. she never apologised. Never said a word, I found her in bed with my… with my best mate, and she just fucking left,” he cries out. “And when I first saw you, and you gave me that fuckin’ look I just... I just got so angry.” Harry’s face briefly scrunches in frustration, but it’s quickly overcome with grief. 

He begins to cry harder, his shoulders racking with sobs and Y/N doesn’t know what to do. She sits helplessly, watching the man she very much despised breaking down in front of her, crying previously unshed tears with his head in his hands. 

What was she supposed to do? She wasn’t going to say it was alright because it wasn’t. But god, he looks so pitiful, and Y/N knows what it’s like to have a shitty ex. She knows how painful it is to see them again after they’ve just broken your heart, knows how hard it can be to feel completely, totally and 100% betrayed by someone you loved. 

It wasn’t okay, and Y/N doesn’t know if it ever will be, but seeing Harry, the stubborn, prideful man she’d come to know, breaking down in front of her, well Y/N can hardly stand it. 

So she does the first thing she can think of, the one thing that made her feel better after her own breakup. 

She hugs him. 

She feels him tense up in her arms and for a brief second, Y/N wonders if he’s going to push her away, but instead, he relaxes. Even goes so far as to push into her slightly, allowing himself to rest his head against her chest, with her arms around him like a tantrum-throwing toddler. 

Harry can’t remember the last time he was hugged. Maybe by his mum before the pandemic, probably in a similar situation, crying over Elle in a pathetic attempt to find comfort in anything that wasn’t her arms. 

Harry had returned to LA to record three songs, “it would be two to three weeks max,” Jeff had assured him. But now he was fucking stuck here, in the same place he lived with her, heartbroken in a house with people he loved, but unfortunately would never talk about Elle with. 

Harry missed London. He missed him mum, his sister, the pubs and the tube. He missed hanging out with more mates than he could count, his little writing studio and his cat. Harry missed his own bedroom, his candles that he forgot to pack and his own record collection. Harry missed walking to the little cafe a few streets from his house, he missed the snow. 

But Harry especially missed Elle. 

He missed her cuddles and her sweet little kisses. He missed the way her nose scrunched when he tried to kiss her in public. He missed her laugh and her awful cooking. He missed her book recommendations and her screaming to pop music on the radio. Fuck, he even missed her screaming at him. 

And what a way to make his longing worse, being stuck with the dead ringer of his ex-girlfriend, only to find she was nothing like Elle, which Harry almost hated more. 

Y/N wouldn’t yell at him when he got angry but rather cry, her tears always sending a sharp pain to his chest. And Y/N didn’t pretend nothing worried her or upset her, she was open and honest. When Harry hurt her, he knew, not because she ignored him or called him a prat. No, he knew because she told him, even if it was with tears streaming down her face and a few “assholes” mixed in there. Y/N didn’t call Harry’s hobbies stupid, she liked them too, even had her own silly ones herself. She enjoyed baking, doing puzzles, and reading out loud to herself. She liked Disney movies and hated horror and loved cider but not beer. 

And Harry found himself not hating her at all, but rather himself. Because somehow, within his heartbreak, he had managed to become attracted to someone who looked and acted exactly like his ex on the surface but was someone completely different in every other way. He couldn’t treat her like Elle, couldn’t pretend she’d hurt him just as bad, and he knew that.

No, Y/N was a completely new risk and a new potential heartbreak. Harry was terrified, and this new territory that at first felt so familiar, made his chest ache and his tummy flutter, so he avoided it altogether. Pushed her away before anything could even happen at all, for his own good, to protect a heart that couldn’t take being broken again.

The two of them sat there for what felt like hours. Until Harry’s sobs slowed themselves down, and he was only shivering and sniffling quietly. Y/N continued to hold him, it seemed like he just really needed to be held.

Elle had clearly broken his heart, and Y/N knew that a part of healing was letting this anger and emotion run rampant. So she stayed put, allowing him to just sit in the sadness, and allow himself to feel a little bit of hope that everything would work out eventually. 

“It’s okay Harry. It’s going to be okay.” 

——

Y/N wasn’t sure this was a good idea. How could it be? Not even a few days ago, she and Harry couldn’t stand being in the same room as each other, and now they were alone in a car, on their way to the grocery store. It all felt too domestic.

But this was Harry, and she definitely shouldn’t be worried about the state of her car, or how to subtly remove the McDonalds wrapping on the floor in front of his feet. Just as Harry, after being handed the aux cord, probably shouldn’t have spent half the journey wondering if she liked the song that was playing and looking out of the corner of his eye to judge whether he should skip it or not. 

But here they were, walking on eggshells around each other. Hoping they both wouldn’t do something to accidentally piss off the other. 

If you’d told Harry a week ago that he would be on the way to the grocery store with Y/N by his side, he probably would’ve laughed and faked a gag. But Harry was actually the one who had suggested the trip, much to the surprise of not only Y/N but the rest of the housemates. 

They hadn’t exactly addressed his breakdown, but it seemed they’d both come to a mutual understanding to try and put the past behind them. Harry considered himself lucky, he knew he had caused and furthered the rift in their friendship, and it was because of this he knew he had to put more effort into building the trust between them back up. 

So, when Y/N was recounting the ingredients for the dinner she was planning on making, Harry had asked if she’d just come to save him remembering the long list. Y/N’s first thought was she could probably just write it down for him before she realised he was actually trying to be nice. And that was more than she could say for the last month of her living with him, so she agreed.

The grocery store was busy, filled with impatient mothers and fun-drunk teens, and Y/N was having trouble pushing the cart through the throngs of people. Harry was walking ahead of her, too preoccupied with his list (and she supposes himself) to notice her struggle and she’s never been one to ask for help. So instead tries her best to avoid the ankles of other shoppers and attempts to keep up with the cracking pace Harry had set. 

It’s only when he turns around to find her ten feet behind him, does Harry acknowledge her, his eyebrows pinched in annoyance, “what’s taking you so bloody long?” To say Y/N was taken aback would be an understatement. After everything, he’d manage to stay friendly for what, half a day?

“Excuse me? Doing so well at being friendly Harry, might want to pull it back, before I get the wrong impression.” 

Maybe it was Y/N’s sarcastic words that pulled Harry back, or perhaps he realised himself, but he really hadn't meant to be rude. At first, it was more of a joke, but he guessed that he’d become so accustomed to being snarky with Y/N, it’d come out a lot more maliciously than he’d intended.

“Fuck, what? No- I didn’t mean it like that. I was tryin’ to joke, but it came out wron- Fuck! I’m sorry, okay?” Somewhere in the middle of Harry’s rambling, Y/N starts to giggle. While she had taken it the wrong way, she was mature enough to understand she’d simply interpreted it wrong. 

“Harry relax, look like you're about to pass out. Sorry I took it the wrong way,” she shrugs, “now, where are the pickles? I’ve been craving them for weeks.” Harry’s slightly taken aback, he’d never met someone who could put an extremely valid argument behind them with such ease. 

Harry wouldn’t have blamed Y/N if she’d gotten angry with him, stomped her feet, made a fuss and yelled in his face, after all, he had spoken to her like a prick. But just like that, she had defused the argument and made Harry feel better instantly, even though he was in the wrong. Nonetheless, he follows her through the isles, making sure to help her steer the trolley when the crowd was busiest. 

Harry had actually started to enjoy himself on this trip, he wasn’t going to lie. Y/N had an easy going way about her that he hadn’t really bothered to notice before. It made it easy to chat about nonsensical things, including Harry’s first dog and his preferred brand of nail polish while they peruse the aisles. He was doing all he could to make sure the rest of the trip didn’t contain any silly arguments like the one that had almost sparked just ten minutes before, and he believes he was doing a good job. 

After stopping by the fruit aisle for some cherries (they were in season, and there was no way Y/N was missing out on the tiny period they were in season for, even if they were ridiculously overpriced,) they reach the aisle that contains pickles. Finally, Y/N had been craving them for weeks, and nothing could stop her now, not even the fact that they were on the top shelf. Y/N’s brows pinch in annoyance, who put pickles that high up anyway? 

She halfheartedly sticks her hand in the air, her fingers barely brushing against the bottom of the jar before looking behind her, watching Harry laughing at her struggle. “Are you going to help me or just keep that smug smile on your face?” 

This makes Harry’s smirk upturn even more, turning into a full boyish grin, dimples and all. “Say please sweetheart, and I might just consider it.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, “please,” and although it is sarcastic and hardly genuine Harry takes it, walking over and reaching for the last jar of pickles. 

What happens next could be blamed on many different factors; the humidity in the supermarket being higher than the average store, it could be blamed on Harry’s sweaty fingers or maybe even the worker who decided to put them on the top shelf in the first place. 

Whatever the fault, Harry grabs the container and almost delivers it safely to the cart, until it slips from his grip and instead ends in a puddle of shattered glass, stray pickles and dripping juice. And of fucking course it’s the last jar, and of fucking course it’s Harry who drops it, right in front of the girl who’s been craving them for so long. 

Harry is almost scared to look up at Y/N’s face, knowing he was more than likely going to be met with a pouting, red, furious mix. She really had been talking about the fucking pickles for weeks, and after both Jeff and Sarah had forgotten to get them in the last two shopping trips, he can imagine her desperation.

It’s as if time was working in slow motion, Harry sees the residue pickle juice dripping from the handle of the shopping trolley, can feel his sock getting progressively wetter as the liquid seeps into his canvas sneaker. And Harry immediately starts to apologise, “fuck I’m so sorr-“ but is interrupted by Y/N manically laughing. Well, he had expected a lot of different reactions, but he hadn’t expected… laughter?

“How did that even happen,” she gets out through her laughter, “you’re an idiot!” Harry can’t help but join in. He was covered in pickle juice, and in hindsight, the situation was pretty funny. “Oi, ‘s not my fault the jar was more slippery than the average.” This only makes Y/N cackle harder, holding her stomach as though it was hurting. 

“Hold on, I’ll get something to clean it up.” As Harry watches Y/N walk away, probably to find a worker, he can’t help but think again how different Y/N was from Elle. Harry distinctly remembers shopping with her one Christmas and accidentally dropping the last box of red and white candy canes (what can he say, he can be a right clutz.) She had been shaking with fury, voice dripping with poison as she asked Harry why he was “such a fucking idiot?” He guesses she was stressed because of the time of the year, but Harry had always hated her vicious temper, which Y/N apparently lacked. 

Harry had only really seen Y/N angry or upset until now, but he could safely assume that was of his own doing. When they were getting along, she seemed to make him feel better without even trying. She could laugh despite herself, and poke fun at Harry without feeling like she was actually reprimanding him for something, and Harry, well he hadn’t really experienced that before.

Harry sees Y/N returning, with what looks to be a less than impressed worker following behind her. That is until she sees Harry standing there in all his six-foot glory, covered in pickle juice. 

She seemed to be around 20, with blonde hair braided into two plaits that sat around her neck. She had bright green eyes, and if she was a little older, Harry probably would have said she was cute. And by the looks of it, she would’ve revelled in such treatment, when she approaches Harry with a, “I’m so sorry, Mr Styles!” Harry waves off the apology, he had been the one to drop the pickles anyway. “No worries love, ‘m sorry bout’ the mess.” 

It’s like her eyes brighten two shades at the pet name as she begins to sweep up the broken glass, blushing as she does, “oh don’t even worry! Can see you made a mess of yourself as well.” Y/N can’t help but laugh, was she actually trying to flirt with a pickle stained Harry? He catches Y/N laughing behind the worker and grins, “sure did. I’m a bit of a clutz sometimes.” 

Now, Harry knew that his personality was very likeable, he was easy to talk to, and he wasn’t exactly bad to look at, so he was somewhat used to casual flirting. Who was he to pull up someone trying to shoot their shot? Usually, he preferred to go along with it, stay polite and at the end of the interaction, cut the conversation before anything serious came of it. And the girl (Hannah, according to her name tag) standing in front of him, cleaning his mess, was no exception. 

“Can see that,” she winks. Actually, fucking winks and Harry can’t help but feel slightly smug, his presumption had clearly been correct. He doesn’t see the harm in playing along, “oh can you? Thought customer service was all about being nice to the customer,” he teases lightly. Hannah giggles flirtatiously and if Harry thought she was blushing before, his effect on her is multiplied. “I’m nice, I promise!” 

Y/N almost gags, she hated PDA at the best of times, but to see them both drooling over each other made her feel sick to her stomach. Harry’s smooth reply does nothing to quell her nausea, “mhm, I bet.” Y/N would literally rather walk home than be subjected to this torture any longer. “Okay! Thanks again for being so understanding, c’mon Harry, we better get going.” 

Harry thanks the server again, giving her a small wave and a cheeky grin as he follows Y/N to the counter to check out their items. “Really, Harry? She looked about 15 years younger than you.” Harry scoffs, “fifteen years?! You think she was twelve, do you? How old do you think I am?” 

Y/N doesn’t hesitate to respond, “old enough to know better than to flirt with someone so young.” 

He couldn’t believe she was pulling this. Harry was a flirty person naturally! He never meant anything by it, and very well knew when it was appropriate and when it definitely wasn’t. He didn’t see how a little friendly conversation could hurt in this situation. “Oh please, she was at least twenty, and I was hardly flirtin’” As the worker is scanning their items, Y/N is packing them into the reusable shopping bags. “Still gross.” 

Was Y/N jealous? For a second, Harry felt the frustration swim through his veins like poison, but the knowledge of Y/N potentially acting out of envy acts as an antidote. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous lovey.” It was Y/N’s turn to scoff. If she’s honest, she’s not sure why the sight of Harry flirting with the server annoyed her so much. She was young, but Harry was right, she was very clearly of age and also stunning. 

Maybe it was the fact she hadn’t acknowledged Y/N with more than an eye roll but readily grovelled at Harry’s feet. It could’ve been leftover frustration from the pickles she would have to hold out from for another week. Or maybe it was that she didn’t like him calling someone else ‘love.’ Perhaps she was just frustrated that it had taken her months for Harry to be civil with her, but had taken ‘Hannah’ all but five minutes. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like the pit in her stomach or the tingling in the tips of her fingers. “Not a chance, Harry.” 

Harry just smiled in response, while Y/N felt waves of negative emotions rolling through her, he felt butterflies erupting from the pit of his tummy, a small fluttering reaching all the way to his heart. Harry was ready to admit, Y/N’s jealousy made him happy. He was a narcissist; that he knew, and a pretty girl getting frustrated that his attention wasn’t purely focused on her, made his vain little heart soar. 

This little shopping expedition had given both of them huge revelations. Harry realised, the thought of Y/N being jealous over him made him extremely happy, and maybe even gave him some new spank bank material? Y/N realised that while she and Harry could be civil, it didn’t mean they didn’t know the exact places to poke and prod at each other to cause a reaction. 

——

It was Y/N's turn to pick a card, and although she'd initially been hesitant to play this game, she could admit she was having fun. When Harry had first pulled out 'Truth, Dare or Drink,' her first instinct was to ridicule him and say, "I didn't realise we were still in eighth grade," but she bit her tongue. After the supermarket, she still felt like she was continually filtering everything she said, worried a single word may be the negative turning point for their relationship. 

And well, after a few rounds, Y/N realised the game was much too risky for a bunch of eighth-graders and found some questions too intrusive even for her adult self to answer. However, with the help of at least half a bottle of chardonnay, she found herself managing just fine. Jeff had called it a night a few rounds ago, claiming he was "getting too old for this shit," but it didn't stop the rest of the group from playing.  

"Okay, ask the player to your left what their favourite sex position is. If they can't answer- both of you drink four sips." Immediately, Y/N turns to Sarah, who happens to be sitting on her left and also happens to be bright red. With a quick, "come on babe, all friends here," from Harry, Sarah buries her head in her hands before mumbling, "from behind." The answer causes an eruption of giggles and hollers from the very tipsy group and a sly smirk from Mitch, making Y/N laugh harder. 

"Alright shut up you lot," Sarah grumbles before picking up her own card. "Dare one player to share their best and worst hookup, or both of you finish your drinks. Okay, well the only one mean enough to name and shame would be Harry, so off you go H." This is met with a disgruntled, "oi" from the man in question and a casual "not wrong," from Mitch. While Harry huffs, he seems to have no issue and responds immediately, almost like he had the answer on the tip of his tongue. 

"Best was Elle, obviously. And worst, um," he deliberates for a few seconds before continuing, "was this guy I met in Brazil, he was awful! Didn't even prep my poor arse, just went straight in for the kill. Was scarred for months." He's met with roaring laughter, and at first, he tries to look pissed but ends up giggling along with them. While his poor bum really had taken a beating that night, in hindsight it was a funny sex horror story for a drunken night. "C'mon Mitchy boy, your turn." 

Mitch picks up the card and immediately scoffs, "This one's to all players, take two sips if you have ever been attracted to someone else currently playing this game." Unsurprisingly both Mitch and Sarah drink, sending cheeky winks over their cups to each other. But what shocks every player at the table is both Y/N and Harry lifting their glasses. They make eye contact with each other as they are sipping and Harry raises a questioning eyebrow towards her. 

Y/N quickly looks over to Sarah, to see her sitting with her own bewildered look, glancing between them. She had known Y/N enjoyed Harry's music, but maybe didn't know how much she also fancied him- that is until she had a conversation with him. 

"So you've either had the hots for me, my girlfriend or the chick you hate, nice H," a very inebriated Mitch says with a laugh. If Y/N hadn't already been watching him, she might have missed the flash of guilt that flickers through Harry's eyes. He looks over at her with an apologetic look, "I never said I hated-" 

"It's fine, Harry. Just pick a card, it's your turn." Y/N interrupts him, she wasn’t going to lie and say that it didn’t sting. However, while she knew they'd come to a newfound understanding, Y/N was well aware that it had initially come from Harry's resentment of her. He sighs but picks up a card anyway, pausing some, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks, before reading it aloud. "Uh... give the person to your left a hickey, or finish your drink." At first, Y/N laughs until she realises that the person sitting to his left would be her. 

In an attempt to lighten the situation, Y/N spits out, "go on, start drinking then." Mitch and Sarah start to laugh, "I could've called that one," Sarah chuckles, but Harry looks rather unimpressed. While she actually didn't care if Harry were to give her a hickey, (let's be real he was a dick, but a hot one at that!) she knew he would be thoroughly put out by it. They had become civil, not ‘drunkenly-give-one-another-a-hickey’ level friends.

"I'm not the one with the problem. I doubt he'd wanna kiss on the girl he hates." Y/N had meant it to be a joke, she really had! But the underlying biting tone would be almost impossible to miss. She was definitely playing with fire here, knowing Harry could snap at any moment. She watches as Harry's nostrils flare slightly before he bites back, "no problem here, you're just scared you'd enjoy it too much sweetheart." At that Y/N scoffs, his arrogance never ceased to amaze her, "oh please, don't give yourself so much credit, Harry."  

He laughs, "are you saying you wouldn't?"

"Almost certain of it," she quickly retaliates. Now, Harry knew he was a dick. He knew he could be impatient and rude. Was aware of his short temper and sometimes biting passive-aggressiveness. Had been well informed of his bad habit of sometimes oversharing and even bragging too much. Even knew how annoying his constant discussion of the superiority of salads to veggies could get on the nerves of those around him. 

But the one thing Harry knew for sure, was that he was good at fucking. He loved to see the person he was with, shaking with pleasure below him. Thoroughly enjoyed giving his partner everything he had, to hear them screaming his name with their eyes rolled back in pleasure. Harry liked having sex, and on account of others, Harry was fucking good at it. So Y/N sitting there, doubting he could make her feel all amazing and jittery, probably pissed him off more than it should have. 

"Fucking c' mere then." While Harry had merely said that in the heat of the moment (and possibly to get a rise out of Y/N) he was beyond shocked when she actually got up and stood before him. "I'm here. Now what smartass?" His jaw ticks and he raises an eyebrow, silently questioning Y/N's challenge. Did she really want to get involved in this? Surely she knew Harry would come out victorious. Apparently not, because she crosses her arms and scoffs, "knew you were all talk." 

Now Y/N doesn't want to admit she's intimidated because god this was Harry she was thinking about. However, when he grips her arms, flips her around and pushes her back into the chair he was just occupying, Y/N can't exactly say she's fine and dandy. 

Harry was much taller than her when they were both standing up, but with her sitting down, he towers above her, and she can't help but feel childlike and demure. His shit-eating grin only grows when he sees that, and he slowly bends down until his cologne infiltrates Y/N's nostrils and fills her head with a fog she can't quite get rid of. "What was that, darling?" 

Y/N is willing herself to say anything, literally anything that wouldn't fuel his already raging ego. If she's honest the barely mumbled, "um, nothing," doesn't really cut it, but what was she to do? Before she'd met Harry, Y/N probably would've considered his looks to be something akin to her ‘dream guy.' So, when he places his hands on each armrest beside her, essentially trapping her, it doesn't exactly help to calm her nerves. Harry oozed sex, and if the look in his eye was anything to go off, he knew it. 

As his face becomes level with hers, Y/N can smell the sweet apple cider he had been drinking and can feel the bottom of his unbuttoned shirt brushing against the tops of her thighs. And for the second time that month, Y/N wonders if she should move away from the compromising position she and Harry had found themselves in, but she once again decides against it. Harry places his hand against the side of her neck, hooking his thumb under her jaw. He encourages her to move her head further to the side with some gentle pressure, which she happily obliges to. 

Y/N can't help but inhale sharply when she feels his slightly chilled lips gently brush against her earlobe, before placing a tender kiss behind her ear. "Is this okay?" If Y/N were in a better headspace, she might have tried to play this whole thing off with an indifferent nod. Instead, she feels herself nodding rapidly, and takes a moment to curse herself as she feels Harry's lips curl into a grin at her eagerness. 

Harry allows his lips to run down the side of Y/N's neck so lightly he knew it must be tickling her. Once he reaches her collarbone, he places a quick peck against it before once again trailing his lips up her soft skin, leaving light kisses in his wake. Y/N's breathing stops as she feels Harry's tongue touching her skin as he begins his ascent, leaving a chilling trail that sends shivers through her whole body. 

She feels herself slipping into a hazy state, in which all control was given to Harry, and while her first instinct is to break it, her second is to bask in it. Her decision is hastily rewarded when Harry starts to suction his lips against her. 

Y/N actively silences the whimper that arises from her throat as Harry continues to bruise the skin he kisses, and she briefly wonders if he had heard the beginnings of her mewl as he chuckles, sending a gust of cold hair down her neck. Harry gently bites down on Y/N's throat, which causes a small sting, the aftershocks travelling all the way down to her toes. But his tongue laving over the mark works to quickly soothe the ache. 

While she felt as if she had sat feeling the effect of Harry's mouth for hours, it had only been about ten seconds in reality. But the familiar pull in Y/N's lower stomach screams at her to ignore time, grab his shirt and push her mouth against his. However, the cough heard from behind her, quells these dirtier thoughts almost immediately. And just like that, as quickly as it had come, the pleasuring warmth Harry provided was gone. 

Y/N struggles to flutter her eyes back open, that she hadn't realised had even closed in the first place. 

Well, she wasn't expecting that, and while she assumed Harry would feel the same, his deep smirk tells her something different. He looks at her with a hunger in his eyes, and she briefly wonders if he felt the same pull towards her. Y/N was fighting the urge to drag him to the nearest bedroom and instead clears her throat and looks behind her to assess Mitch and Sarah's reactions. 

Safe to say, they were as shocked as she was, with gaping mouths and wide eyes, everyone sits in silence for what feels like far too long. Y/N was embarrassed. Usually, she hated PDA, yet she'd just let Harry suck on her neck like some kind of B-grade vampire in front of her cousin and her boyfriend. 

Y/N stands back up to move around to her own chair, but with her head down, she misses Harry reaching to brush his knuckles against her own, but only feels the comforting touch. Harry watches as she refuses to meet his eye, and while he enjoyed himself, he hoped he hadn't gone too far with her. But when Sarah grabs her head and pulls it to the side to see the blooming mark on Y/N's skin, Harry can't help but smirk and feel slightly proud. Y/N had said she was okay with him touching her, maybe she was just flustered, and if her bright red cheeks were anything to go by, that's Harry's safest guess. "Jesus H, you really did a number on her." 

Y/N refused to acknowledge the effect Harry had instilled upon her, but she can feel her cheeks radiating a cherry-red heat, and she can only pray no one else notices. "Uh, it's my turn," she manages to choke out, and a quick glance at Harry shows she's not hiding her flustered state as well as she'd hoped. His dimples are on full display, decorated with his complacent grin, and he's sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over one another. 

"Pick the most attractive player, both of you take three sips," you've got to be fucking joking, she was pretty sure everyone knew her answer to that, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "It's Sarah. Who's next?" Sarah cheers' Y/N's glass and takes her sips as she grabs the next card. 

Y/N can see Harry's disgruntled look and can vaguely hear his murmured, "bullshit," but she only sends him a glare as she takes her three sips. 

——

Harry was drunk. No cut that, he was fucked. It was approximately six ciders ago that he began to feel light and giggly. And then maybe two or so ciders ago he began to have trouble walking in a straight line and was genuinely considering shaving his head. And now, he was here. Planted on the couch watching Y/N and Sarah sing some song he definitely knew but couldn't name, Taylor Swift maybe? 

His head felt heavy, and if he was honest, thoughts were entering his head and then leaving it before he could even acknowledge what they were. He can vaguely recognise Mitch's voice, talking about something that Harry, no matter how hard he tried, could actually listen to. So he sits on the couch and watches Y/N. She looked pretty with her hair down and messy, and Harry wishes he could stop her from dancing and ask if she could just sit next to him instead. But he thinks he's probably just drunk and maybe a bit lonely, so he doesn't. 

He's not sure if he was calling Y/N's name and hadn't realised or if she had noticed how not okay he seemed, but she approaches him anyway. "Harry, are you alright?" She looks worried, and Harry hates that he's made her feel that. He's tempted to use his thumb to mould the lines in her forehead back out like cheap clay, but he's not sure she'd want him to touch her. So he nods lightly, attempting a smile, but she doesn't return it. 

"Sarah, I'm gonna take Harry up to bed, he seems pretty gone." Harry doesn't hear Sarah's response because he's too busy focusing on Y/N's lips and how pretty and puffy they are. He briefly wonders what they'd feel like around the head of his cock, but he's drawn out of those thoughts when he realises she's calling his name. 

"Harry, c'mon, come upstairs to bed with me." Um, had Harry missed something? He doesn't really mind, truthfully he'd quite like to take Y/N upstairs and have his way with her, but, Y/N must see the look on his face because she laughs, "not like that you lecher! God, you really are pissed." 

Harry smiles and takes the hand she's giving him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders for stability. The group had experienced quite a few drunken nights during isolation, but Y/N had never seen Harry this intoxicated before and while she's quite enjoying him acting kind of goofy, she's just praying he doesn't vomit on her during their climb upstairs. 

Y/N does her best to guide Harry to his room, who provides absolutely no help, only giggling to himself as she struggles to hold him up. Finally, she makes it, only realising once she had stepped inside, that she had never actually seen Harry's room before. 

Similarly to Y/N’s, his room has the shell of a guest bedroom, the art on the walls a little too unpersonalised and the furniture stark and white. The bones of the room are fleshed out with Harry’s belongings, clearly in random places that were not permanent, as if he’d placed his records and guitar down the first day he got there, and left them in those exact same places. There are dirty clothes strewn upon the floor, and books sitting next to glasses stacked neatly on the bedside table. Next to them, is a candle that Y/N can’t read the scent of from her position in the doorway, something sweet from the smell permeating through the room, mixing intoxicatingly with Harry’s telltale sandalwood like cologne. 

Harry stands in the middle of the room, clearly having forgotten his purpose as he turns to look back at Y/N with a slightly lost expression. "Want to get into bed Harry?" He nods and stumbles over to his mattress, falling rather than laying in it. As Y/N's about to turn around to go back downstairs, she hears Harry's voice, much quieter than it usually is, "I'm sorry." She's not sure if she heard him correctly. 

"What did you say, Harry?"

"I'm sorry." He whispers. 

"For what?" Y/N knows what he could be sorry for, he did treat her like shit for weeks, but they’d already apologised and somewhat buried the hatchet. "For bein' a dick. You don't deserve it, never did." She walks closer to him, until she stands about a foot from the bed, and can see Harry's eyes full of sorrow and close to tears in the dark. 

"Come on, you're just drunk. If you want to talk about it more in the morning, we can." Y/N knows he'll forget by then, she's not sure he even remembers what he just said. He holds his hand out to her, and she hesitantly takes it, "ya just look so much like her, you know? Act like her too." Harry repeats the same words he’d told you yesterday. 

"Who, Harry?" 

He looks at her with his big green eyes, and she knows he's drunk, and she knows he'll forget this all in the morning, but she can't help but sit down beside him on the bed. 

"Elle." 

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want Harry to burst into tears again, the topic clearly sensitive, let alone in his intoxicated state. So she stays silent, watches as Harry shuts his eyes, and Y/N nearly thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he reopens them again, "nicer than her though. Prettier too." 

Y/N's not going to lie, hearing Harry talk about her in a way that wasn't entirely negative for once was flattering, but she couldn't help but feel it was more the cider talking. She knew how much he missed Elle, that much was obvious, and she had thought that was what had made him hate her so much. She was worried he would wake up angry that he had told her things he hadn't intended to, or even worse, something he hadn't meant. 

So she leans over him to grab the side of the bedsheet he had torn away, but his freezing hand on her neck causes her to pause. His thumb is lightly brushing over the mark he left on her earlier, and Y/N audibly swallows. He was close enough that he could lean in slightly and press his lips against the same spot once more, but he doesn't, only whispers, "looks so good on you." Y/N feels his warm breath against her bare neck as he speaks, causing that pull to return to her lower stomach once more, "H, I don't think we should do this right now." 

Y/N didn’t know what exactly ‘this’ was, she just knew she didn’t want either of them to be intoxicated when it happened. The Harry Y/N knew, would pull back, laugh and ask if she really thought he'd ever want to do 'this' with her, but this intoxicated and unpredictable Harry presses his lips softly to her neck once, before pulling back and sighing. "I know." 

He studies her face carefully before speaking again. "You've never called me H before, I like it." Y/N sighs, "honestly I didn't think we were on that level. Thought you'd get mad at me," she laughs lightly although what she said was true. 

She had thought about adopting the same nickname everyone else in the house used but was too scared he would make fun of her or ask her why she felt she had the right to call him that. So she played it safe, only calling him Harry, but she guessed the nickname slipped out while he was very much inebriated and very much unlikely to say any word of opposition. 

If Y/N didn't know any better, she'd think Harry looked almost hopeful as he whispered, "so we are now?" but the expression is fleeting. She wants to feed into it but isn't sure if it's more her mind playing tricks on her. Showing her things she desperately wants to be true, only to turn around a reveal it was fake the whole time. So she shrugs, "I don't know Harry." 

He nods slowly but doesn't say anything else. "Try to get some sleep." He nods again, "night." 

"Night H." 

——

Harry doesn't know what happened. Had he been drugged? Used as a voodoo doll? Abducted by aliens? Something had happened, because when he woke up with a pounding head, his first feeling was disappointment. But not disappointment about having to nurse a shocking hangover, no, it was disappointing that Y/N wasn't in bed with him. He could’ve sworn she had come upstairs with him. 

Harry was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he didn't hate her and perhaps, just maybe had developed a small crush towards her. But wishing she was cuddling him after a drunken night? That was too close to something serious, something that Harry was definitely not ready for. Not after Elle. 

Walking down the stairs, he wonders if there's a reason for his sudden desperation? He vaguely remembers giving her a hickey, but that was a part of the game. He remembers Y/N walking into his room and sitting on his bed, but can’t recall what was actually said. 

Stepping into the kitchen, feels the same as usual, maybe with added head pain. Mitch is doing the dishes from the breakfast sitting on the table in front of Y/N and Sarah. Everything seems painfully familiar. Except, looking at Y/N now, with sober goggles and daylight, Harry completely understands why drunk him was so enamoured. She looks beautiful, with an oversized tee-shirt barely covering her smooth legs, her hair in a messy bun atop her head, and the striking hickey against her neck painfully obvious. Seeing Y/N with his mark against her neck makes Harry have to will his stiffy away. She hadn't even tried to hide it.

Harry doesn't know how long he'd been standing in the entrance of the kitchen, staring at Y/N like a creep, but she catches his eye and sends him a shy smile. "Mornin' H, brekkies on the table," Mitch states, as Harry quickly returns the smile Y/N gave him and sits across from her, "looks good, man. Thanks for cooking." 

Harry is slightly shocked when Y/N speaks up from the other side of the table, he had been expecting her to ignore him like she had after he’d given her the mark that was causing a tingle in his lower tummy. "How's your head?" She says softly. 

He gives her a small grin, "it's been better if'm honest." She laughs, "yeh, you were pretty fucked last night." Harry can't tell if she's genuinely just making conversation or if she's trying to figure out if he remembered the events that occurred. "Was I? Not too drunk to remember giving you that," he points at her neck with his syrup covered fork. His words have their desired effect as Y/N turns bright red, "really does look good on you love." 

Harry's not sure what he's doing, he's aware of how flirty he is being. While they were now able to be around each other and have a conversation without biting each other’s heads off, hitting on each other was a whole different ball game. All he knows is that the more he looks at Y/N, the more he wants to get on his knees before her. 

Harry had never flirted so openly with Y/N before. What the fuck was he playing at? Y/N had assumed that Harry became a tad clingy and loving with a few drinks in his system. So as he sits across from her, dead sober, and continues to flirt with her, Y/N is confused. Maybe he was still drunk? Had he taken something she wasn't aware of? Been probed in the middle of the night? She wasn't sure, but she couldn't say she didn't like it. 

She also didn't want to get too comfortable, only for him to turn around and treat her as horribly as he had when she first got here. So she gives him a small smile and continues to eat her breakfast, merely listening to the conversations happening around her. 

——

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N could not get the thought of Harry off her mind. Could still feel the ghost of his lips trailing along her neck, and the way his hand brushed along hers. She couldn’t help but imagine the way his lips would feel pressing softly against her own, his tongue licking into her mouth. She imagines his hands to be soft but still firm as they held her hips, her neck, her own fingers laced in his. His voice replays in her head, and she wonders how his accent would twirl and twist around filthy words, whispered into the shell or her ear. 

 She can't forget how she felt hearing the lilt of his voice when it was flirting with someone else. Can’t get away from the pit in her stomach, the aching head and chest. She had laid awake for so many nights trying to figure out why exactly it had bothered her so much. 

She could only amount it all to a certain type of jealousy, but what was she jealous of? Harry had never shown her any sort of romantic attention before, that is until he was suckling at her neck and calling her sweetheart. But what did it all mean? Did he feel the same pull towards her, or was she just imagining his sudden fondness of her? Did she actually like him, or just the idea of his lips pressed against hers rather than her neck. She needed to talk to someone, and thank goodness for her, Sarah was home. 

Ever since they were little Sarah and Y/N had been ridiculously close. They had experienced each stage of their lives together, from playing at the local playground to trying their first cigarette in the bathroom of Sarah’s family home. Sarah was the big sister that Y/N had never had, always there for advice or a bit of fun. Teaching her about sex and drinking, what it was like to kiss another person or drive a car for the first time. Sarah explained everything with practiced expertise that looking back on, Y/N could see she definitely didn’t have at the time.  

Their family homes were only a road apart, and every day either Y/N or Sarah would make the small trek to each other’s house and spend hours discussing nothing and everything. Sarah was the closest thing Y/N had ever had to a sibling, and after Sarah had left for tour with Harry and the band, Y/N had felt a Sarah sized hole in her heart. Honestly, for Y/N, quarantine felt like a blessing in disguise, she felt like they could make up for the months of lost time and distance between them. 

In search of her cousin, Y/N only comes across Mitch reading in the living room, “hey, do you know where Sarah is?” He glances at Y/N from above his book, owlishly blinking as if he was confused, and maybe he was. Mitch is well known for getting lost in anything he loves, from books and movies and especially in his music. “Um, the shower… I think?” 

Bidding him thanks, Y/N heads towards the downstairs toilet where she could hear the water running. While they all had bathrooms in their rooms, they’d found the downstairs communal shower particularly helpful. It was easy to slip into after they’d just come back from swimming at the beach or a run, without mucking salt water or sweat through the whole house. Y/N knew Sarah had gone out for a jog about an hour ago, so had no doubt she was having a quick wash before dinner. 

If it were anybody else, Y/N would’ve waited until they had finished, but ever since they were thirteen or so, Y/N and Sarah had an odd tradition of having intense conversations while one of them was showering. Y/N still remembers the week Sarah’s parents had decided to split up, she had spent every night sitting on the closed toilet seat crying and ranting while Y/N stood under the hot water, listening and trying her best to comfort her. It was a weird habit of theirs, but for them, the chance to chat with someone without having to look them in the eye was therapeutic, almost like a church confessional. 

Although Y/N was relatively happy, she wasn’t about to enter a religious confessional. When it came to Harry, she had definitely committed at least four of the seven mortal sins. No, it was just Sarah, and Y/N knew that no matter what she admitted, it would be received with love and unconditional support. So she charges through the bathroom door, eager to spill all that was muddling up her mind, “Sarah! We need to talk about Harry, I need your help.” 

Y/N expects Sarah’s tinkling laugh, soothing cooing, maybe even a big sigh and her calming voice asking her what was wrong. Instead, she is met with the deep and drawling laugh of Harry himself. 

Looking back now, Y/N wishes she could say she dealt with her mistake with careful grace and poise, but instead she lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and as she sees the shower curtain drawn to the left she slaps her hands over her eyes. The melodic laugh of Harry’s continues as he clearly notices her current predicament, “can look if you want babe.” 

Y/N whines, “I- um, no. I don’t- I thought you were Sarah. What the fuck is happening.” Y/N can hear the smirk in Harry’s voice as he answers, “yeh Y/N, I got that. Seriously, I’m covered up.” 

And maybe, it would’ve been better for Y/N to stay standing with her hands over her eyes like a petulant child because as she drops them, the sight she’s met with is one to behold and one Y/N’s not sure she can handle. Harry is covered with the shower curtain pulled across his bottom half, but Y/N trails her eyes upwards, sees the small trail of slightly damp hair leading down to the white curtain, and her eyes widen comically, he looks like a wet dream and Y/N’s not sure how to react. 

His curls are stuck to his neck and forehead, matted against the soft wet skin. His naturally tanned chest is on display, dripping with water, and covered in his tattoos. Y/N can’t help but notice the inked swallows along his chest, drawing attention to his collarbones, the skin taught against the bone, and Y/N wants to kiss along it and taste the mix of salt and sweetness of his neck. The butterfly covering his abs ripples as he clears his throat, drawing Y/N’s attention away from his body. 

“So what did you need to talk to Sarah about, hm?” Anything I can help you with?” Y/N can feel the blood rush to her cheeks, fully aware that Harry had caught her ogling at his partially naked body. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, and she’s not sure whether it’s from the sight in front of her or the embarrassment of being caught staring at it. 

Y/N stutters, trying to force herself to say something, anything at all that would make this situation less unnerving “um, I-no?” Which comes out more like a question than anything, and Y/N curses herself for her weak resolve. Harry smirks, “Cat got your tongue pet?” Y/N hates how easily he can get her worked up, and hates it even more how obvious it is to him. “Stop teasing me! I can’t, you know, I don’t-... you’re naked okay!” 

Harry’s dimples deepen, and a smirk takes over a little less than half of his face, “don’t pretend you don’t love my teasing, darlin’.” It’s at this point that Y/N realises that she had been in this situation much longer than appropriate, standing flustered and hot from Harry being so close to her while nude. 

“I need to go,” it comes out as more of a whisper, her voice rough with lust. She coughs as if to clear her throat, but from what she’s unsure. The intense desire she feels for a man she despised a month ago, perhaps? “Relax Y/N, no big deal. I think Sarah’s in the shower upstairs though if you’re still looking.”

She nods in response, slowly backing out of the room before turning around and quickly shutting the door behind her. She feels her breath heaving in and out of her lungs. Feels her throat tighten and her head dizzy, and an intense tingling feeling starts at her toes and spreads all the way to her lower tummy. The familiar pull of lust and need brings an ache to her core, and she feels the sticky heat between her legs. 

While Y/N may not know it, Harry is affected by her as much as she is by him. He stands in the shower, a stupid grin across his face, dimples indenting his cheek. Harry could pretend he didn’t see Y/N blatantly ogling him, or her cheeks burn a delicious crimson when she had gotten caught. Could even pretend he didn’t see her subconsciously squeezing her thighs together while she stood in front of him, like she was so desperate for Harry she couldn’t even wait to relieve the tension building inside of her. 

Harry could pretend not to notice, but as he felt a tingle zap down his spine, and the accustomed rush of blood to his lower half, Harry realised he didn't want to. Would rather explore this unnerving territory, and see what it had in store for him. 

——

Harry had reached a new level of boredom. So much so, he had resorted to doing a puzzle.

Harry was notorious for always being busy, was constantly on tour, playing shows and promoting his music. The quietest periods in Harry’s life were the months of writing he’d participate in, where his mind was anything but still. He wasn’t used to doing nothing all day, and while he had tried to write during isolation, the months of doing fuck all made inspiration hard to come by. 

So it led Harry to his current situation, trying to complete a challenging puzzle at the dining table. Sarah and Mitch were napping the late afternoon away, Jeff was playing Xbox games in the living room, and Y/N had gone for a walk, right after she had brought the puzzle out from her room after Harry had asked her to. He had heard her talking to Sarah about how much she loved puzzles a few months ago and had even shown her the one she had brought to quarantine; however, she hadn’t gotten the chance to start it yet. 

Harry had been doing nothing all day, and he was sick of sitting in bed, refreshing his Instagram feed every ten minutes. To be honest, a puzzle wouldn’t have been Harry’s first choice of a relaxing pastime activity, but there was only so much social media and movie marathons Harry could take. 

He was nervous at first to ask Y/N. Over the last few days, it seemed like there was a certain tension between them, as if they were both aware of the lust that had been swirling throughout the bathroom as thick as the steam from Harry’s shower, but didn’t want to admit it. They were testing the waters, sometimes stumbling through amorous conversations, while still attempting to maintain their indifference. 

However, he was slightly remorseful of his decision for a different reason, when he asked Y/N if he could borrow it from her, she had squealed in excitement, telling him her ‘top tips’ for completing a jigsaw for at least ten minutes. He guesses her passion and love for the shitty quarantine past time, overrode her awkward feelings towards their situation. If he was honest, Harry didn’t give a fuck about “making sure to find the corners first!” but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he nodded along and pretended to listen. 

But Harry had really come to regret his decision when he hadn’t found a piece in over an hour. He was frustrated and the stifling temperature Sarah insisted on keeping the house at, wasn’t helping. He had completed a small section at the top right corner, five or six pieces on the left, and a few random bits he had stuck together and somehow happened to get correct. He was slightly embarrassed when Y/N returned from her walk, to find him with his head in his hands, looking more than sorry for himself. Her tinkling laughter doesn’t make him feel any better, either. 

“Having trouble H?” 

He looks up to her standing in the doorway, attempting to plaster his award-winning grin upon his face, “if I’d known it was this hard I never would have asked if I could do it.” She grins back, and walks over to the table, looking down at the pieces with a concentrated focus. “Hm I never said it was going to be easy, thought my tips would help, but I guess not.” 

Harry tries yet another piece that doesn’t fit with the ones surrounding it, and sighs, “if the puzzle master wants to help, that would be lovely,” he lilts. She picks up the segment Harry had just dropped and places into the correct position on the opposite side of the puzzle that Harry had placed it in. “You’re flattering me now.” She hesitates for a tick, “lucky for you, I like it.” 

Harry loved this new dynamic between them, it was light and teasing, something he hadn’t had with her before. He’s not going to lie and say that he didn’t slightly enjoy the biting exchanges they had previously shared, but this flirty air between them was exciting.  

“I’ll keep that in mind pet. Now, what were those tips again?” 

It’s safe to say Harry was impressed with Y/N’s skill, he had never thought puzzles were that difficult until he actually tried to complete one. Y/N however, was fast, seemed to pick up pieces and instantly be able to connect to where they should go, and quickly finished at least ninety percent of the puzzle. Harry fit the odd part in place, which Y/N praised each time, with a small cheer and a “well done!” each time. Finally, the puzzle was almost complete with only one gap in the picture of golden retriever puppies climbing on one another. 

Y/N looks at Harry and hands him the last puzzle piece, “you should put the last bit in.” Harry can’t explain the warm glow that emits from his heart, he doesn’t know why it makes him so happy. She was kind and considerate, and Harry wasn’t used to people always putting him first, usually being doubtful of anyone he hadn’t known for a while, worried about what their true intentions were. “You sure? You did most of it.” She giggles, “nah, we did it together!” Harry takes the bit of cardboard from her and places it in the last empty spot. 

He looks up at Y/N who’s grinning at him stupidly, and he can’t help but smile back. It’s then that Harry starts to really look at Y/N. He notices the dusting of freckles on the top of her nose, her eyes laced with pride and happiness and her lips, the bottom one stuck between her two front teeth, but both looking so soft and sweet. Y/N must catch Harry staring at her lips because she releases the supple flesh from between her bite. 

“Did you have fun?” She whispers. 

Harry tries to reply, but his voice dies in his throat. All he can manage is a small nod, his gaze dropping back to Y/N’s mouth. He lifts his hand to her face, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, and she leans into the touch slightly. Unknowingly, they had gotten even closer, and Harry can feel her small puffs of air against his lips, could brush them against hers if he leaned an inch forward. 

“Harry, what do you want to do for dinner?” Mitch yells from the room one over, scaring both Y/N and Harry, who instantly pull away from each other. Harry coughs, “um, I don’t know man.” 

Mitch walks into the room, Sarah in tow, who sees the completed puzzle on the table and runs over, “you finally did it Y/N!” Harry looks over to the girl in question. Her cheeks a cherry red as she looks over to Harry, “uh yeah, Harry and I did it together.” Sarah looks between them, with an impish look on her face mixed with slight disbelief, “oh, that’s… nice.” 

Harry’s attention is drawn away from Y/N when Mitch pipes up again, “I was thinking tacos, so we could make frozen margaritas for game night.” Harry is grateful for the change in topic, knowing Sarah was more than likely to make a comment that Harry was not ready to address. Particularly if Y/N had indeed continued the conversation she had planned to have with Sarah a few days ago when she’d walked in on Harry in the shower. 

“You know I’m always down for a margarita.” 

—— 

Y/N was slightly buzzed. She hated feeling entirely out of control when she drank, and she’d found the perfect point between dead sober and sloppy. She felt a warm feeling in her fingertips and toes, felt slightly light-headed and was just a tad obnoxiously giggly. The group had been playing monopoly, and while Y/N usually hated the game, she was thoroughly enjoying it tonight. 

Sarah had been helping Y/N, so she wasn’t so lost in terms of properties and the differences between houses and hotels. Jeff was as quiet as usual, but somehow had a secret talent for swindling properties and hoard money. Mitch had prioritised his margarita over the game, buying random properties when he felt like it, and fucking up everyone else’s plans of winning. And Harry had made it his mission to beat Y/N. If he was honest, he just loved seeing her pout every time he would buy whatever spaces were left of the colours she was aiming for, or teasing her every time she got a smaller roll than him. 

As Harry bought another green property that Y/N was gunning for, she realised she was nursing an empty glass. “Does anyone want another margarita?” Agreements come from all around the table, so Y/N gets up, grabbing a few empty glasses. As she stands, she feels the blood rush to her head, a slight dizziness tingling through her body, and she giggles as she stumbles towards the kitchen. 

Harry and Mitch had made the previous rounds, Y/N watching the first couple be made. Which meant she probably should remember the ingredients, but if she’s honest, the copious amount of alcohol running through her bloodstream has caused a lapse in her memory. Was she supposed to put one or two cups of ice in? Y/N curses herself and her shitty memory under her breath, realising she will definitely need help. She was clearly too tipsy to think coherently. 

“Oi, how much tequila do I put in? And is it Cointreau or triple sec? And how much ice do I use” She yells into the adjacent room, sighing slightly, hoping someone would come and help her. And she can’t explain her excitement when Harry rounds the corner, maybe because the pressure of making the drinks had been lifted, but more likely because it was simply him. He comes in with a smiling face, his hair slightly messed and his eyes filled with the misty happiness of someone who is perfectly buzzed. 

Y/N couldn’t quite describe the shiver that travels down her spine or the tension she feels in her stomach, all she knows is in the last few days, the intense feeling had begun to grow stronger whenever Harry was around. There was something about him, the way he carried himself, the shy smirks he’d give her, or the gentle touches he’d provide as he walked passed her. 

In every touch, every look and every feeling she got from Harry, Y/N could sense the tension growing stronger. She was amazed the rest of the group hadn’t picked up on it, other than Sarah of course, who was watching from the sidelines, waiting for one of them to crack. 

“What’s the problem bunny?” His eyes soft as he walks over to a defeated Y/N. He watches as her eyes crinkled slightly as she giggles despite herself, “I wanted to make everyone drinks, but I realised I don’t actually know how to.” She sheepishly watches Harry’s face mirror her own with a small grin, “well that just won’t do, will it? Sit on the counter n’ I’ll show you again.” 

She jumps on the kitchen bench, the surface cold against her otherwise alcohol flushed skin. She watches Harry gather the ingredients from around the kitchen, noticing the way his back strains against the white and yellow t-shirt he was wearing, the arch of his back clear and his shoulders strong and broad.

Over the past week or so, Y/N had started to see the funny and charming personality that the rest of the household had previously been privy to. His witty and sweet persona had shone through, and it had done nothing to curb the intense sexual feelings she felt towards him, instead they were only growing, especially with each pet name that his puffy pink lips shaped around. 

Harry begins to place the ingredients in the blender, and Y/N is confident he’s giving her instructions as he does so, but she is just so distracted by his strong fingers adorned by his shiny rings, each one a different shape and size. “Are y’listening?” 

She snaps her eyes back to his face, to see one side of his pretty mouth tugging upwards, suggesting he already knew the answer to his own question. “What are you lookin’ at my hands for?” She feels the warmth rush to the apples of her cheeks, sheepishly replying, “I was just looking at your rings, they’re very pretty.” 

He smiles and jokingly holds his hand up to her face, wiggling his fingers. Y/N chuckles and grabs his pointer finger, pulling it towards her to get a better look. She holds his hand while looking at the silver band wrapped around his digit, eyeing the small red ruby shining brightly in the centre of it, “like this one,” she whispers. He matches her volume, stepping closer in order to hear her, “it was my mums, she gave it to me after my first concert sold out. Her mum gave it to her after she got married.” She runs her finger over it gently, noticing the worn edges, and tries to imagine the many stories it had experienced in the hands of three generations. “It’s beautiful.” 

This felt like a moment for both of them. Obviously, Harry and Y/N had experienced many conversations and experiences before, but none quite like this. Harry feels the warmth from her body radiating into his, can feel the sweat from her hands as she holds his own. He can hear her calm breathing, the slow rise and fall of her chest. Of course, Harry had felt lust before, but he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as he does right now.

He can’t explain how desperately he wants to inch forward, hold her pretty face in his hands and press his lips against hers. Instead, he makes do, moving closer to her and feeling a bloom of happiness in his chest when she opens her legs for him to stand between with no hesitation. 

She smiles, his hand still nestled into hers, although her focus had moved far beyond his rings. It now laid solely on his face and the way he was looking at her. He rests his free hand on the counter beside her, close enough that she could feel the outside of his thumb brushing against her upper leg. 

Harry bites his tongue, he wants to say ‘so are you,’ but even he knows that’s cheesy. Plus he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, he knows Y/N is attracted to him but is also fully aware that doesn’t equal consent. He settles for lightly brushing his thumb against her leg and watches as a shiver racks through her body. With a slight giggle, she grabs his other hand, that’s causing the mildly uncomfortable sensation, with her free one, “that tickles.” 

And Harry’s not a mind reader, but now they’re just holding hands, plain and simple. He doesn’t know if she feels the same heat and tension settling between their lips, but the way she leans in slightly, tilting her head to the left gives him an indication she does. It’s subtle, and if Harry hadn’t been sitting between her legs praying she’d do exactly that, he might not have picked up on it. But he does. 

He leans in too, leaving a slight gap between them. Y/N can feel the tiny puffs of air, leaving Harry’s mouth and drawing into hers and can feel the little tufts of hair tickling her forehead. 

She brushes her lips against his gently, testing the waters. He feels as soft and warm against her as she’d imagined. Y/N retracts slightly, unsure if she had overstepped a boundary. The only reaction she could read was a sharp inhale on his part, and she was worried that it wasn’t a positive sign. 

But she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

He lifts his hand from hers and places it against her neck, his hands big enough to tuck his thumb under her jaw, while still using the rest of his fingers to gently push her back against him.

She tasted so much better than he would’ve thought, sour from the margaritas with an underlying sweetness that he couldn’t put his finger on. Harry can barely hold in his groan when her tongue slides against his lower lip, and he gladly opens up further. He feels her whimper against his thumb before he hears it, the rumbling sending vibrations up his arm, leading him to feel dizzy. 

He feels Y/N rest her hands against his shoulders, sliding them over his neck and resting her forearms behind his head. She leans further into the kiss, somehow opening her legs further, her hips slightly bucking towards his own in a silent plea for friction. Harry doesn’t hesitate to give it to her, pressing himself against her and instantly feeling the effect of his actions. She runs one hand through the curls sitting at the back of his head, tugging gently and pushing her own hips back with as much vigour as he had.

That is until the click of heeled boots is heard echoing against the kitchen tiles. 

The speed at which Harry jumps away from his position between Y/N’s legs is comical, and she almost wishes she could see it from an outsiders perspective. However, not as much as she wishes Harry’s lips were back on her own. 

Y/N looks between the boy she had been kissing with his hair messy and fluffy, and the apparent growing bulge in his pants to the shocked Mitch standing in the entrance of the kitchen. His mouth hangs open comically, and his hands hang loosely by his sides. 

The silence is too much for both Harry and Y/N to bear and looking at Y/N’s face, now bright red, and brimming with embarrassment and stress Harry feels it’s his responsibility to put her slightly at ease. “Mitch… um look-” 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Harry doesn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before Mitch is interrupting. Harry pipes up again, “it’s nothing!” Y/N can feel her brows turning downwards and the corner of her lips curling in annoyance. She knows Harry is more than likely trying to cover their asses, but Mitch had seen them kissing, and it didn’t make Harry downplaying everything hurt any less. 

Harry sees her face and quickly tries to backtrack, “well I mean not nothing… it’s something!” 

“No shit it’s something! How long have you guys been fucking for?” This time Y/N is the first to speak up, “we are not fucking! We haven’t even-“ she starts, completely flustered, her face somehow becoming even redder, “we just kissed!” Mitch bursts out laughing, as Y/N and Harry stay completely still, both absolutely mortified. 

“Alright mate, fuck off,” Harry grumbles, praying that Mitch would just leave the uncomfortable situation alone. And he does, still laughing as he finds his way back to the living room. Y/N has no doubt that he would go straight to Sarah and Jeff to share what he’d just seen. Harry turns to 

Y/N and while he tries to maintain a serious face for her sake, he can’t help but let out a small chuckle. 

It wasn’t the first time Mitch had walked in on him during a ‘private’ moment, some a lot worse than what he’d just witnessed. But Harry doubts any would be more shocking than the kiss Mitch had just seen. According to him, Y/N and Harry were at most on civil terms. So to see them, in a more than compromising position must have been a considerable shock to the system. 

“Why are you laughing, you ass?” While Y/N’s words are anything but kind, her face gives away her true feelings, a small grin peeking through. She wasn’t too concerned, Sarah already knew the current situation Harry and Y/N had found themselves in, as well as Y/N’s feelings on it. She was probably waiting for this very scenario to occur.

However, she was worried about where Harry and her would go from here. 

She knew he was attracted to her, he wouldn’t have kissed her otherwise. Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe Harry had done it in the moment, and didn’t feel that same attraction all the time. What if he saw her leaning in and was pitying her? Y/N was terrified that now that Mitch knew, Harry would be too embarrassed to kiss her again. 

But Y/N’s worry is immediately put to hold when Harry grabs her hand again, “you’ve got to admit it’s funny.” He rubs his thumb against her knuckles, hoping to soothe any worry still running through her veins, “are you okay though?” Y/N smiles and squeezes his hand, “yeh, more than.” 

Harry leans in slowly, making sure that even though Y/N had claimed she was fine, that she would still be okay with him kissing her again. She doesn’t move away, instead moves closer and he smiles and presses a soft kiss against her lips. 

“We should probably get back out there,” he mumbles against her plush lips. She nods in response, squeezing his hand once more before jumping off the counter. “I’ll see you in the living room.” 

—— 

Harry didn’t regret kissing Y/N, not by a long shot. What he did regret, however, is two things. The first was agreeing to continue drinking with Mitch after everyone else had gone to sleep, and the second, kissing Y/N while intoxicated. 

He had enjoyed it, he knew that much. But he’s fully aware that he may not have gotten the chance to absorb every detail of the moment. He couldn’t forget the feeling of her lips against his or the way she bucked up against him. However, he is struggling to recall the way her hips felt under his fingertips, or whether or not he could smell the strawberry scented shampoo she used, that previously, he had only caught gusts of. 

Harry needs to know, when they kissed, did her eyebrows furrow the same way they do when she bites into a warm jam donut? Or when he slotted his hips against hers, did her mouth hang open, eyes shut tightly like when Sarah dug into the knots in her back? Did she make the same sounds Harry had already heard? Or were there some privy only to moments of privacy like the one her and Harry shared? He didn’t think to notice if the skin on her cheeks was as soft as it looked, or even if her hands held onto him as firmly as they had grasped onto the chair, the night Harry had first gotten so close to Y/N. 

Harry couldn’t help but feel like he’d somehow hiked up mountainous terrain, dodged every jagged edge Y/N initially threw at him, stumbled through open conversations and insinuations. Felt he had somehow navigated overwhelming selfishness and every mixed feeling, to finally reach the top and for some stupid reason just close his eyes. He was only just able to smell the mountainside air and feel the rocky surface but was utterly blind to the magnificent sight in front of him. 

Harry was also worried that Y/N was too intoxicated to know what she was doing. Harry was big on consent, always had been, and he knew the chances of drunk him doing something Y/N wasn’t okay with was very unlikely, but what if? What if for some reason he couldn’t read the body language of the girl he had spent months admiring? Or what if she had said something of opposition and he hadn’t heard her? 

Harry was stressed, and the pounding headache beating through his head was definitely not helping. 

He knew the only way to make sure what happened last night was okay and enjoyable for both parties, was simply asking Y/N. So after going to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face and changing into some sweatpants, Harry makes the trek downstairs. 

He’s met with an interesting site. Mitch is sitting at the kitchen counter, head in his hands and shaking his head. Jeff is doing dishes and looks to be purposely clanging noisy dishes in front of Mitch and then laughing at each flinch racking from the man's body. While Y/N is standing at the stove, cooking something that Harry can’t decipher, in her cloud pyjama pants and a sweatshirt that looks suspiciously like his.

If Harry listens intently enough, he can hear her humming under her breath, a soft tune that lifts all the features of Harry’s handsome face upwards. 

Harry starts by walking over to Mitch, placing his hands on both of his shoulders and squeezing lightly, “c’mon Jeff, lay off the poor guy!” Jeff only laughs in response jokingly swatting at Mitch's head, still buried within his hands. 

At the joking tone within the kitchen, and the fact that Jeff had not immediately berated Harry about his relationship with Y/N, Harry realised Mitch had decided not to tell the rest of the house. Or at least not Jeff. Harry couldn’t have been more thankful for Mitch's undying loyalty and bizarre talent of somehow knowing exactly what Harry wanted or needed. With Y/N’s relaxed manner, he assumed she had come to the same conclusion.  

At the sound of Harry’s voice, Y/N whips around, her face lighting up at the sight of the man she had kissed not 12 hours ago. And the look of delight and need on Y/N’s face works wonders to calm Harry’s nerves, while Y/N’s were skyrocketing. He looked as handsome as ever with sleep still gracing his features, his chestnut hair in a mess on top of his head and eyes slightly puffy and red. In all honesty, Y/N couldn’t get over how it felt to kiss him, and while it had happened, she couldn’t help but feel thirteen again, with a crush on the cute boy in class. 

It was like he knew exactly what she was thinking, his tongue darting out from between his lips, leaving them wet and glistening in the early morning sun. And Y/N just can’t seem to draw her attention away from them, can’t stop the image of him pressed against her replaying over and over in her mind.

Maybe it was the way her eyes drooped slightly, her nostrils flaring ever so subtly, but Y/N gets the feeling that he knows exactly what she’s thinking, his left eye dropping in a wink that leaves Y/N’s tummy fluttering. 

“Mornin’ love.” His voice is hoarse and deep with residue drowsiness, and it does nothing to ease Y/N’s churning stomach. She coughs lightly before replying, “morning H.” Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet and manner docile, as she tries to hide the less than appropriate thoughts running through her head. 

He walks over to the stove, leaving Jeff and Mitch behind in the presence of someone far more interesting. “Smells good, what are you cookin’?” 

Y/N giggles, the sound unnecessarily loud and she cringes at herself before replying, “um, pancakes. Made some more just in case you guys wanted some.” In truth, Y/N knew Mitch didn’t like pancakes, Sarah wasn’t even awake yet, and Jeff had just started a very strict ‘no sugar’ diet, and so those extra pancakes were specifically for Harry after she had heard his sink running upstairs. And well, Harry knew all of that too. He feels a certain spaciousness in his chest one can only attribute to gratitude, and it makes him want to draw her close to him and kiss her cheek in thanks. 

Instead, Harry grabs her small hand in his and squeezes it lightly, before walking over to the fridge to get the maple syrup. “What’d you want on yours, babe? Nutella?” 

Y/N smiles and nods her head, giddy with the tingling feeling travelling through her hands and the prospect of spending more time with Harry. 

—— 

The day had been quiet. Y/N felt as if she had been wading through water all afternoon, sluggish and slow but somehow using more energy than walking on land required. The whole house felt slow-moving, most of its inhabitants spending the day in front of the TV, reading books or napping. And so it made sense for their daily activity to be a movie night. 

The housemates had decided a Disney marathon would be a perfect end to a hungover day, and with Jeff’s only condition being that they watched ‘Bambi’, everyone was in agreeance. 

Y/N had offered to organise the snacks and drinks while everyone else brought down pillows and blankets from upstairs, the room looking cozier then she had seen it in the past few months, and at the centre of it, Harry.

In the same position, he had been in the night they had sat watching cartoons in the early morning together, only to fall asleep and wake up in each other’s arms. It felt like so long ago now, but Y/N knows in reality, not that much time had passed. She found herself feeling thankful for how their relationship had evolved, and the effect a little time had given them. 

It was funny how far they had come. Y/N was so worried Harry had hated her after that, she now wonders if he’d always felt some type of draw towards her, or if he really had hated her as much as he made out. She briefly wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as she is, as he looks at her questioningly, standing in the doorway of the living room, unmoving. 

Y/N smiles lightly, and begins to move towards the couch, realising that there were three blankets in total, one being used by Mitch and Sarah, seemingly very close underneath the cover, one thrown over Jeff and the other sitting across Harry’s legs. She hesitates for a moment, the obvious choice being Harry, but she isn’t sure where their relationship stood, and more importantly, how much the rest of the housemates knew about it. 

Harry quickly provides a solution, “y’can just share my blanket if you want pet.” Y/N’s tummy flips, but the blank stare she gives him as she runs through all the repercussions (good and bad) coming from her doing that, comes off more as confusion. Did he forget that Jeff didn’t know about the kiss? 

Harry sits uncomfortably in the silence. “Or not, whatever you want.” Silence again, and with each passing second, Harry’s facial expression becomes more and more exasperated. 

Mitch is smirking, giving Harry a knowing glance. Sarah is looking at Mitch confused, obviously trying to figure out her boyfriend's cryptic facial expression. Jeff was the most bewildered of all, clearly completely lost. 

“Fine, fuckin’ forget it. Y’can share a blanket with Jeff ‘Mcvomit’ Aezzof. Or maybe you can jack Mitch off under the blanket with Sarah, and all of us will pretend we don’t know. How bout that hm?” Harry knows he’s being slightly unfair to all those just mentioned. 

A month ago, during a game night, Jeff had consumed slightly too much alcohol and subsequently vomited all over the living room carpet and Harry’s rainbow Gucci boots. Safe to say, Harry was not impressed and hadn’t let Jeff forget it either. 

He also knows he’s being unfair to Sarah and Mitch, although, he’s not exactly wrong. Harry had no proof anything was happening under Sarah’s unicorn blanket but they always sat suspiciously close, and some strange movements had definitely been observed during movie nights, particularly when the crew had binged ‘50 Shades of Grey.’

No one had mentioned it to each other, until one night, Y/N had tried to subtly ask Jeff and Harry if they had noticed too. The two boys immediately agreed, admitting they both had their own suspicions. However, this was the first time anyone had brought it up with the couple in question. 

He’s instantly met with outcry from both Sarah and Mitch.

“Oh for fucks sake H.” 

“You’re so crude.” 

“We do not do that.” 

Jeff also looks unamused, mumbling under his breath, although the shouts from the couple drown his reply out, “you have too much to drink one time, and no one lets you forget it.” 

But Y/N, in true Y/N style laughs, and all of a sudden Harry doesn’t feel nearly as bad for his accusations or his teasing of Jeff. “Alright bug, alright. You made your point, scoot over.” 

Y/N settles under the blanket with Harry, tucking her legs underneath her, trying to maintain a healthy distance from him. She hadn’t really been so consciously close to Harry before, only ever being asleep, drunk or… busy. Y/N noticed his signature scent was present, a warm cedarwood cologne that somehow made her nostrils tickle and insides feel slightly warmer, like a shot of whiskey travelling down her throat and spreading through her tummy. 

Maybe it was the man the smell lingered to that made her feel so comfortable and warm, or perhaps it was the blanket and heat radiating from him, but either way, Y/N loved it. She revelled in the comfort and feeling of safety that she didn’t often bask in, and it was Harry of all people who made her feel like this. 

She briefly wonders what this movie night would entail. She was happy they were already close to each other, stealing glances. Each bout of eye contact bringing a tingle through her spine, a shiver wracking through her shoulders when she noticed him glancing at her with his signature smirk and bright look. 

She was aware that they were slowly moving closer to each other with each passing second of the film playing in front of them. When she had initially sat down next to Harry, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, but now she could feel his side pressed against her, and his leg slightly crossed over hers.

If she’s honest, she was much more focused on the handsome individual sitting next to her than on the movie anyway, and consequently, she missed the first twenty minutes. 

What she cannot miss, however, is Harry’s hand coming to rest gently on her thigh. His palm flat against the plush flesh and his nails lightly scratching at the skin lying over it. 

She looks over at him, his strong jaw and cheekbone highlighted by the dim light of the TV screen, his nose slightly pointed at the end and his long eyelashes fluttering against his skin. She watches as his pink lips tug upwards, bringing a smirk and deep dimple to his handsome face. With that smile, she realises he knows she’s looking at him, and probably knows the effect his touch is having on her. The only acknowledgement she receives is a small squeeze of her thigh. 

She can’t help but scoff, his lax attitude directly opposed her own, if she was honest, she often felt on a different plane than him. Y/N tried to deny it, but she could be highly strung. When she was in a situation where she felt comfortable and safe, she was easygoing, a delight to get along with, and was often confused as someone who was undoubtedly more affable than she really was. 

It was one of the first days of year ten at school when Y/N had experienced her first panic attack. She can still remember the way her hands shook like healthy green leaves in a summer storm, could never forget the tightness in her chest, the closing feeling of her throat, and the tears that blinded her. While the panic attacks had become less frequent as she aged, the underlying symptoms that bubbled into the panic she experienced still tended to rear their ugly heads. 

Harry, on the other hand, seemed endlessly relaxed. While Y/N had initially only seen a more uptight and priggish side of him, it was almost like he enjoyed those negative interactions between them, for the sole reason that he could skillfully get under Y/N’s skin, watch her squirm and burn red. Any other time she witnessed Harry he was almost always equanimous and the voice of reason in the odd little group that found themselves quarantining together. 

He was so comfortable, seemingly so unaffected by her, while she felt his presence made her head spin and heart race. 

He leans closer to her, his curls tickling her collarbone, “are you watchin’ the film?” 

She nods, the action sending a wave of her perfume to invade his nose, the smell somehow so addicting and familiar to Harry now. “Yeh, the sad part is coming soon, though.” 

It’s his turn to scoff, “don’t tell me you’re gonna cry on me.” 

Y/N looks up at him, watching as his bunny-like front teeth capture his bottom lip, “and what if I do, hm?” 

Harry’s first thought is to say he’d get her some tissues and embrace her until the tears seeped into her sullen soaked skin, but he knows that’s even too corny for him. Instead, he looks around the room to find everyone too focused on the movie to pay attention to them, and chuckles lightly, kissing the top of her cheekbone. “Might cry with you love. Poor Bambi, never knew what was comin’.” 

While Y/N looks around the room, she quickly relaxes as she realises no one was paying enough attention to notice Harry’s affectionate action. She stifles a laugh, “we’re in this together then, aren’t we?” 

Harry can’t help but feel like she’s not just referring to a sad Disney movie, but instead the situation they had found themselves in. It was confusing, both of them not entirely over their exes, but both seemingly enamoured with the other, something that felt like it had happened overnight. 

He didn’t know if she felt the same way he did. He simultaneously wanted to fuck the shit out of her and cuddle with her on the couch, for god's sake he wanted to comfort her when she was crying over fucking ‘Bambi.’ Harry was confused. 

He hasn’t felt like this about anyone since Elle, and while Y/N hadn’t spoken about her ex with Harry directly, he had overheard a few snippets of conversation between Sarah and herself. 

Before Y/N had come to stay with the group, Sarah had briefly explained the situation, the fact she had put all her effort into a three-year relationship that had ended brutally, with the asshole showing no remorse towards Y/N or her feelings. Harry didn’t want to push her or himself, but he felt a draw towards her that he couldn’t ignore. 

The way she placed her hand gently on top of his, still laying on her thigh, and tangled their fingers together made his heart swell, and it was at that moment he decided he didn’t care about Elle. For the first time since they broke up, Harry didn’t wish the person he was with was his cheery faced ex-girlfriend. He wanted Y/N, and he hoped with all his heart, she wanted him too. 

He looked over at her, her soft skin and red cheeks glowing gently from the light of the TV screen. 

Harry’s feelings are only confirmed, when he hears the gunshot sounding through the room from the movie, hears a small sniffle coming from the girl next to him, and feels her fingers tightening around his own. Harry knows that somehow, through everything, he wanted Y/N to be there next to him at the end of it. 

—— 

Harry sat stewing in his feelings as the night progressed, each member of the house slowly abandoning the marathon, opting for the warmth of their beds instead. 

If he was honest, Harry was exhausted, but he couldn’t bear to leave Y/N alone. She had waited patiently through everyone else’s choices, sung along with Sarah through ‘The Little Mermaid.’ She had gushed with Mitch over the fantastic visuals in ‘Hercules’ and watched carefully for Harry’s reactions to ‘The Beauty and the Beast,’ squeezing his hand when the last petal fell, and Belle professed her love for the Beast. 

Harry didn’t think it was fair that everyone had chosen bed over watching Y/N’s movie, over singing along to ‘Tangled’ with her. Chosen to sleep instead of talking about how good the animation was and squeezing her hand every time Flynn and Rapunzel were close to kissing. 

So Harry does the best he can. He listens to how excited she gets through the fighting scenes, does his best to sing along to songs he’d never heard before, and listens to her speak about how mean she thought Mother Gothel was. Each scene, he watches her eyes widen in comical child-like glee, and her cheeks flush as she laughs at Harry’s impersonation of Flynn Rider. 

It��s as Mother Gothel is falling out of the window that Harry realises Y/N’s grip on his hand has loosened and that she is resting against his shoulder, asleep. He smiles, bringing his knuckle to brush against her cheek, gently waking her up. As she slightly startles, he kisses her nose, “y’ fell asleep bug.” 

She looks surprised, immediately looking to the screen, “oh shoot. Missed my favourite part too.” Harry can’t help but kiss the small pout that graced her lips as she realises this, which she quickly returns. Harry’s lips tingle as she hums in contentment, causing them to pull apart slightly, Harry touching his lips and giggling. 

It was all so domestic and sweet, a kiss leading to nothing in particular, and Harry loved it. Revelled in the idea of kissing Y/N for the pure pleasure of feeling her soft lips against his own, and for nothing else. As Y/N speaks her lips brush against his, still flush against each other, “we should get to bed.” 

As they both make their way upstairs, hand in hand, they dawdle as if to stall their inevitable parting, and as Y/N prepares to speak their goodbye into existence Harry decides he doesn’t want this night to end. Didn’t want to part from the warmth Y/N provided, to lose the feeling of her face pressed against him or the way her hand felt nestled in his. So Harry does the one thing he can think of, something he may come to regret later, 

“Do you want t’ sleep in my bed tonight? You don’ have to if you don’t want to, of course.” 

Harry observes Y/N’s face, and he feels as if he goes through the same range of emotions as she does. First surprise, then apprehension, her head tilting as she thinks through her decision.

Harry thinks maybe she’s misinterpreting his intentions. Don’t get him wrong, he would jump at the chance to have sex with someone as lovely as her, but he really just wasn’t ready to leave her. Wanted to feel her asleep in his arms, hear the small snores he’s sure she would make and brush her hair away from her face when it looked to be tickling her in the middle of the night. 

“No funny business dove, I promise.” 

Finally, a small smirk graces the young girl's face, her top teeth hooking into her lower lip, a little giggle erupting from her mouth while she nods her head. 

Harry’s face subconsciously matches Y/N’s, a replica giggle floating through his mouth and into the air between them, “yeh?” 

She nods once again, “yeh.” Harry feels nothing but relief, a giddy bubbling feeling erupting from his chest, rushing through to his fingertips. He almost believes she feels the exact same burst of emotion when she squeezes his hand as he pulls her into his bedroom. 

It smells the same as the last time she was in his room, except this time, there was a sense of certainty in the air. While Y/N had previously tiptoed into his private space, terrified of crossing a line both physically and metaphorically, she no longer felt that same apprehension.

She entered the room with confident footsteps, aware that they had already entered a territory in which they would struggle to backtrack from. Aware that Harry would more than likely revel in the fact she was in a space he considered sacred, rather than feel uneasy.

She was correct in her assumption. He watches the way she looks perfectly placed in a room he previously hated anyone else entering, her energy already matching his own, but somehow adding an exuberant light into a space that, before her, had represented his despondency. 

Harry begins getting ready for bed, takes off his pants and shirt, left in only boxers. As the cotton of his top slides over his mass of curls, he catches Y/N staring, her mouth slightly parted, pupils dilated and cheeks pink. 

The cocky boy smirks slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion ever so subtly, and a gust of wind passing through his nose as a form of laughter. “Would you prefer me to keep my pants on babe?” 

His cheeky tone works to bring Y/N from her stupor. She stumbles over her words, clearly embarrassed Harry had caught her ogling at his body, again. “Uh.. no, no whatever’s comfortable, I guess. Do you want to keep your pants on? You can, of course, I just…” 

“Teasing Y/N,” his smirk grows into a grin, his dimple flashing her once again, “I’m only teasing.” She visibly relaxes, her shoulders returning to the normal position, and her eyes closed, trying to shake the remaining embarrassment from her system. 

“You are the worst.” 

He only laughs, “and you take yourself too seriously. Now, do you want a shirt to sleep in?” 

While Y/N might usually be offended by him saying something like that, she knows he’s not wrong. In fact, he’s entirely correct. He just knew exactly how to wind her up, what buttons to push to make a flush rise to her cheeks and for her sentences to become stuttered. 

“That would be nice, thank you.” 

Harry only nods, walking over to the dresser in the corner and rummaging through, pulling out a white shirt with the phrase “enjoy health, eat your honey” on the front. He holds it up in front of his body, waiting for Y/N’s approval, which he quickly receives, throwing it over to her in response. 

She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to give her the courtesy of changing in private. “Do y’ mind, you lecher?” 

He startles, “oh uh sorry.” Y/N watches as a blush spreads from his cheeks to his neck, a clear sign of his humiliation, and he quickly turns around. 

She changes, giving a soft cough when it’s safe for him to turn around. Harry can hardly believe his eyes, he knew she was beautiful, but fucking hell, it was like an angel had been sent to him from heaven. 

Her legs were soft, and Harry wanted nothing more than to trail kisses up her thighs, past the dotting of stretch marks, patches of missed hair, and the hem of the shirt that sat loosely against her. He could see her nipples poking through the fabric, firm, surrounded by supple flesh, that Harry had trouble to stop imagining. Her face was soft, a pleasant but embarrassed smile pulling along half her face, smoothed by the leftover makeup she hadn’t bothered to remove. 

She was fucking beautiful. 

“Stop looking at me like that you…” 

“Lecher. I know. It’s hard not to be when you look like that.” Her cheeks turn an even darker shade of crimson, and her eyebrows draw up in surprise. Harry didn’t know at what, she was his very own wet dream, and he had trouble imagining that she didn’t know that. 

Unsure of what to say she patters towards the bed, lifting the covers and lying beneath them, facing the side he usually slept on, waiting for Harry to lay in her line of sight. He does, his cheek getting gently squished against the silk pillow, his hair billowing out from his head, creating an unruly mess around his face. 

“I don’t…” she sighs, clearly struggling to string together whatever was going through her mind. Harry grabs the hand laying between them, and gives it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. He had been vulnerable in front of her weeks before they had even shown interest in each other, and he wanted to give her the same comfortable space to talk through what she was feeling. 

She lets out another breath and continues, “I like when you call me beautiful. I just don’t know how to respond, I’m not all that used to it.” She snorts despite herself, “isn’t that sad?” While she’s laughing, Harry can see the sadness set behind her eyes, and so he doesn’t laugh. Only squeezes her hand once more and replies as steadily as he can, “it’s not sad. I understand.” 

Her laugh turns more genuine, “oh so even the Greek god gets self-conscious? Thank god for that.” He quickly matches her jesting tone, “for sure, need to be humbled somehow.” He pulls her closer and rests his head in the crook of her neck, listening as the giggles she emits, vibrate through her body, and he can’t help but smile too. 

He was happy and at peace. And for the first time in a long time, both he and Y/N slept through the night, relief and giddiness seeping through their pores. 

——

Harry awoke in a daze. His arm was numb, his head slightly dizzy and body just a tad too hot. Then he sees Y/N asleep in front of him, head resting on his bicep, hair a mess, and her hand resting on his, placed on the pillow in front of her face, and all of a sudden none of it mattered.

She was beautiful. It makes Harry wonder about the last time they’d woken up together. He remembers feeling scared, denying any comfort he had found within her in his arms, and he wonders if his subconscious had always known she was right for him. 

They seemed to fit together so seamlessly, for a couple who couldn’t stand the sight of each other months prior. 

Harry uses his free hand to sweep her hair away from her neck, leaving a space for him to press his lips against. Her skin was warm, slightly tacky from sweat, and he breathed her in, dragging his nose up and down the nape of her neck. 

He hears her begin to wake, repositioning her legs under the covers and her breath beginning to quicken from the lull of sleep. A small hum of contentment leaves her lips as she feels Harry’s mouth kissing on her skin. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he whispers, his breath tickling her. She lets out a laugh, her voice heavy with drowsiness, “morning H.” 

The hand that was already resting loosely in his tightens as she loops their fingers together, “how’d you sleep?” 

He squeezes back, “better than I have in months. What ‘bout you?” 

She leans further back into him and exhales, “so good.” Harry hears the relief in her voice, and he feels it too. Was this all it took to stop his own self wallowing? Being pressed against her? It was like she brought her own kind of calmness to his unstable mind, and while he knew she would disagree with him in saying it, she was a source of purity, a way for him to feel carefree. 

He wanted to tell her, but something was stopping him. What if she wasn’t quite as committed to whatever they were as he was? Harry had never been good with his feelings, preferring to write his emotions into his music. Fuck, sometimes even selling his songs to others to avoid the message coming from his own mouth directly. 

But as Y/N turns around, her mouth inches from his, her eyes wide and doe-like, Harry thinks he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t tell her how he felt. The words creep up his throat, and he tastes them on his tongue, sweet and rich. “I... I really like you. I’m not sure how you feel about everything. I just know I haven’t felt like this since… well for a while, and that’s kind of scary.” 

Harry closes his eyes, not wanting to see Y/N laugh in his face, as well as hear it. Instead, he feels a soft hand on the side of his face, her thumb gently brushing against his temple, and then softly against his eyelid, coming to rest just below it. “Open your eyes, dummy.” 

He flutters his eyes open, met with Y/N’s gaze, revering and sweet, “I like you too, Harry. Thought I made it pretty obvious.” While Harry loved Y/N calling him ‘H,’ the slow drawl of ‘Harry’ made a shiver roll up his spine.  

He can hardly contain the smile that slips upon his mouth, leaning up slightly and kissing the thumb resting against his skin. Harry feels his heart beat a little harder in his chest, the relief freeing the worry from his lungs, his muscles finally relaxing, no longer having to uphold the weight of stress upon them. 

If he was candid, Harry had never had to fight for anyone’s affection before. As narcissistic as it sounded, people usually gravitated towards him, whether for the right or wrong intentions. But Y/N had stood her ground, immediately unimpressed by his blase and borderline rude attitude and had reverberated his energy right back at him. If Harry was honest, at first he hated that about her, but it had come to represent her honesty. It made the affection she showed him now that much more special. 

Harry felt as if he had earnt her respect and affection, because he deserved it, not the ‘Harry Styles’ found in the tabloids. He had found someone who made him feel like a real person, and a good one at that, someone who deserved the love she so readily gave him. Harry was lucky enough to be lying next to that someone. 

“You’re right… you did drool over me in the shower. Remember that?” And just like that, the moment of vulnerability is over. 

Y/N lightly slaps Harry’s arm and lets out a disgruntled sound, “aish, you really are a lecher.” He laughs and grabs the hand that just hit him, bringing it back up to his face and kisses her palm gently. He looks back at her face, all traces of aggravation wiped from it like cheap lipstick, replaced with contentment instead. She slips her hand back to the side of his neck, her fingertips trailing through the baby hairs laying against his skin and kisses him. Her lips feel slightly chapped but still so warm, and Harry let’s out a relieved exhale. 

He couldn’t explain why, but this kiss felt different from any other he’d experienced with Y/N, hell any other he’d shared with anyone. It had all the intensity and lust of their kiss in the kitchen, added with a sense of emotion that Harry couldn’t quite place. Each press of her mouth, each swipe of her tongue or gentle nibble of his lower lip felt like she was desperately trying to convey every feeling Harry previously doubted existed. 

Harry remembers the night of their first kiss, recalls thinking he had never felt lust like that before, never wanted to kiss someone so badly, but now laying in this bed with Y/N running her hand through his hair and her hips lightly bucking towards him, Harry feels as if he’s surpassed the way he had felt then. 

He feels pure unadulterated need flowing through his veins, can’t even begin to explain how much he wanted Y/N. She turned to fully face him, tangling their feet together and pressing herself further into the kiss. Harry wishes he could give her more, wants to bring every drop of pleasure to her he possibly could, wants to touch and kiss each part of her. It felt as if a spark had lit within his body, beginning at his chest, travelling all the way through to his fingertips, and straight to his groin. 

Harry brings his thigh between her legs, and she takes advantage of it instantly, rubbing against him. He groans as he feels her warmth pressed against his leg, and he can tell she is suppressing her moans of pleasure as she pushes down harder with each gyration of her hips. 

“Tha’s it baby, get what you need.” 

At this, she leans her head back, a mewl erupting from her throat. Harry kisses down her exposed neck, sucking and nipping a love bite into the skin below him. Bringing his hands to her waist lightly, he helps to guide her in grinding against the thick muscle of his leg. 

She grabs one of his hands grappling at her hip and brings it to her chest, where he feels her hard nipple poking through the thin material of her top. He squeezes and pinches gently, hearing her breath hitch directly in his ear, bringing goosebumps to the skin along his arms, her hands grabbing his broad shoulders and neck. 

With his other hand, he slowly slips his thumb past the hem of her sweatpants, running it along the soft skin there. The tickling sensation completely contradicts the harsh action of her hips rubbing against him, causing a shiver to trickle down her spine. Y/N whines into his ear so quietly, Harry wonders if he actually heard her at all. “Please.” 

“What do you need, hm? Tell me.” 

A bated breath parts her lips, “fuck…anything.” She knows it’s not enough, knows Harry wants to hear exactly what she wants from him, but she’s embarrassed. Isn’t quite used to anyone asking her what she wanted and needed, and Harry’s filthy tongue only brings her more unnecessary shame. 

“C’mon Y/N, use your words. I’ll give you whatever you want, just use your word’s for me.” 

Her hands dig into his shoulders, “fingers, please!”

He kisses her temple and murmurs a quick, “good girl,” before dipping his hand completely into the front of her pants, still only teasing along the line of her underwear. 

Y/N’s not sure how much she can take. Every move, every touch is goading and light, clearly trying to provoke her, and as much as she loves it, she needs relief. She grabs at his arm that is currently so close to the place she needs him to be and tries to force it closer to her, harder against her, anything other than what he’s doing now. “Harry… c’mon, please,” she all but cries. 

He chuckles before slipping into her underwear, feeling her wet heat against his fingertips, she was already dripping for him before he’d even touched her. He presses her clit gently while he kisses against her neck, flicking his tongue against the ghost of the hickey he had given her earlier, the pain mixing so deliciously with the pleasure. 

While he had stopped his teasing touches, it didn’t stop him from using his teasing words. 

“This the first time you’ve gotten so wet for me, pet?” She furrows her eyebrows, shaking her head side to side, attempting to hide her face into his neck. He feigns surprise, “no? Filthy girl. Ever touched yourself thinking about me?” She whines, picking up on his teasing, further burrowing her face away from him, trying to hide the very obvious flush that had risen to her cheeks. 

He laughs, nudging her head with his nose, trying to encourage her to show her face again. She mewls once more, the only indication she heard him was the bucking of her hips against his fingers, now inside of her and stroking against her g-spot. 

“Next time, just ask for my help instead,” he murmurs into her ear, biting at her earlobe. She hisses, attempting to press against him even harder, get even closer to him, although it was almost impossible, being pressed flush against each other with his fingers knuckle deep in her cunt. 

He licks against her jaw, feeling the strong bone under the tender flesh, the warmth of his breath blowing against the damp skin of her neck causes her to shiver, “can I taste you?” Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever nodded her head harder, her eyes rolling back into her head, merely thinking about Harry tonguing the sensitive skin between her legs. 

He continues to kiss down her neck, taking extra time to lick against the dip in her collarbones, revelling in the tangy taste of sweat invading his mouth. He sucks her nipples through her shirt, the material clearly wet and spit-soaked once he pulls away, the air surrounding them, making the outline of her areola obvious. 

He presses a few chaste kisses against the swell of her tummy, finally reaching where she needed him most. He slowly pulls her pants down her legs, trailing the hem with pecks against each inch of newly exposed skin. Grabbing each ankle, he pulls the cuffing over her feet, playfully biting at the bone on her ankle, causing a shriek and a giggle to erupt from her and a playful press against his cheek, imitating a kick to his jaw. 

He laughs, batting her foot away from his face. “Oi don’t damage the money-maker!” 

 Y/N bursts out laughing, shaking her head. He was an idiot, but she loved that they can switch between moods so quickly. While she’s still laughing, he’s pushing her legs apart, his hand nearly fitting over the whole surface of her inner thigh. “C’mon love, spread your legs fo’ me.” 

And with that, Y/N stops laughing. 

While continuing to push against her leg, he presses an open mouth kiss against the front of her underwear, already able to taste the heady flavour. Harry can’t help but let out a deep groan, every nerve ending set alight at his mouth finally around her cunt. The tip of Y/N’s tongue tingles with a beg for him to take off her underwear, but Harry acts on his own accord, almost ripping the garment off in his haste. 

If Harry thought the taste of her was mouthwatering through the cotton, the taste of her without it was even better. 

He had meant to tease her, he really had, but he can’t help but lick straight into her weeping hole, moaning at the taste and the smooth feeling of her smeared against his mouth. Spreading her lips with his pointer and ring finger, Harry continues to explore, flicking his tongue against the swollen bud underneath her pubic bone, causing a loud moan to erupt from her mouth. 

“Holy fuck Harry! Feels so good.” 

Harry tucks two of his fingers into her while sucking at her clit, Y/N tugging at his curls harshly in response. 

It feels so good, but Y/N needs more. The feeling of Harry’s fingers is making her skin tingle, and her legs shake, but she wants nothing more than to be stretched out by him. She wants him to give her everything, push into her slowly, stretch her pussy, and finally feel his cum spurting into her. 

So she pulls him up, one hand still intertwined in his hair and the other on his shoulder, scratching and pulling as a hint to bring his mouth to hers. At first, he’s hesitant, grumbling slightly in annoyance, not wanting to part from her, “Harry please, want to kiss you.” 

He gives her one more harsh suck, before sliding back up her body, where Y/N is waiting with her mouth open and her eyes on him. Harry smirks, slipping the two fingers that had just been inside of her against her tongue, feeling more blood rushing between his legs at the feeling of her licking and sucking them as if it were his cock. 

She bites gently, causing a hiss to escape from his mouth as he drags them back out slowly, quickly replacing his fingers with his lips, licking into her mouth.

The tangy taste of her own cum slips past her tastebuds again, and Y/N had never been one to find it hot, but with the salty flavour transferring from Harry’s fingers and tongue, she’d never been more attracted to her own taste. 

Y/N desperately wants to mix his cum with hers, wants to swallow around his cock and feel the intoxicating mixture slide down her throat, “I wanna taste you now.” 

He breathes through his nose heavily and shakes his head, “just want to feel you. ‘M not gonna last long if you suck me off as well.” Y/N whines, but by the longing look Harry gives her pouting lips, it seems he’s not entirely content with his decision either. 

He reaches over her shoulder, digging into the set of drawers next to the bed, giving Y/N the perfect view of his broad chest, littered with tattoos. He looks so tan, his muscles rippling under the smooth skin, and she wants nothing more than to litter it with love bites and scratches. She teasingly licks at his nipple, and he startles, an uncharacteristic giggle leaving his lips as he comes back to lie in front of her, in his hand a condom. 

Suddenly his eyes clear, the lust caused fog fading, “you still okay with this? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

Her heart swells, how was it possible that this Adonis-like man was also so sweet? There was nothing she wanted more than to be with Harry in every way and right now, she needed him inside of her, “yes Harry. Do you?” 

He scoffs some, “fuck yes,” he mumbles his next statement as he tucks his head under her jaw, putting the condom on at the same time, “feel like my dicks gonna fall off, I’m that hard.” 

She laughs, wrapping her arms around him, she’d never felt so happy and complete, so overwhelmed. Every positive emotion was combining within her, creating a whirlwind of passion and love, causing each feeling to increase tenfold. 

The head of Harry’s cock slips through her folds, sending a zap of pleasure through her each time it nudges her clit, and he smirks each time she twitches, unconsciously arching up towards him. “Y’ ready?” 

She nods, moving her hips closer, making her own attempt to be filled by him. 

Slowly, Harry enters her, each inch causing the delicious burn from him stretching her walls increasing. Y/N almost chokes on her own moans, can hardly stand how good he feels or the way her muscles spasm attempting to adjust to the intrusion. It feels as if each ridge and curve was being simulated, each nerve ending firing again and making her head feel dizzy. 

Harry almost looks like he’s in pain with his eyes shut so tightly, Y/N can see the wrinkles surrounding them. His mouth is parted with sharp breaths entering and leaving his mouth, his head hung back, and his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. 

“Holy fuck. You feel so fucking good.” 

At the sound of his voice, Y/N clenches, making Harry cry out. “Move H. Fuck me, please.” 

He begins slowly, pulling out before slamming back into her, reaching so far Y/N can feel him in her tummy. 

He intertwines their fingers and holds them against the pillow her head rests on. She squeezes them, and he leans his forehead against hers, the tender action contradicting the harsh snaps of his hips. “How do you feel so good?” He whimpers. She nudges his chin with her nose, pushing his lips closer to hers, each thrust smearing them closer together. 

“You’re so good to me H,” she whispers back as she wraps one of her hands behind his head, his neck in the crook of her elbow. Using leverage from her other hand against the bed, she pushes her hips upwards, creating double the amount of friction between them. The actions causing both of them to cry out, Harry seeming to be pushed impossibly further inside of her, the head of him nudging against her cervix. 

“Fuck that’s it. Look at you, usin’ me to get yourself off.”

While the new angle felt so good, it was quickly tiring. Harry could see Y/N fatiguing after a few minutes, knowing the burn in her legs would be almost unbearable at this point. So he tucks his arms under her outstretched ones, laying his torso against hers and tucking his head into her neck, kissing lightly as he completely slows down his movements. He stops the whine that leaves her throat with a quick, “shh, it’s okay. Just wanna take my time with you, never want this to end.” 

While running her hand through his curls and holding the back of his neck closer to her chest, she replies, “me either baby.” 

They spend some time like this, just enjoying each other’s company and the feel of being so close to one another. Y/N breathes deeply, the smell of sex in the room mixing with Harry’s cologne, making her relax and let out a contented sigh. She had never felt more full and so satisfied, with a hint of an orgasm sparking between her hip bones, the dull ember just waiting to be fully ignited by his movements. 

As if sensing this, he speeds up once again. The burn that stretches through her legs as Harry pulls them over his shoulders, mixes with the pleasure of his thrusts, the head of his cock nudging her g-spot with each deep drive of his hips. 

Y/N cries out, grabbing at his shoulders, her nails unintentionally digging into the skin, creating small red crescents along the tense muscles connecting his neck to his scapula. 

He just feels so good. Every movement of his hips, each inhale and exhale, each brush of their lips and dig of his fingers brings Y/N even closer to her orgasm. She can’t tell if Harry plans each of these things with her pleasure in regard or if it’s the chemistry between them that’s causing every sensation to be felt tenfold. All she knows is that she would happily lie under Harry for the rest of her life if it meant she always felt this weightless. 

Harry’s balls make a sharp ‘thwack’ against her ass each time he thrusts, the sound of her arousal echoing through the room, in such a crude fashion, Y/N almost has time to feel embarrassed. On the other hand, Harry revels in the sound, loves the fact he can see, hear, touch every part of her arousal, surrounding them in their own cocoon of sex and pleasure. 

“C’mon Y/N, please. Cum on my cock.” While Y/N had already been feeling the building pressure of her impending orgasm, Harry’s words only work to bring it faster. “Please Y/N,” she bucks up against him, chasing the feeling of his pubic bone rubbing against her already sensitive clit. “Good girl. Fuck, you’re my good fucking girl, aren’t you?” She whines a response, the noise high pitched and hoarse. Harry sees Y/N’s desperate search for her finish, and brings two fingers down, rubbing at her clit. 

“Fuck, yes, Harry!” Y/N can’t describe how overwhelmed she is with pleasure and feeling. Her face feels flushed and sticky with sweat, her legs are slightly cramped from her constant strain to get closer to Harry and his cock buried in her cunt, and when Harry brings one of his ring adorned hands to wrap comfortably around her neck, suddenly Y/N feels weightless. She feels the burst of pleasure from between her legs, a zip running up her spine, leaving her limbs with a tingle. 

Harry hears her cum before he sees it, the moans dripping from her mouth, her eyes widening before she’s squeezing them tightly together. Harry knew he would play that exact moment on replay for the rest of his fucking life. 

He watches as she brings her hand up to his that’s still spread around her neck, and Harry almost can’t stand it when he feels her squeezing it tighter, begging for Harry to give her more. If he wasn’t so close to cumming, Harry might’ve teased her, loosened his grip on purpose to watch her squirm and whine, whisper in her ear how hot it was to see how desperate she was for Harry to simply touch her, alas he’s too close. Can barely form a coherent thought, let alone tease her. So instead he appeases her, tightens his grips and begins to pound into her harder, searching for his own release.

Finally, it comes, Harry releasing a deep groan, grabbing onto the pillow next to her head, letting out a deep moan. Both of them can feel each rope of cum, as Y/N’s own orgasm works to milk each drop from him. 

His movements slowly come to a stop, leaving him tucked inside of her as his length softens. Wrapping his arms around her once again, he revels in the warmth and comfort she brings, his lips pressing against hers gently. “Fuckin’ hell.” 

Y/N giggles and nods in agreement. How had they spent so long fighting when this was the result of them getting along. She still feels Harry shifting above her, the aftershocks of her orgasm, creating an increase in sensitivity, each movement from the handsome boy above her sending a jolt through her whole body. 

“Fuck you’re still squeezin’ me pet.” She hugs into him tighter as yet another twitch is brought from his prick still buried deep within her, “mhm, still sensitive but you feel so good.” 

He kisses her soft temple, “lucky for you, in about fifteen minutes, we can go again.” Y/N scoffs, her head leaving the crook of his neck to give him a dirty look only to be met with his deep smirk. His famous dimples indented next to his smile, as he giggles and brushes his nose against the swell of her cheek. 

“You really are…” his giggle is joined by her own. 

“A lecher,” they finish together. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Into The Fog (Part 33)

"Apologize!" Sokka demands, "apologize to Chomp right now."

"For what?" Azula clutches the dragon to her chest. 

"For abandoning her!"

"I didn't abandon her, I simply went away for some time."

"Without telling her! As far as she was concerned you were never coming back!"

"The poor baby." TyLee pouts. "Poor wittle Chompy."

Azula rolls her eyes. "Shes fine and she doesn't need an apology. "Azula strokes the dragon's little scales. In her absence she Chomp has grown bigger. She no longer fits in Azula’s palms. Rather she has to sit on Azula’s lap.

"She thought that you were never coming home!" Sokka says again.

"Chomp thought that i was never coming home or Sokka thought that i wasn't coming home?" She quirks a brow. "Because Chomp seems perfectly chipper."

"She’s not the only one." Aang remarks.

Azula looks up from the dragon. She supposes that her mood is good enough; she is alive for one thing. For another she is back at home and resuming her spa routine, resuming routines in general. She has also settled into a new habit or visiting the palace physicians who detail what she should be prepared for with her pregnancy. They tell her that this month she can expect a achiness and itchiness and increased appetite. Granted she had already figured out the latter two on her own. As for the achiness, it is hard to gauge how mu h she should attribute to the baby and how much to Yakone.

She scoops Chomp into her arms and stands up. "I spoke with Teo the other day. He mentioned a project that we were working on…"

"You met Teo?"

She nods. "I would like to fill out the forms so that he can move forward with the process."

"Those forms are at our apartment on Republic City."

"Those are important documents, we shouldn't just leave them on an unguarded apartment!"

"Toph frequently makes sure that everything is secure."

"We should be in Republic City right now." She mutters. But she wanted to personally oversee father’s transfer. Admittedly she just wanted to come home as well. 

"You like learning new things right?"

Azula quirks a brow. "Yes, why?"

"Well here's a little fun fact; you can just relax sometimes! You don't always have to be doing some task or another."

She gives him a good swat. "I know that! I've been using the spa." And yet she finds herself itching for less down time. Her mind runs amok when she has too much time to herself. Pouring over forms would help her take her mind off of father and the sense of deeper betrayal and confusion that has set in now that she has the time to think about it.

Those thoughts and doubts that have been troubling her sleep lately. Thoughts that jump between a building anger that conflicts with a habitual yearning for father's approval and the what it's. What if she had followed father down his path? What if no one had tried to help her the first time around, before her amnesia? What if she had continued to reject their attempts to make accept her amnesia? And sometimes she dreams of being in a cell next to Ozai.

"There's a new sushi place that opened up! Mai has been wanting to try it. Maybe we can pick some up for her?" TyLee suggests.

"I haven't had sushi in a while…" Azula ponders. Which might be partially due in part to Chomp snatching it up before she can actually take a bite. "Let me just speak with Zuko for a moment." She invited herself into his room and with a devious grin she announces, "guess what, Zuzu?" She tosses Chomp at him. "You're dragon-sitting."

"I've been dragon-sitting since you left…"

"Wonderful!" She claps her hands together. "Then you know what you're doing." She pauses in the doorway. "Let Mai know that we're bring sushi for her."

With any luck, it will be a seamless venture. Word hasn't gotten out yet that there had been any sort of unrest or near deaths so she shouldn't have to worry about invasive camera flashes and unwanted attention.

.oOo.

Sokka knows that he should be happy. He has every reason to be. Azula is home, she has been home and safe. Not just safe but safe and in good spirits. She is smiling again and making effortless conversation again. In some ways it is like his Azula is back. At minimum she has gotten used to everyone treating her like a friend. But it is more than that; she seems like she is rather enjoying being in their company again so long as she can keep getting away with her blunt, off color, and sarcastic remarks.

But he hasn't been right since his panic attack. Hasn't been right since seeing Azula’s face all swollen and blotchy. Since seeing those scratches on her throat, the ones that are still present as small scabs.

He yearns to cup his hand against her cheek and brush his free thumb over them. Longs to kiss the bridge of her nose and feed her sushi. Anything at all that is more than just hand holding. 

He needs the closeness right now. Needs to hold her the way she always let him after one of them had gone through something terrifying.

Now he has to settle for her smile and that laugh. The laugh that everyone expects to be small and dainty but isn't. 

She has a loud laugh, a happy laugh.

He wonders if she can tell that he is not doing so well. He thinks that he might just have gotten as good as she is about hiding it. These days, maybe he is better at it than she. And it dawns upon him that, just as she had ten years ago, Azula has realized that they all have seen her cry, they have all seen her vulnerable. And just as she had ten years ago, she has come to find that no one is taking advantage of that, no one is belittling her for it.

She is warming up to the idea of taking her walls down again.

They have her trust again.

She is moving forward once more and he is regressing.

He wants to tell her. Tell her that he is constantly on edge and worried. Tell her that he is missing Yue and Suki again and that he is still so worried that he is going to lose her too. It would ease his mind but he doesn’t want to ruin the first good mood that she had had in ages.

Just as much as he itches for the comfort that she used to offer, he doesn't want to push her away again. Not now that she is only just starting to get more affectionate with everyone again. With him again. He doesn’t want to push her away. Not when she is finally letting him bring her breakfast in bed again. Not when she is finally asking him to go on walks again.

She doesn't let him kiss her yet but now and then she lets him touch her belly and try to feel for the baby's kick.

Not to mention that he wants her to be able to relax. She already has so much to worry about without his resurfacing problems. 

But that's just it, even before the loss of her memories, it always seemed like his problems came second to hers.

And, as much as he tries to supress it, there is a part of him that is jealous of her and maybe even angry at her. Envious of all of the love and support that she gets and angry that she always seems to have some problem that comes before his. Angry that he is almost always the one who has to offer comfort even though he is hurting himself.

And today, sitting in a cozy little sushi shop it all crashes down upon him. Surrounded by people he loves and delicious foods that delight his senses, he realizes that he has never really healed at all. Not when new new mishaps bring old mishaps back to his mind with just as much vividness as and potency as when they'd first occurred. 

Azula can't remember enough and he remembers too much.

Sometimes he wishes that he could forget just as she had. Wishes that he could go back to a time before death. Before moons and drowning ship crews. Before the Suki's last words and the world's first satomobile accident.

In the warm and serene ambience of a little family run sushi shop, the rich and delicious aromas fade and Sokka breaks down.

[jossambird]

The Scent on your coat P4

Summary: You reflect on your life choices, and despite your wants, Life had other plans for you.

Otto Octavius x F!Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: NS/FW Subjects, No Doc in this Chapter (or is there) but building to the next part, mentions of emotional Reader, heartbreak, yearning for things you can’t have.

Ao3 Fic Link for previous parts, or on my masterlist!

-

“I've only ever wanted you.” You repeated into the silence of your apartment, barely listening to the news that played on tv. Images of various villains flittered on the screen, your eyes falling on the one face you couldn’t stop seeing behind your eyelids. You shut the tv off with a huff, eyes watering at the whole mess.

Hands slinging your blanket over your back, you bundled yourself up and sat in bed, pulling your other blanket over your legs and feet. You couldn’t even begin to find the correct words for just how much you had missed Otto.

Even after all this time, Otto remained as handsome as he had been the last time you had seen him all those dreadful months ago. His soft brown hair that shined red in the sunlight, his gorgeous brown eyes that used to always seek you out in a crowd.

You sighed, replaying his words in your mind. Did he mean everything he had said? He had never been a liar, that you knew…

For weeks after his accident, you had thought him dead. For months, you had listened to the radio and new outlets, slandering his work and very career once he had emerged, tentacles and all, turning to a life of crime.

How long had you mourned him, mourned the fragile friendship you had had together, mourned his work but most importantly, mourned your love for him? It had taken weeks, months even, to finally be able to step back into this laboratory and work, and not be pitied by every living soul here.

They had all known of your deep and dark secret, the love you had held so dear for the Scientist, but stayed silent.. all except for one.

Peter Parker. Sweet Peter Parker, always there for you no matter, always asking if you needed help or a shoulder to cry on, always asking how you were holding up with everything.

It had been Peter, of all people, who had saved you from the endless internal darkness that had started to consume you slowly but surely, depression sinking its claws into you and pushing you towards dangerous thoughts.

He, who had asked you if you wanted to go see a movie together. He, who had walked you home every night afterwards, only ever smiling and offering his arm whilst you tried to say it was okay.

He, who had tentatively asked you if you wanted to be his girlfriend that one summer night after a quiet walk, knowing full well how your heart held a part of itself for another.

It was he, who had kissed your lips, reassuring you that he understood what it felt like, having already lost the love of his life too.

And so, telling yourself that maybe this was what you needed to finally forget Octavius, you had given him a chance; slowly taking your time together and learning about one another, becoming closer and closer by the passing day.

Peter’s secret identity hadn't been kept from you long after you noticed Spiderman arriving at your Oscorp to walk you home, just like Peter did. He had practically fallen off a building when you asked out loud if he was done stalking you like a creep, his laugh echoing softly in the noisy New York streets.

“Aren’t you afraid a villain will come and kidnap me Pe- Spiderman?” You had asked him, grinning even though your heart clenched at the idea of *one* villain kidnapping you. Thoughts like those were burned and shooed away, trying to focus on the good and kind man that loved you.

“Don’t worry, Ill always protect you Y/N.” He assured you with a whisper, bowing his head as you stepped inside your shared apartment complex.

You had come to love him too, in a way, over time.

Your first time together was the moment you realized your heart was irreparable; Peter’s hands were on your hips, holding you softly as he fucked you but in that moment, another man’s name found itself on your lips, a name all too familiar to you, trying to make its way out and into the air between you. You hadn’t let it, swallowing both it and your shame down, sorrow coursing through you as Peter called out your name.

A few days later, on an early September day, as you turned away from the amazing view from your apartment window, the wind blowing your hair from your face, you had felt it; Nervous energy in the air, shudders wracking your body.

Peter Parker asked you to marry him on the same balcony moments after.

No amount of preparation would have ever prepared you for the absolute heartbreak you had felt as the man before you wore bruises shaped like claws, deep cuts and barely fading scars, crooked grin smiling up at you with a ring in hand, waiting.

“I know I’m not him, and you aren’t her, but I'd like to love you for the rest of my life.”

You had sobbed under the loud noise of the shower until the water turned cold, and after.

Though now, sitting here alone in your living room, you wondered why life sought to hurt you so.

Soon you would be married to a sweet man who loved you, adored you, and all fantasies of the tall Doctor Octavius would have to be forgotten and erased.

You sighed again, burying your face into your blanketed hands, trying to will yourself to stop feeling this way. Peter deserved someone who loved him with all their heart, not someone who craved another and had let said man eat them out in their previous work place.

A knock sounded at your front door and you frowned, standing, wrapped in your blankets still, to answer.

Would it be possible… that he would come? Would he knock on the door, or simply open it, hands seeking you out and untying your robe, touching what he had already accidentally claimed?

As you turned the handle and opened the door, your inner shame grew, eyes landing on the smiling face of your best friend Allie.

“Thought Id come see how the bride-to-be was feeling! How- Oh my god Y/N what's wrong?” Allie said in a rush as she saw tears form in your beautiful eyes, stepping inside in a hurry to comfort you. You could barely let out a sob, let alone words, arms wrapping around the woman.

“Y/N, babydoll, what's going on? You can talk to me, you know that right? Nothing leaves this room, only between you and me.” Your best friend whispered, holding you tightly.

She pulled away, arms still wrapped around you but just enough to see your face, and you knew she had figured it out, knew she had pieced it together. “Oh, Y/N… It’ll be okay, it’ll go away.”

What Allie failed to know though, was that you didn’t want it to go away, still feeling his soft but firm fingers holding your thighs and ankles, kisses laid against your skin.

You didn’t want your love for Otto Octavius to disappear, just like the words of love and adoration groaned along your thighs and core, expressive brown eyes seeking yours out in desperation. Desperate for what, you still didn’t know, but it made your heart race, thinking that the renowned Doctor Octavius and villain Doctor Octopus wanted to see you reach ecstasy by his hand and his alone, desperate for only his name to find itself on your tongue.

And you felt even more horrible for it.

*

Allie held you close, blankets wrapped around the both of you as she flicked through channels on TV.

“Want to talk about it?” She whispered, eyes still trailed on the TV but you knew her attention was solely on you.

What was there to say in a situation like this?

“No.” You croaked out, snuggling closer against her in an effort to forget everything, forget the outside world, forget the fact that the very man you wanted most of all was also somewhere out there. You weren’t surprised when Allie sighed, the sound of the TV shutting off. She laid down beside you, worried eyes gazing back at you.

“You know, it's not…” Allie paused, breath caught in her throat at the sight of you.

“It's not abnormal for marriages to be cancelled.” She continued, her eyes flickering over your face for a sign that you were understanding her meaning. You could barely breathe as she waited, the implication of her words sounding out.

“Allie thats- Peter, he-“ you tried, heart breaking at the idea of telling Peter you could no longer marry him. Allie, the beautiful thing she was, faked a gag and rose up, sitting beside you.

“Y/N, forget Pete for the moment okay? He doesn’t exist right here, right now.” She started, turning back towards your surprised visage with a finger pointed at you.

“I will always be here for you. I know you aren’t happy… I just want you to know that it’s never too late to cancel anything.”

You cried that night, silently into your pillow, never acknowledging the words she had spoken. Allie remained with you for the next few days, never uttering another word of the subject she had begun, helping you instead prepare for your wedding.

That night, you dreamt of large hands pulling you close and whispers of love pressed against your breast, heartbeat steady as he asked the one thing you could never lie about:

“Do you love me, Y/N? Me, and only me?” He whispered, lips moving against your collarbone, heated kisses following his words.

“I've only ever loved you.” You whispered back and watched the Otto before you smile, his hold turning bruising.

*

New York, even at night, was never silent. Noises could be heard everywhere and anywhere, people out and about, some heading home and some heading out.

Allie liked the hustle and bustle of the town, always eager to find a new Hole-in-the-wall type of bar or restaurant to get drunk in, and tonight, after saying she wanted to make you feel better with sushi, hadn’t been any different. She hummed under her breath and dutifully followed you back to your apartment, the both of you enjoying each other’s presence.

Convenience store bags in hand, you looked back at Allie as she wobbled, her steps mismatched, a half empty beer can in hand.

“Come on Al, we're almost there!” You laughed, watching her try to Hopscotch along the street. She stopped, eyes wide and smile even wider, throwing the beer can into the air and away from the both of you, making you cringe as it hit the ground.

“Oh my god- Was that a laugh!?” She yelled happily, the smell of beer and sake wafting off of her as she ran up beside you and held you close, arms trapped in her hold. You couldn’t help but smile at your best friend, mouth opening to chastise her for littering but you didn’t have the time; a faint melody met both your ears and Allie beamed, disentangling herself from you. You barely had time to register what song it was before she leaned away, breathing in sharply and letting loose.

“You should have bought her flowers!” She sang out, words echoing in the streets around you. Sang was perhaps too kind of a word though, as she scratchily belted out Bruno Mars lyrics.

“Shh! Oh my god Allie, shhhhhhh! Shut up!” You tried, running after her as she continued back to your apartment complex, uncaring of the people passing you by.

“You should’ve held her hand! Should’ve given her all your hours!” You barely made it in time to her, free hand rising to try and quiet her, heart racing as you imagined someone hearing-

“But now she’s marrying another man!”

Her words felt like a bath of freezing cold water, any remnants of alcohol in your system instantly evaporating.

She was right. You were, and no matter what fantasies and dreams you liked to imagine, you knew that life couldn’t continue like this, childishly hoping and wishing for another man to come sweep you up.

[marie-hoe]

I'm not sure if you want to use real-world events in your HC or stories, but if you do, how would Seb and the reader react when the pictures of Chris’ London trip and ice cream romp in the park with Lily James this past summer came out?

London

Poly!Evanstan; Chris x Reader x Sebastian

Words: 1385

Warnings: cheating maybe but not

Masterlist

"Sebby, did you see these?"

You leaned up, leaving the warmth of Sebastian's chest as you sat up straight to show him the pictures on your phone.

Chris had been in London for about a week and a half now, working away as you and Sebastian remained at home, keeping Dodger company. It was typical for one of you to be away working while the others stayed home, but nightly facetimes were also very typical. This week, you both have noticed Chris acting a little weird. From not texting you guys good morning to not answering his phone when you called to see how his day had been, Chris was always the one who started these things- the good morning texts and good night calls- for him to not answer made you both feel off. These photos did not help the situation either.

Sebastian grabbed at your phone, the arm that was once wrapped around your body now holding the phone closer to his face. His eyebrows furrowed quickly, scoffing as he handed the phone back to you. "I'm sure it's nothing," he said plainly.

You knew how this worked. One of the guys does a big show or movie and some guys in ties decide they Needed to be seen in a relationship, even though everyone knows it's fake. It's the oldest trick in the book, fans can smell a phony relationship at this point, and there were times when even you couldn't tell what was real and what was fake, they were so good at putting it on for the show— an extension of putting on a show for the cameras, but you just never know what angle the cameras are coming from.

You obviously weren't Fine with this part of their jobs, but until you three decided to all come forward and tell everyone that you were a throuple, it was something you had to deal with. You did this by making sure everything was communicated with the others. Sebastian had a publicity date after one of his shows a few months back, but he told you guys and always warned you before it was flashed in front of your face. Why would Chris not mention it if that's what this was?

"Are you convincing me or yourself," you asked, eyes raised as he wrapped his arm back around your shoulders, pulling you back into him as he sighed.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure. Chris had been MIA all week and was sketching the both of you out. Part of each of you trusted Chris and believed Chris with your whole hearts, loving him to death, but the fact that it would be very easy for him to simply walk away, not look back, and have the power to settle down with any girl, or guy, he wanted, was too daunting.

"She's his costar. They're having a nice picnic at the park, baby. They're just getting Vitamin D and ice cream," he said rationally, his free hand going to hold his head up, index finger going to be chewed on as he contemplated.

You knew he had a point, but laying in the grass, laughing while eating ice cream while ignoring his boyfriend and girlfriend, felt very off-putting.

You took a deep breath, deciding to trust Chris and return your attention to the movie Sebastian had decided to watch. There was no sense in worrying yourself over it now. You just needed to trust him until he got home.

A few more weeks passed, no new pictures were released, but the same ones were definitely circulated around.

You and Seb had gone out to eat dinner, grabbing sushi from the cute little corner place near you. You both knew Chris would be home at some point, but weren't expecting him to be home today. Sebastian unlocked the front door, your head leaning on his back as you felt full to the gills.

"Think I ate too much," you groaned against him, causing him to laugh as let you inside.

As soon as you stepped in, you were greeted by Chris, who was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, eating something he had brought home with him.

"Hey, Bubbas!" He exclaimed as he put his fork down, arms wide open as he walked closer to the two of you. "Missed you," he whispered to you both as he gave you each a hug.

You guys welcomed him warmly, hugging him in return and following him over to his plate of take out, both of you sitting on either side of him.

It was quiet for a moment, you and Sebastian both decided to not bring up the photos no matter how much you wanted an answer about them. Chris on the other hand, appeared to be a bit nervous. He was avoiding eye contact with the both of you and his foot was tapping against the leg of the stool he sat in as he continued eating.

You looked across to Seb, cocking an eyebrow at him as you moved a hand to rub on Chris' shoulder.

"Listen, about the pictures," Chris said suddenly as he laid his fork down on his plate. He looked at you, tears beginning to well in his eyes, before looking at Sebastian the same way. Both of you, now scared, but rubbing circles on each of his shoulders in comfort.

"It was a date..." he started swiftly, a quiet gasp leaving your lips as your stomach fell and Sebastian's glare hardened. "But, I didn't know that it was at first, I swear. I'm so sorry..."

Chris' face fell into his hands, tears beginning to fall from his eyes as you looked over at Sebastian from across Chris' body and saw his hardened expression soften upon seeing the emotion.

"Baby, how did you not know?" Sebastian asked softly, hand rubbing against the back of Chris' head.

He leaned up, looking over at him as he continued, "it was our day off, and she said, 'hey, a couple of us are going to get ice-cream and go to the park, wanna come?' so I said 'fuck yeah, I love ice-cream and the park.'"

You looked at him, stifling a smile as you muttered, "you do love Ice-cream and the park..."

He nodded and turned to look at you while he continued, "So, I met her at the ice-cream place but no one else was there. And I asked where everyone was and she looked at me like I was crazy and said no one else was coming. Then at the park, I was laying in the sun and she was like 'I never asked anyone else to come.'"

His eyes were pained. He was truly upset with Lily for being so suave. Had he been a single man, he would have been a puddle for her bravery and audacity, but he wasn't., he was riddled with guilt because he couldn't tell her, 'Lily, I've got my girlfriend and boyfriend waiting for me across the sea, I can't do this.'

Sebastian lightly laughed, "Bubs, it's okay. She's got some balls, but we haven't told everyone yet, so how would she know?"

Chris nodded, feeling a little lighter knowing you two weren't upset. You three breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling 10x better about the whole situation.

Randomly, Chris started laughing hysterically, right hand grabbing his chest as he stood up from his stool, and went to the bag he had laid on the floor. You and Sebastian looked at one another. You took the opportunity to scoot over, putting yourself in the middle, and leaned against Sebastian's shoulder to watch Chris bend down and retrieve something from the bag.

He turned around, palm out, as you saw his phone, screen cracked from top to bottom. He rolled it over, showing the cracked back before turning it on and pulling up a random video so you could hear the way the audio sounded: crunchy, staticky, and as if he microwaved the phone.

"I dropped my phone at the airport and someone rolled over it with one of those things you carry luggage on, and it had been raining so it skidded into a puddle before I found where it went..."

"Jesus bubs, maybe you need a handler?"

[tbcc]

Rules: Tag 9 People that you'd like to know better

Thanks for the Tag! @yellowmagicalgirl

Cw: Mentioned CSA

Favorite color: light Blue and Mint Green

Currently reading: The acts of King Author and his noble Knights

Last song: Let's Dance by David Bowie- 2018 remaster I Totally didn't reference that in Gaylen au hehe

Last Movie: Coco My comfort movie at this point

Last Series: Big Hiro 6 I'm on season2 I don't know if I'll continue it.

Currently craving: Sushi. Rock and Roll Sushi is one of my favorite places to get sushi from. My favorite roll there is the Volcano roll.

Tea or Coffee: I like tea better. I went to one of the apothecaries in town and got myself a tea called Blue Magic. The tea is sweet, with an ascent of mint as for the color reminds me of the Heart of Avalon.

One random fact about me is that I'm a survivor of CSA

Currently working on: Chest pains and a Gaylen Krel au

I'll tag (participation is optional)

@purplerose244 @smallgirl10101 @gayspiderman and@that-one-bi-wizard

[skylarmoon71]

Bumblebee (Extra)

"Nothing exciting ever happens here, it's so damn boring. " your friend complained. You were sure if she knew half of what you did, she'd be thankful for the boring days.

"By the way, Mr. Henderson got a new assistant, I heard he's a real cutie, maybe we can get you a boyfriend."

"I'm not interested. " you didn't care for anyone but Bumblebee. Just the thought of him had you smiling. You opened your locker, switching books. "You keep saying that. Do you have a secret I should know about?" she raised a brow.

"Quit playing, it's nothing like that. I'm just interested in someone else already."

"I know, that's what you always say, when can I meet your mystery crush."

"It's a long distance thing, so who knows when." she just looked unimpressed. If you say so (Y/N)."

You kept walking, still chatting with your friend. Someone coming out hurriedly from a door in front of you made you backtrack. The male spun around, almost knocking into you. The frantic way in which he moved indicated that maybe he was looking for someone. When his brown eyes locked unto you, his smile got brighter.

He was decked down in a pair of slacks and a button up white shirt. The dark hair matched his pretty eyes. You weren't sure if he was a student of part of the faculty. You barely paid much mind to people other than the ones you conversed with on a regular basis.

"(Y/N)!" the excitement on the man's face was unnerving. What threw you completely off is his voice. It sounded exactly like the one in your dream that time with Bee. Your cheeks color, and you take some more steps back. "W-Who are you?" You can tell he wants to talk, but his eyes move to your friend.

"I'm uhhh, well that's a good question I'm.."

He's not really forming sentences, or making much sense. Your friend however is gushing.

"No need to get bashful, I can tell when I'm being a third wheel. See ya (Y/N)!" Her enthusiasm is high as she completely abandons you with this strange boy.

"She likes sushi!!" she calls, right before she's gone, all the way around the corner. You know she doesn't suspect that this guy is in any way harmful, but you don't have the same level of trust. The last guy that ran into you like this turned out to be a psychotic Decepticon hellbent on assassinating you. You aren't ready to replay that record anytime soon. You keep the distance between the both of you, watching him wearily.

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but this place is packed with people. There's no way you'd risk getting caught here." you're on the defense. But at least this time you're not alone in the building.

"What? Wait no no, I'm not a Decepticon (Y/N)." some more students buzz by, a few girls sending the male a little smile and wink. He doesn't even seem to register it. His focus is completely on you.

"I know I look different like this but I-" He takes a step forward, and you move back. He raises his hand to assure you there's no need to be afraid.

"It's me (Y/N). Bumblebee." You don't really believe at first, but when the quick glimmer of blue rushes over his orbs, you gasp in surprise. That look, the one he'd given so many times when you were just lounging around, There was no mistaking it.

"Bee..." He smiles in relief, rushing over and pulling you into his arms. He picks you up, spinning you around laughing, and you clutch unto him unprepared, letting out a small squeal.

"B-But how did you.." You just saw him this morning and he in no way looked like this.

"I'll tell you everything."

This was about to be one hell of a story.

~~~~

The next few hours feel like torture. You're so anxious for school to let out so you can talk to Bee, who you found out was the assistant mentioned earlier. The entire day he spent practically at your side when he wasn't working. You were still adjusting to the fact that he was walking around in your school. Another shocker was his ease carrying out the job. Being an advanced robot probably helped a lot in that department. The ringing of the final bell goes off, and before you can seek out Bumblebee, he's already found you.

"(Y/N)!!" His call directs a lot of female attention in your spot, and you avert your eyes. There were no doubt a few bitter girls. Bumblebee catches up, taking your hand into his. The smile he sends you banishes the stares you once felt, and he guided you out the school doors. Out of earshot of the other students, Bumblebee goes on a full on rant.

"This is so awesome! I never thought being human was this incredible, of course humans are amazing. Not as amazing as you of course (Y/N). You guys do some much down here although you're so tiny. Doesn't it get tiring being this small. And the girls at your school are really curious too, they kept asking so many questions. "

They were definitely hitting on him.

"I'm just so happy to be able to be with you like this. When Optimus first told me about it I was so skeptical, but look at me, I'm human!" his yell earned a weird look from a passer by, and you pulled him off to the side.

"M-Maybe don't say stuff like that in the open okay Bee." he looks at the woman who just walked by, giving a little smile and wave. She just keeps walking forward.

"Huh, thought humans liked it when you waved." he looks down at his hand to maybe inspect it to see if he did it wrong, and you just watch him. Parts of this still barely made sense, but you had to admit, the human version of Bumblebee was almost as cute as the autobot one. He still held that innocence and curiosity.

"Hey Bee, If you're here, who's' with Sam?"

"Oh, Ironhide. He said being human is overrated. He's gonna be Sam's ride for a while. I can still transform you know, wanna see!" you shake your head.

"N-Not here!" he blinks. "Oh, right right. Good call." just like that he's grinning again.

"I'm so glad I can hold hands with you like this." he takes your hand softly in his, and you do love the warmth it gives off. It's the same way you always feel around him.

"Let's get back to my house." Maybe when you're in your own environment you'd be able to question him freely.

~

The moment you step through your door you fully expect your mother to be there. Because for once, you're able to show her the boy you've been madly in love with for months. But you meet nothing but silence. "Mom?" you enter, and Bumblebee follows close behind. When you make out the note stuck to the fridge you sigh.

"Hey sweetheart, I have an overnight shift. There's money for pizza on the table when you get hungry. Enjoy!"

Figures.

"Hey Bee, can you come here for a second?"

"Yep!" He's by your side in seconds, and you pull out your phone, switching the camera.

"I just wanna take a picture to send to my mom. I was kind of hoping she'd be here, but she has to work late today. Say cheese." he turns to the camera and as you're about to snap the picture, he presses a kiss to your cheeks. You blush, a bit unprepared. The camera snaps it and you lower your hand, looking at him shyly. He just returns it with a cheeky smile. His eyes move down to the picture. "I love it." he mutters.

Although you know this is Bumblebee, to you it's still a bit strange. As a human, it almost feels like he's a different person. A lot more forward about everything. His eyes shift in your direction as you make your mini assessment, and something flickers in his brown orbs.

The minute they zero in on your lips, you take a step back lowering your head as you tuck the phone into your pocket. You start a trip to your room, and Bumblebee trails behind. The silence that follows has you a bit unnerved, so you decided now is as good a time as any to find out how it all came about.

"W-Well how about you tell me how this all happened Bee."

"Yeah.." His answer sounds distracted, and you peep to the side to read his expression as you're walking up the stairs. Upon entering your room, you open the door for him to step in. He does, closing it as he enters. His eyes dart from one side to the next, and the excitement returns tenfold. His eyes shine an electric blue, and you can only guess it's a lapse of control because he's so eager to see and understand it all.

"Your room is amazing!! " To you it isn't that great. There's a few posters on the walls of your favorite bands and artists. Your desk with all your school equipment and some little nicks and knacks to the side. The bed is situated a bit closer to the window that gives you a view of the neighborhood below.

"Thank you Bee."

His enthusiasm is so adorable, and it just reminds you why you adore the Autobot. He moves closer to the bed, poking the soft surface. "I-Is it alright if I sit down?" You nod.

"Of course Bee, make yourself at home." He's grinning, flopping back on the bed with a little cheer, and you giggle.

"Awesome!!"

"For you I guess this is all brand new. You guys don't exactly sleep like the rest of us. "

That and his adjusted size, you probably would have a similar reaction if you were in his shoes.

"I'm glad you like it." You placed your bag down, taking a seat on the bed. Bumblebee sat upright, shifting closer to you, and you just titled your head with a smile.

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm just really happy that we're this close."

There he goes again, saying stuff like that to make your insides flutter in the most heavenly way.

His body is now facing you, and you can practically feel the pull he's giving off as he looks at you. He bits his lower lip, and you can hear the small breath he takes as he begins to lean in. You pull back, standing and wringing your hands. "A-Are you hungry? We should get something to eat. '' you try to take a step to the door.

"Why do you do that?" you freeze in place. Bumblebee stands, and the hurt that he expresses causes your heart to constrict. He looks down at his palm as if searching for something.

"I thought if I looked like this it would bring us closer, but it seems to have done the exact opposite. Am I not appealing to you as a human?"

You rush over to him shaking your head. "Of course not Bee, you'd never be unappealing to me no matter how you look. Autobot or human, I love you regardless." As the words leave your lips, you become still. Neither of you have really said that particular word yet. You look away bashfully.

"I love you too (Y/N), so much."

He doesn't even need to say the words, you already know. Nevertheless, you love hearing it.

He takes your hands in his, and the warmth is familiar.

"Then why do you keep running from me?"

You need to explain, but it's just so embarrassing. The red that graces your cheeks only adds to Bumblebee's puzzle.

"Bee...do you remember when I kept avoiding you that week." His brows knit in utter confusion now. What did that have to do with anything. Truth be told he rather not remember. Because it was a tough week for him.

He was so convinced that he'd done something to tarnish your friendship, but he had no idea what it was. That's what drove him crazy. "I remember." He answers tightly.

"It wasn't because of anything you did, and I should have explained it all that day I was just so embarrassed about it all so I tried to deal with it on my own but I just made everything worse."

"I don't understand, what did you try to deal with?"

"Bee, I had a dirty dream about you."

"Dirty?" Oh how you wish you didn't have to explain that concept to him.

"A sexual dream." you clarified.

He stilled. "Sexual.." His brain seems to be computing the meaning behind the words. When he does, you can see the way his eyes become wide.

"B-But w-what I-I was still an h-how did you...I-I.." you cover your face.

"I-I'm sorry!!" you're mortified. "N-No it's fine I just never thought that you felt that way. For so long too." He sounds almost in awe. There were so many questions whirling in his mind. He knew since that day that he followed you to the warehouse that something was different. The way he felt about you was not the same as Sam or even Mikaela.

"(Y/N), how long have you...been in love with me?" He really needs an answer. It's important.

"I think..since that day that you touched me.."

Your hand moves to your cheek, the memory of it all rushing back. There was a light in his eyes that just struck you and nothing had been the same.

Bumblebee stands, and as he approaches, you kind of want to run. Not because you're scared, but the emotion that is revealed to you, it's so prominent, strong and almost raw. His hand reaches out, sliding against your cheek. You only manage one syllable before he claims your lips. A short sound leaves your lips, and his free hand secures around your waist, pulling you flush to his form. The sudden movement causes your hands to flatten on his chest. Your body is slowly but surely catching up with what's happening, and you grip at his shirt, letting out a moan.

"Bee.."

He doesn't relent. The eager kisses feel as though he's been deprived of the opportunity for centuries. Bumblebee's hold is firm, soft, loving. Your melting just by the sensations that travel through your body. He is pretty good at this. He slowly backs you up, and you fall ungracefully unto the bed. He barely processes it. Because his lips still have you captive. One of his hands press into the mattress, and the other links with your own, fingers entangled. This very moment, you pray that'll never end. He finally pulls back to regain his breath, and you're also fighting to get yours. You're both heaving, and you grin at him. He smiles back, pecking your lips.

"I'm really going to enjoy being human."

There's no doubt about that.