#i certainly have a Type of favourite character huh

[ollylotl]

the girls ever <3

[endlessburningdarkness]

the most sympathy shen yuan had for abused slave child shen jiu was "speechless" lmao he literally never thinks about him again. doesn't spare a second to consider how he's using a former slave's body without his permission. this is the guy who canonically feels guilty for all sorts of things he can't control, like lbh having to go into the abyss.

so why does he feel guilty for one thing he can't control and not about another? bc he doesn't care about shen jiu or have sympathy for him.

the one thing he never angsts about is the goddamn slave who's life, name, and identity he inadvertently stole. shen yuan angsts about lbh falling into the abyss not because he has sympathy for everyone, but specifically bc he likes and cares about lbh. he is biased towards lbh. he doesn't consider how shen jiu, again a former slave, would feel about having his body be used against his will by shen yuan, bc he doesn't give a goddamn fuck about shen jiu. no, he's not compartmentalizing, bc we would see him try to keep those thoughts away, he just doesn't have them.

shen yuan had sympathy in your head, not in the text.

you have sympathy for shen jiu, but projecting it onto shen yuan doesn't mean shen yuan magically has it. he canonically does not demonstrates sympathy, he demonstrates surprise, shock, and on single moment of "huh, i guess he had a bad childhood," and then he moves the fuck on bc he couldn't care less.

if he cared even the tiniest amount, he would be a lot more goddamn careful with the body he's inadvertently occupying. not blow it up or let it be ripped open by demon cock over and over. shen jiu doesn't consent to any of that either btw, and that is still his body. not shen yuan's. just bc shen yuan is in it doesn't mean he has the right to do whatever he wants.

this such basic body autonomy that i can't believe it needs to be fucking said. no one has a right to another person's body, not even if they got in there by accident. goddamn pro life type argument to say shen yuan should do whatever he likes with a body that is not his own and will never be his own just bc he got trapped in there.

i get you want shen yuan to be this super duper nice perfect mary sue self-insert you can project onto but he just isn't that. his primary motivation is to save himself for fucks sake. he is selfish. his favourite character lbh is canonically a rapist. a fact he has no issue with even when it's said to his face. he's a flawed character. let him be fucking flawed! it's fine for him to enjoy life in the body of someone who did not consent and fine for him not to think twice about it.

let him be flawed.

and it's always this flaw of his, this lack of sympathy for the villain that people get hung up over. all his other flaws are fucking hilarious. but this one has people crying tears of blood. it makes perfect sense for shen yuan not to have sympathy. it makes sense for him to believe all the wrong rumours about shen jiu. bc shen jiu was the villain, and shen yuan wants to believe he was just pure evil, and lbh was pure good. there's certainly a stunning irony in the fact that you display he same failure of reading comprehension for shen yuan is the very one he displays himself lol. shen yuan was wrong about the villain, and thats fine for his character.

when shen yuan has sympathy for someone, he treats them like lbh. lbh crippled countless cultivators, he still nearly fucked over the whole world, he turned the OPM into a stick. shen yuan has no issue with lbhs darkness and violence, but his stans sure seem to shy away from it, and from shen yuan's glaring lack of interest in behaving in a moral manner. neither shen yuan or lbh are good people, and thats fine. that's what makes them interesting in fact, and yet they get sanded down into basic ass stereotypical "good guys who can do no wrong" by people who claim to love them.

[yuoimia]

*:･ﾟ✧ today is what!?

oh no.. it seems that you have forgotten a special date

characters: ayato, alhaitham, wanderer

warnings: sfw, established relationship, petnames, suggestive in ayato’s part, got lazy on wanderer’s part, slightly proofread

AYATO

he pours his heart and soul in these sort of events. Adores the idea of a day dedicated to one’s lover. dedicated to you. however, you seem to be quite oblivious to his antics.

‘This is really beautiful, ayato. I can’t believe it, thank you.’

He responds with a cheeky smile and a soft kiss, handing you another mysterious box of unknown contents.

Before you open it, you can’t help but be a bit suspicious. Sure, ayato loved spoiling those he loved. And sure, it wasn’t strange to go out for some fancy dinner, but the large piles of luxurious presents were definitely out of the ordinary.

‘Ayato, what are you doing?’

He wants to laugh. And kiss you. Both, actually. You had certainly forgotten, and he found that quite amusing. You were usually so up-to-date with these sort of occasions, and now you sat opposite him, confused and completely oblivious.

‘darling, do you know what day it is?’

‘monday, why? is there a festival coming up?’

but don’t worry, you definitely did reminded  later on that night.

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham, the rational and logical acting grand sage would have never thought such a day could mean this much to him. That until, you forgot.

‘wow, you remembered that I wanted one of these!’

he hands you an expensive gift you dreamt of long ago. You were surprised, to say the least. All you said at that time was that’s so pretty.

Alhaitham almost snorts in response. ‘Of course I did. You weren’t exactly quiet about it.’

that was a downright lie. you could see it in his face. his cheeks were definitely a bit pinker than before.

‘I was quiet about it!’

‘No, you weren’t. You kept turning back to stare at it.’

‘So? That doesn’t mean I wanted to buy it.’

Alhaitham sighs dramatically before flicking your forehead, earning him a light slap on his wrist. ‘You’re insufferable, you know?’

you roll your eyes and attempt to push him off the couch, failing so miserably he shakes his head. ‘anyway, do you like it?’

of course you did. ‘obviously, thank you so much, but..’

alhaitham raises an eyebrow ‘but?’

‘why are you being so lovey-dovey to me today?’

alhaitham gives you a blank stare. Disappointment? Pity? Annoyance?

he decides to throw a pillow in your face.

he’s not that mean though, he uses that as a distraction to tackle you into an embrace.

‘wait… is it valentine’s day?’

‘seems you finally remembered, huh?’

WANDERER

wanderer, despite his cold words, yearns to be loved. and he yearns your comforting presence. but you seem to be a tad bit busy.

at first, wanderer thought valentine’s day was stupid.

key word: at first.

But that was because he hadn’t yet met you. You were the only person who could make him feel this.. unique way.

he says he hates it.

but truly, he love, adores, cherishes, it. Much more than you think.

You flood his mind in electrifying ways. You are his only thought day and night. His only concern is how you feel, what you want. He believes you’re the one worth living for.

Without you, he’s empty.

Not that he’d ever admit it. He’d rather get a lecture about how to be kind by Nahida than admit that.

So that’s why, when you’re asleep, in a cozy dreamland, wanderer stays up all night, thinking about the perfect valentine gesture. What presents you like, your favourite places, your favourite flower, your favourite type of weather, even.

This was how wanderer ended up flying you to the tops of Mawtimiya Forest, setting up a breathtaking and ethereal viewpoint.

‘It’s even more magnificent up here.’

You are so intently surveying the scenery that you fail to notice the delicious aroma wafting through the air.

‘Could you stop gawking and help me unpack?’

You snap out of your daydream and hastily reach for the travel bag, only to find...letters? jewellery? gift boxes?

it’s so strange. why are there so much of your most favourite things in here? surely, they-

‘that’s the wrong bag. seriously, do you need glasses? they’re literally labelled.’

you could almost feel him rolling his eyes. Then, you notice the scent.

‘Are you cooking Shimi Chazuke? It smells so good!’

your favourite dish, his speciality. you’re starving by the time he finishes cooking.

As you two get ready for a night under the stars, he whispers something in your ear.

‘those things in the bag are for you. Happy valentines day.’

If you protest and begin saying sorry, he’ll immediately start kissing you to shut you up, because, he believes you are the only thing worth existing for.

[ryuichirou]

How do you imagine the Scott Pilgrim characters interacted with the twst characters?

Anon, this is such an interesting but complicated question, and I, as always, took it way too seriously lol Both TWST and Scott Pilgrim have so many iconic characters, but it would be impossible to talk about every possible combination. So you know what, I’ll go through the cast of Scott Pilgrim, since it’s a bit smaller… Although I did ended up missing a bunch of them anyway because I didn’t have anything to say or because I simply forgot about them lol

Also, while the image of the characters in my head is all over the place right now with 3 different versions of the story, I’m mainly thinking about the anime version.

Alright, sooo.

The easiest one to talk about is unsurprisingly Wallace lol We like to joke about him enjoying his time at the Mostro Lounge and being a regular customer there. He is loved by the staff and especially by the Tweels and Azul, because he pays well, knows a lot about cocktails, doesn’t bother anyone (he could’ve if he wanted to, but the place is chill, so he behaves even when he gets drunk… just don’t tell anyone that the Lounge has alcoholic beverages now lol). They love him so much that whenever he visits they prepare his favourite spot at the bar for him. They love him so much that they named a cocktail after him lol They also love to gossip- I mean, exchange information with him (there is a sketch on our ko-fi with Wallace at the Lounge…)

Wallace would also probably enjoy spending time with Lilia, I feel like these two are quite a dangerous mix. Are they going to tease someone together or flirt with each other aggressively and end up having sex for some reason? Both, but the order is unpredictable.

But ironically, when it comes to romance and stuff though, I feel like out of all the twst guys the one that’s closer to Wallace’s type is Trey. Trey is such a Jimmy it hurts.

Now, Scott… I look at him and my mind is blank, I feel like he would just be freaked out by everything that’s going on, because this whole thing is too harry-pottery and weird; I can’t really imagine him befriending someone or someone being interested enough in him to even hang out… but at the same time, I feel like Scott will end up fighting all the housewardens for whatever reason. He’ll have more luck with some of them (Riddle, Kalim who didn’t even want to fight) than with the others (Vil, for example), but ultimately everyone wouldn’t know why this fight is happening. Ramona certainly doesn’t know – she is too busy hanging out with the first years, asking them questions about this world. A part of me wants to say that someone would get a crush on her, but these boys are too gay for that…

Stephen would find himself in the light music club, being bullied by the club members (mostly Lilia). They tease him, they torture him by not telling if his music sucks or not… Playing with them is unusual, because his own band’s energy is quite different, but it’s fun overall. If only they didn’t bully him like that..!

Kim is at the light music club too, quietly wishing to disappear and not witness this clownery. But unfortunately for her, Kalim would try to talk to her and just wouldn’t shut up. He just feels like since she seems so quiet and upset (angry??), maybe he could cheer her up by talking about the drums and stuff. In general, he only makes it worse, but surprisingly talking to someone so genuinely good-natured would be a refreshing change.

Matthew is a theatre kid, so sticking him to the Pomefiore people sounds fair in theory (and he would’ve definitely have a delightful conversation about music theatre with either/both Rook and Vil), but I feel like Kalim would’ve invited him to hang out… which means that Matthew is Jamil’s problem now. At least Jamil expected him to be a problem, but he was actually much less obnoxious that Jamil expected him to be, so it was a nice “huh” moment.

Lucas… he is such a Savannaclaw bro, and yet for the most part I can picture him surrounded by the first years, especially Epel lol Oh how much Epel would love him. He would really want to learn some skateboard tricks, and Ace and Deuce too… But I don’t think Lucas is really interested in teaching them, he just flexes for the most part lol

Oh, Cater skateboards right?? That’s perfect, considering he would also try to hunt Lucas down to take a picture with him, but probably wouldn’t succeed for some reason: Cater isn’t really lucky. Floyd would also be around (because Azul sent him to stalk big celebrity that arrived at their school for some reason) but wouldn’t get all the hype. He would be very into the whole skateboarding thing though, he’ll absolutely try to steal Lucas’ board to try it himself. Which means they’re going to fight and Epel is going to watch in awe…

Todd and Envy would also be stalked by a) Cater (he really wants his damn picture); b) one of the tweels (it’s Jade this time). Cater wouldn’t succeed again, this poor guy, but Jade is just unnoticeable and quiet enough to hang around creepily and learn some info for Azul. He also would invite them to the lounge at some point.

I feel like the only company in the NRC that wouldn’t drive Envy insane would be Vil or Jamil, so anyone who isn’t completely obnoxious and is bitchy enough to complain about petty stuff with. And since Jamil is a bit more secretive about his pettiness, Vil probably works better. Showbiz sucks, and certain annoying people from their lives also suck, so…

Todd would have an absolute journey. He could start by hanging out with Envy and Vil, but then, despite loving him to death and all, Envy would politely ask Todd to please go hang around somewhere else for like 20 minutes. Maybe it’s because Vil wouldn’t be impressed with the vegan talk at all… if only Vil knew the science.

It’s honestly surprising just how difficult it is to think about what Todd could’ve done: Todd works in mysterious ways. He doesn’t casually flex as much as Lucas, but he still might end up having a fight with someone. And knowing Todd’s luck, he might do it with someone who is also good at teleportation, which means… Todd, please don’t be stupid, don’t fight Malleus—This is such a stupid combo but also?? Would Malleus be amused by this foolish man? He might be.

But then at some point he’ll also end up at Mostro Lounge and see Wallace… and Azul would have to think about whether he wants to kick them out (he would’ve if it was anyone other than Wallace) or offer them a nice private room at his dorm. Maybe Azul should consider this as some new business model? Because with these two it worked surprisingly well lol

(Todd would definitely miss the opportunity to show-off his bass-playing skills :( too bad, I would’ve watch him duel both Lilia and Jade)

Julie would fucking hate NRC but at the same time she would instantly figure out who the most important and influential people are in here. So, she’d skip Heartslabyul (after kind of befriending Cater for mutual beneficial reasons), skip Savanaclaw (they have a prince, but he isn’t motivated enough to be useful), befriend the Octa-trio (yay more gossip and bitchiness!), befriend Kalim and probably annoy Jamil by this ‘cause parties, she would try her best to befriend Vil, skip Ignihyde (great, more nerds and virgins) aaand she would really want to get closer to Malleus but couldn’t, but she would still manage to befriend Lilia somehow. This girls works the hardest.

Roxie has nothing to catch at the NRC but at the same time she hangs out with dumb boys with anger issues all the time so maybe this is actually quite natural to her lol but she would still hate it and complain about  this stupid place having no girlies. She’ll definitely kick a lot of ass just out of frustration, but then somehow end up befriending someone very random like Jack for example. I guess she would consider him to be the least annoying, but even then it’s not much of a friendship, they just happened to be at the same place.

Or you know what? Get her to Diasomnia, let train with Sebek and Silver. She would be so annoyed with their dynamic, it would be priceless.

The twins would just go straight to Ignihyde and hang out with Ortho. They would really want to see Idia and discuss robo-mechanics with him, but Idia refuses to go out of his room because just hearing that “there are twins who want to see you” is too terrifying...

And Gideon and Azul are almost the same person, so it they would either join forces (while also planning to backstab each other at some point) or compete with each other openly. The first option works better I think lol And unfortunately, they’ll likely learn a lot from each other.

[katyspersonal]

1 and 2 for Logarius

3 And 4 for Maria

5 and 6 for Caryll

8, 9, and 10 for Bloody Crow (he gets three because he’s my blorbo)

<3

Oh well, this will be a bit of a ride, huh? But thank you!

(Asks from this ( x ) meme)

Logarius/Rogeriusz

1) What would their social media page/activity be like

Hypocrite on main, nuff said. Would post plenty of short posts "spreading some positivity", encouraging others to be kind and good, some wise thoughts etc. Often some fake-deep quotes plastered on aesthetic pictures of nature. Sometimes they're ACTUALLY deep thoughts. But his comments section is the utter Hell as most of the comments are people sharing something bad he did/said earlier and calling him out on being hypocrite. The funniest part is that he doesn't moderate his comments section at ALL - never bothers to block any users or retort or just close the darn section! Granted, there are plenty of white knights that defend him in the comments. Every darn post has like 5k comments worth of online battlefield djfsdds

2) What animal they remind me of

For some reason, this is ram!

I tried to disconnect from cold aesthetic because that's Cainhurst stuff, but I keep saying that he is 'just evil Ludwig', haha. So he feels like a hooved animal for me, but whereas Ludwig is indeed like a stallion himself, Logarius would need to be an animal who is associated with both stubbornness (to a fault, because Gold Ardeo symbolises being a total blockhead determined to crash everyone who you deem impure) and majesty. I think their horns ARE pretty graceful!

Maria

3) My thoughts on their design/aesthetic alone

Alright, if I completely empty my head from all lore and just look at her... For some reason, overall impression on her design is no very... 'impressive' for me? She indeed wears a costume of a fighter prioritising agility over defence, and seems like just a blonde, and is indeed a woman with sword(s)... Like this is indeed a female action figure, sure? However, it is all in the DETAILS. It is when I look at filigree on her clothes, and how she is not just blonde but actually ashy blonde, and how pretty her pale eyelashes against dark eyeshadow, and how beautiful that green brooch looks against white collar, and take closer look at her eyes. THEN I actually appreciate her and think she is very beautiful! From what I know, many people were absolutely swayed by her merely appearing instantly, so I am not sure why it was different for me? I think her design is good enough, but the REAL beauty of it all lurks in intricate and elegant details for me!

4) Physical headcanons (sleeping habits, favourite food, all that)

She's is the type to have trouble falling asleep without some sort of audible stimulation. It has to be something - humming, burning wood in the fireplace, someone reading and shuffling pages, all that. Funny enough, this is the exact problem my Brador has! (Cute date idea - falling asleep peacefully while listening to Simon cry <3 sdjhdhs) That naturally subdued when she was torn between dream/nightmare, we talking about her "physical" life!

Kind of on a brink between physical and psychological, but her favorite way to stim is to push her whole face against plants full of morning dew, especially bushy flowers such as hydrangea!

Sitting near a puddle or another shallow body of water and sticking her hands down in it is also a favourite.

The dark area under her eyes is not a makeup nor it is dark circles of Constant Exhaustion, it is just a feature that tends to appear in most people with Pthumerian blood in them! I generally headcanon that Pthumerians and humans can have children, so some characters in Bloodborne are mixed species; Maria is certainly mixed between human and Pthumerian like other vilebloods, a branch that has long history of being super selective with the spouses to basically combine strong features of both species. I also decided to take her eyebrows being white not as creators being lazy with coloring the model, but as a legit feature - again, a hint of some Pthumerian blood.

She is cursed with only ever feeling appetite to the foods that are not healthy - be it less refined kind of alcohol, exceptionally fat meat, food that got burnt beyond saving, overly sugary pastries and cakes etc. That is her unique developed reaction to being able to eat very good and high-quality foods as someone living in the rich castle, so when she left Cainhurst, she had to put extra willpower into eating normally now that no one will bring her meals on the plate. It is just that the highest restaraunt quality meal she has to force herself to finish without even feeling pleasure, when a burnt potato that was also overly salted will make her drool.

She is physically strong without training and was born this way - again, Pthumerian genes showing. So instead of training to lift weights and hit stronger, Maria had to learn somewhat of an opposite, to stop hurting people's hands with merely handshake or accidentally sending objects to fly while trying to move them. So, most of her training as a hunter had to do with agility and applying this force the right way; prior that, she was having to learn to apply her strength towards other people in reasonable amount. Basically her arc was not to become ripped, but to learn how to be ripped in a way that HELPS her rather than works as a destructive liability.

Continuing theme of a power she had to learn to control + that can be dangerous! As a child and teenager, if she was bleeding in some way (like cut or damage from falling), she would start to accidentally ignite things around her from anxiety... And people who'd try to help, too. The worst that happened so far was burning half of Ludwig's face in panic and anger. The power of pyromancy and quickening draws itself from the blood. So, when she started having periods, she had to actually seek guidance from elders in Cainhurst to not like... burn everything around her or keep teleporting away from people in fear. However, she didn't have many people to talk about it with, because such powerful genetic combination is rare. She suppressed the pyromancy quite well though, to the point she has to focus very much (and to hurt herself very much) to awaken it again (something Gehrman resented, as she was "burying her hunter potential"). Maria was, however, able to teach Gehrman and his other hunters how to use the quickening (teleportation) because everyone who imbibed holy blood could master it! But pyromancy, alas, IS inherited genetically!

She ended up giving into a habit of having a glass of red wine in like, every other several hours, later in her life as a hunter and then as overseer of Research Hall.

Natually, she has some scars on her belly area from previous attempts to see how to tap on her powers of blood and fire if she has to. I am yet to decide whether Gehrman had the balls to reflect them on the Doll or left any traces of her pain out; he did know about them though, as he had to care for Maria after one of the unlucky attempts.

Caryll/Karel

5) Social headcanons (what do they think of their friends/allies if they have any, what are they looking for in relationship, what people tend to think about them...)

Caryll does believe in respecting the elders - which is convenient, because he was one of the older Byrgenwerth scholars, together with Damian! It is a bit not conceivable for him that sometimes someone much older than you can be dumb as shit, as in his life older people were offering nothing but a wise advice, years of valid experience and predictions that turned out to be right in the end! But, yes, he will take it nearly personally if one of the scholars disrespects Willem, Gehrman, Dores, Damian, Carolee (memory altar witch) or Custodio (gatekeeper)... and if they disrespect him, too.

He does share Willem's 'the only thing that will teach the fools is their failure' philosophy, so he will often refuse to intervene and only open his yap when he is to explain the person WHAT went wrong and WHY they failed. He is also the type to learn at the expense of the mistakes of others, so at times it gets as dark as letting the other people endure their failures to see what happens and apply to himself. However, he likes quite a number of the people he knows. It is less direct indifference and more of a 'sadistic' type of caring: Caryll finds enjoyment in watching his acquaintances become smarter and stronger with harsh life experiences.

On the other hand, he believes that the 'ultimate' language (runes) will significantly speed-up evolution of humanity, as a single experience will be able to be communicated to everyone else through only one symbol. He made several attempts to capture very personal and intimate yet very important personal experiences, there exist some runes that 'player' never finds that could serve as valid life lessons. People who know of such practice are all Byrgenwerth scholars, so they do not find anything callous in distributing personal experiences and feelings 'for common knowledge'. Yurie/Julie is an exception, and thinks truth of Great Ones is quite enough - there is no need to utilise intimate feelings 'for common good'!

Caryll is a true artist that admires the shapes, views and people's bodies and faces as they are, believing in his ability to communicate the unique beauty and features of every individual via portraits. He doesn't have a 'type' and is able to praise the physical quirks of every person; not because he has no standards, but because he can see beauty in how every person is built! He feels a little antsy when someone is insecure about their "imperfection" and wants to obscure something with hair, make-up or clothes. The type of an artist that will tell you to move your hair behind so he could capture your big Dumbo ears, you know! If you get this lil shit to actually speak with words, he might praise you right into accepting your body.

Caryll is not very interested in relationship; besides, again, his trait of wanting to capture and pass on what he can plays out. He is more interested in watching healthy (or not so much) relationship of other people and capture them in a book. However, he still needs love of course, just different type of it, such as friendship or platonic admiration or master's patronage.

6) Psychological headcanons (tastes, fears, talents, regrets, how they deal with anger, just anything that comes to mind on the topic)

Caryll dives into nonverbal behavior very often, sometimes able to only offer strange noises, gestures or doodles as means of communication. If it wasn't for Byrgenwerth introducing him the runes, he'd study music to communicate his feelings, as he believes that visual art, albeit good, can't be understood at the same extent as the sound. He might reach stressful state where he just gives a single frustrated sound every time someone asks what's wrong - and then gets upset when nobody gets what DOES he need ;-; A rare person is able to cooperate with this 'barrier' - Rom, for example.

Caryll's anger is cold and passive-aggressive. He will never yell or snap, but rather taint with no end. One knows Caryll is angry with them when Caryll starts to verbally communicate more eagerly - and it is all some subtle hints or 'clever' remarks! Caryll gets more nonverbal when he feels vulnerable; but also, when he feels safe.

Past his arc of creating alphabet of inhuman sounds, Caryll feels dark joy upon learning that some human language is going extinct. However, if it wasn't for the runes, he'd have had opposite reaction. Normally he believes that no language can be universal as each has unique nuances worthy of celebrating! Runes language, however, showed the way to transcend this limitation.

He is extremely happy when he can cuddle someone, be it a person or an animal. Tactile contact is very important for him! He has a history of overstepping his boundaries with cuddling animals that would end biting/scratching him. As a human, you can easily earn a place amongst his best friends by letting him hug you without 'making it weird or have it be sexualised'. He subscribed to the fact that most people would never understand his feelings or intentions correctly, but he does have a secret rune that gives no benefits except for understanding how he sees the world and people, that he would gladly give to those who care about him enough.

He is confident in his own beauty in an interesting way, loving to wear boots to highlight his legs and often posing like some sort of model when he does speak xD His voice might appear monotonous most of the time, however.

He is 35+ whereas other scholars barely reached their 20s, yet is able to cry from too much fear or confusion easily. Realising that he was drastically misunderstood might absolutely ruin him mentally, and he resorts to just sitting in the corner and whimpering, only answering questions with some noises.

Him inventing language of inhuman sounds was not a blessing of chosen one, not something done with his body, but simply him being a nerd and a genius enough to crack the (accurate enough) code towards ultimate way of communication. He analysed the ancient Hunter-like symbol of Pthumerians and other symbols a lot; just like that, he is very good with picking the exact sound tone every time.

Crow of Cainhurst (Eidinghardt)

8) Made-up connections with other characters that weren't in the canon (friends, enemies, whatever)

Maria - They are not blood-related (from what I imagine yet, but hell knows those darn victorian royals), yet they see each other as brother and sister for the most part. It borders between 'friends who are like siblings' and 'friends who are like a tsundereish couple', but the former, honestly, wins. In either case, they are pretty close with each other! They are able to be rude with each other and have conflicts without drastic consequences, their arguments are mostly healthy and natural. Just that they were always capable of both being rivals OR getting up for the shared goal. Eidinghardt was also really jealous when Maria decided to leave Cainhurst and join the hunters, after Maria left he proceeded to take it out on some friends without fully realising how vulnerable he was left.

Elias - his blood sibling. Similarly to how things were with Maria, Eidin was striking conflict with Elias quite often - except Elias was fighting him back verbally rather than arm-wrestling him like he deserved. There is just something about the Crow that makes him have very tense and charged relationship with people truly dear for him, being close with him is both a blessing and a curse! Aware of Elias having a crush on Annalise, he liked to tease him that he was the only one 'actually having a chance to marry her' that'd bring Elias to tears (and have Crow be punched hard by Maria fhdhsf). But he did not know what kind of ancient Hell Cainhurst was to strike thanks to Byrgenwerth being nosy about ancient secrets, and in a way he misses the vulnerable and soft but also brave and heroic sibling, after Elias was 'reborn' into a manic and cursed Cain XIII. He still has pangs of pain for how he was treating Elias, never having realised envy that he felt towards him and how much he was bearing with dignity.

Cainhurst executioner - By executioner, I mean of course not a faction of the Healing Church, but the guy that was delivering the death sentence to those that royal court deemed worthy of it. He is the father of Eidinghardt and Elias, passing both of his gloves down to each sibling.

Annalise - He was fearing her for the biggest part of his life, feeling as though he just 'had' to be her friend because for Maria and Elias she was important; but Annalise showed great grace, honor and self-esteem since even young age. He just never seen anything great about her and just rolled his eyes at her as at 'yeah yeah great noble princess everyone loves'. It was much later when he was able to see her determination, insanity even, her dignity and her ambitions, when he realised she was a worthy companion he was blessed to have had all along. Consuming her blood only made it worse, indeed; the awakened admiration turned into a full-on love. He knew, however, that he lost her to his sibling years ago, so for him it was the best fate to just stay by her side. Separated from Cainhurst, memory about her is just what he holds onto.

Every woman with long red hair - Sorry, but there are LARGE chances that if he sees one similar enough to Annalise, he will treat her as his princess/queen and be overly protective and overly subservient of fdsjhhfds I headcanon that he had spent a LONG ass time away from Cainhurst.

Alfred - Eidin crosses the paths with Alfred at times, not able to be detected by him to his surprise. He found strange enjoyment in trolling Alfred sometimes, though. Like, Alfred would speak of wanting to exterminate all "unholy clan" and Crow would go "ooooh, those vilebloods are very nasty people, aren't they~?" on him and just internally DIE at his reaction fhdsdsf I am yet to figure how would he feel in the scenario where Alfred finishes his quest, and Eidin learns it, though... By default, he certainly takes Alfred for an edgy looser.

Arianna - I like the idea (so far) that Arianna's mother fleed from Cainhurst with Arianna still being a little baby, so Arianna grew up in Yharnam with only very brief idea of her heritage! As result, Crow could've been the one to share more about her history as a noble with her - whereas her mother wanted to keep her safe from such a heart-breaking fate. But I just like the mental image of little Arianna clinging to the Crow as her father/mentor figure, with him really not being up to such a honor but not knowing how to turn her down, hahah; Bonus points if her mother died early and Crow failed Arianna as a caretaker, leaving her to figure out adult life and means for survival on her own, because he was too caught up in his insanity </3 Like, imagine him deciding to commit to checking on her all too late, when she, a descendant of a noble line, already became a sex worker. </3

Henriett - I feel like he'd pester Henriett a lot, challenging her all the time with the threat of harming Amelia/Emilia whom Henriett never wanted to harm unless she fell for beasthood for good. They were throwing hands quite often. As well, Eidin would enjoy watching Henriett and Alfred throw hands.

Eileen - I don't know whether it counts as 'made up' because implication is strong, but come ooooon, it IS Bloodborne! I used to think that he simply imitated Eileen's crow-themed hunter look to not attract much suspicion as hunter that hunts other hunters, but... hmmm, being her apprentice that betrayed her works waaaay better! So I think he got under her wing - when she was intending to kill him in the state of his despair, and he gave a tirade about honorable death and meaning of life that made Eileen not only realise he was not quite blood-drunk (just a bit unstable!), but also that he had a right spirit to continue her quest. She picked him up and was teaching him.... well, more like trying to teach him. He would unmistakeably detect any blood-drunk hunter anyways, with his vileblood senses. They had a problem of Eileen having nothing left that she had to teach him, until they stroke the communication issue! It was Eileen who had to teach him to be civil with the so-called 'League' and to comfort desperate hunters rather than provoking them to go 'crazier'.

Viola - I am stealing your headcanon that Crow killed Viola to provoke Gascoigne into despair - and Henryk, as a result, sorry </3 This just works so well. I headcanon that it was a strange mix of both hatred and longing; if Viola was to cheat on Gascoigne with him, he would probably risk his life protecting her. I feel like he is the type to have a very thin line between hatred and love towards someone. In the least likeable way.

Fauxsefka (Zhosfika) - he tried to strangle her at least once in order to obtain the one remaining Cainhurst summon from her, to see Cainhurst once more. Thankfully, he had enough reason to understand that another name was already written in the one she possessed, as was promised. Was a shameful decay of the relationship though, as they were friends back in Cainhurst. Crow was even willing to put aside her joining the church/Choir, thus betraying the vilebloods - he just hoped she'd at least help HIM, but alas.

9) Headcanons about their past

Crow was preparing to become the next guy to deliver the death sentence in Cainhurst's walls after his father, but discovery of hunters of blood dregs shifted his plans. He was even thankful for the change as he was not looking forward for the executioner fate- heck, he loved playing with his victims way much more than to just having to kill them and make a sad face about it!

He was one of the first guardians of the Queen of Blood that Annalise eventually became, yet also commanded to flee Cainhurst even before he had a chance to fight the Healing Church's crusaders. He did not dare to object, being told that he had more important things to do than to die for Annalise, and fleed. He mediated to her words for quite a while, and continued to seek blood dregs for her that he was not able to even gift her with the bridge being destroyed. He's been consuming them himself though (consuming blood dreg gives you +1 Insight), attempting to recreate telepathic bond with Annalise. If not to be loved by her, then at least to simply be by her side.

Some of the most important books from the Cainhurst library are missing because of him! Before Cainhurst and the rest of Yharnam picked such a large antagonism, Eidinghardt passed many books to commoners to spread the knowledge from. Loosely, it is the way how every single basic yharnamite can use blood bullets magic. Caryll would probably approve of his wish to not hoard the knowledge.

He was training his fighting skills obsessively, not being given any special powers by birth but having just his determination and spite for more gifted people to keep him going. Often, he'd hone his blood-bullets skills on animals, bringing prey back in the castle rather often. On the bright side, he has been a great help in destroying the giant maggots that would settle in blood-drunk vilebloods.

He was not a promising heir to the (Cainhurst's) executioners' line, and had to prove his worth, born initially weak and frail. In a weird way, picking unnecessary fights and conflicts has been a great help in shaping his character and physical proves from the start. The fights were the best teacher in his eyes!

10) Content about them I'd like to see more of

Please, develop something about his interactions with Annalise and/or Maria, I beg you ;-; (I say, as I am doing it myself fdhds). Him interacting with Eileen is very good, him interacting with Alfred..... well, it depends on a person, really, it is not everyone's cup of tea admittedly. But there are so many other vileblood characters! Or even hunter friends that Eileen could have introduced him to xD

Whew, it was fun! Thank you for the very varied asks!

[starlight-time-machine]

Week in Review

07/14/2024 – 07/20/2024

Sunday

Week 23 of missing Cipher Academy

Undead Unluck was pretty cute this week. It’s great to see that even in this loop, Tatiana still loves Panpanda…I’d love to hug the Panpanda mascot too…

One Piece is so good…get them robot boy…

Monday

Nothing whoops

Tuesday

Chainsaw Man…

After playing it feverishly for the past week, I finally 100%d Kirby and the Forgotten Land (and on Wild Beast mode, too). I’m not a hardcore gamer by any means, and this is what one might call a “game for babies,” but man some of the true final bosses were really tough. The game as a whole was super fun, though – I love games where you look around for collectibles, and this one certainly had those in spades. But I also appreciate that they designed each level in a way where if you had to replay it, you can just speed through it pretty quickly. All the little achievements and challenges were super fun (…most of the time), and I loved upgrading these familiar Kirby abilities into bigger and cooler things. And of course, all the Mouthful abilities are pretty funny. My favourite ability was Ranger – I loved just sniping enemies from afar and using the space blast and auto lock-on to cheese bosses. Speaking of the bosses…this was like the Dark Souls of video games for me, but I surprised myself by actually getting decent at memorizing patterns and dodging attacks (again, the most action intensive game I’ve played other than this is has been button mashing my way through Yakuza 0). And even though the coliseum wrecked my thumb, I had a lot of fun getting through it, and managed to beat the weird final boss orb thing by the skin of my teeth. And of course, all the gachapon figures were super cute and fun to collect. Overall, I’d give this game a 9/10.

I ended up dropping City of Girls because after we got to the theater, the story didn’t seem like it was going to be the vibes I was looking for…and after checking some reviews, I think my intuition was right. It seems like it’s more of a young girls having reckless fun story rather than a Revue Starlight We’re Already On The Stage type story, so I didn’t feel the need to read any further.

Wednesday

The new Oshi no Ko chapter is so annoying lol we’re just hitting all the cliché thriller beats now, huh? First the tragic misunderstanding and now the eleventh hour twist that the true culprit was an actual “crazed fangirl,” okay… After Oshi no Ko wraps up, I probably won’t read anything from this writer again. I’ve just completely lost all faith in their ability to wrap up a compelling story and make good on an interesting premise.

Started reading A Magical Girl Retires, which caught my eye with its gorgeous cover and intriguing premise. So far, the opening chapter spoke to me so much that it was scary, but the actual prose feels a little lacking.

Thursday

Alright, I finished A Magical Girl Retires, and god I wish it was a 300 page novel or a 24 episode anime instead. There really just wasn’t enough time to get to know the characters and see them developing a bond with each other, especially when it came to the light bit of queer love between the protagonist and Ah Roa. I feel like the ending would’ve been a lot more impactful if we had time to properly meet the supporting cast, explore the mystery of the protagonist’s ability before the truth is revealed, and slowly develop the tension of the true antagonist. The prose was also so stiff throughout, and lacked any personality or flair to this story all about beautiful magical girls. I get that they were trying to take a realistic approach to the genre, but if they’re going to have magical items and transformations anyway, I would’ve liked for them to have been written more descriptively. And the message we’re supposed to take away from this story at the end was fairly basic and almost cheesy… The overall themes feel so well considered, though, if you think about the intersection between capitalism and paying the price and how that manifests through our protagonist, so I think there’s a really good skeleton in this book. It was just the execution that was sorely lacking for me. Unfortunately, the best thing about A Magical Girl Retires is the cover art (and also she should’ve been called the Magical Girl of Balance…c’mon the credit card imagery is right there).

I also caught up with the ending of Akuheki and it’s fine. I can see they’re trying to maintain some hints of deviancy and darkness in the main relationship, but it’s just such a far cry from how they were in the beginning, and I’m not invested enough in the characters to be happy for their picturesque happy ending. I liked the bonus chapter with the co-worker and the housekeeper guy, but…c’mon…not even a smooch? Damn… Akuheki had a lot of potential for me in the beginning, and I think my enjoyment of the story peaked around volume 2 or 3, but overall I have to give it like a 6/10.

Friday

Started reading He Who Drowned the World, and I was worried about it not living up to the first book, but then we got a politically-motivated blowjob in the first 50 pages and we are SO back. It was never actually over but we are SO BACK.

Saturday

Touched grass and bought a physical copy of Seishi Yokomizo’s The Village of Eight Graves today.

[kimikaami]

for the book asks, 2, 3, 15?

2) top 5 books of all time?

In no particular order:

Frankenstein

The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen

The Song of Achilles

The Handmaid's Tale

Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (def look up a trigger list for this if you ever read it)

I always feel like my lists are so incomplete bc I fell off of reading for a long long time lol

3) what is your favourite genre?

I don't think I really have one? I suppose I'll usually avoid YA (sorry) and I prefer stuff with some elements of magic without that being the focus? Looking at my above list, all of them are elevated from straight realism in some way.

15) recommend and review a book.

oh god I gotta be smart now huh. this is so much pressure.

I don't wanna give a hard X/10 rating but I read The Handmaid's Tale earlier this year and I thought it was really interesting...

My memory is already fading honestly so I'm reading some old conversations back as I type this, but I guess what I really appreciated was how grounded everything felt despite how extreme the circumstances were. The scope is so small, focusing on just one character and only ever seeing the things she sees, which makes the emotional core stronger.

Speaking of the main character, it was wonderful how she's unapologetically written to be very imperfect. She does the wrong things sometimes and gives in to temptation, and rather than becoming some kind of revolutionary like you see in the show, these small comforts placate her. She finds some small respite within the bounds society has forced upon her and she stays there. Don't get me wrong, I'm not condemning her. The risks she takes are still risks despite their size, and it's incredibly human, I think, to cling to this thing we have out of fear for what would happen if we dared to ask for more.

This is probably just a me thing, but the feminist critiques almost read to me like... a critique of feminist critique? lol. Like, I'm an english major, and the same old feminist talking points get drug out in my classes again and again. Not that theyre not important, because they certainly are, they're just so obvious most of the time. So the naming conventions specifically in this book, (Offred = of fred = owned by fred) almost seemed like a tongue in cheek dig and I liked that haha

As for the broad strokes of the feminist critiques of society in the book, I don't really have much to say honestly. I feel like its all rather obvious and maybe even a little dated by this point. Men don't value women for much more than sex and offspring. If you're on tumblr you've heard it all before.

Last note, I'm not smart enough to know why I liked it so much, but Margaret Atwood's writing style has been one of my faves to read ever. It strikes the perfect balance between ultra flowery like The Song of Achilles and what's deemed "correct" nowadays (thanks Hemmingway).

If you read this far, thank you for listening to my stream of consciousness rambling. I enjoyed doing it. I've actually been thinking of maybe setting up a little sideblog to do more of it. just for me :3

send me a book ask!

[onewomancitadel]

This is equally applicable to the issue of Ironwood of which I have had ableism and personal attacks on my background levied at me as arguments for why his character fall doesn't work. Allowing for the fact that these personal attacks were unfounded and I actually had more familiarity with the matter than the individual in question (which I'd rather not get into; it was pretty emotionally disturbing for me), it is simply rhetorical and intellectual laziness. Critiquing a text in such a fashion opens up a door to conversation. It shouldn't shut it down. (Obviously if you want to disengage that is your prerogative). It most certainly shouldn't be used to flatly argue why Ironwood should've been narratively rewarded.

That is, of course, if you go along with the headcanon that Ironwood is coded as neurodivergent in any way, which is itself a headcanon which takes several leaps. ('Coding' comes with a specific weighted literary and cinematic history behind it, and I dismiss the possibility of this type of 'coding'; characterisation which prefigures into your perspective or understanding of the world is not necessarily implicitly loaded storytelling). Despite the ubiquity of headcanons on Tumblr, you don't get to willy nilly assert that as the text; no, not even once you include his Semblance, which is not sufficient grounds on which to argue it. 'Single-minded focus' is not pathological and is indicative of his utilitarian ideology. It is symbolic of ideology. Neurodivergence is not ideology, and it is not analogous. If I said my interlocutor in question were ableist and sexist for not buying into Cinder's redemption, would that be fair? I could force a reading of mental illness into her story, before you get into the textual response of her abuse and forced servitude proper.

I have the high ground now. Maybe their failure to see the contrast of Cinder's arc against Ironwood's is sexism? Huh? Oh wait nvm I forgot misogyny isn't a real axis of oppression, carry on. That's about the state of things now, because it's not cool anymore to talk about it. You know this, I know this, that's why none of this matters anyway.

But even then Ironwood's fall is ideologically and thematically motivated and a consequence of the Ozlem conflict and greater hierarchies prioritised in the story... it doesn't happen just because, and it doesn't happen as a consequence of being autistic even if you made that reading. His failure is not empathy or lack thereof if you want to start analysing it based on largely offensive stereotypical renderings of autism in storytelling. If we actually want to substantially open that door, then we have to actually look at it substantially, not dismiss his entire character evolution.

But is it a coincidence that a hotly contentious character arc comes with prepackaged rhetorical laziness, which shutters the argument? Whether it's defending the self-insert power fantasy or it's coming equipped with an ostensibly socially-justice (it's not) motivated grievance, it is basically achieving the same thing. It should instead be opening the conversation to flourish, because that is the point, to contemplate and reflect, not to win an Internet argument over whether your favourite character should've died or not. Yes this includes Penny, and pretty much everything I've said here applies to her too (in contrast, she is narratively rewarded).

Are there probably people with real concerns? Probably! I haven't interacted with them, but it's not fair to wholesale dismiss the potential.

And you know what's quite telling? A particular Ironwood 'defender' (I view myself as a defender insofar as I think the story is much more sympathetic than given credit) I interacted with admitted to not watching the show past Volume 6. So they were presumably getting their account of the show from the Internet. Forgive me if I have difficulty taking that contingent of the fandom seriously.

Anyway I got that out of my system. I understand that a great deal many of us have broad concerns about social justice and doing people right, and I don't think this is socially-minded analysis 'gone too far' or a natural end result of discourse. It's just what happens once absolute authority is given to one reading or another in discourse and if it's not social justice, it has the potential to be something else. It's the same in which there are people who leverage Ironwood's narrative authority on the grounds of him being the self-insert and the utilitarian-minded badass (which is a sort of... implicitly lauded philosophy now).

But I think from a broader fandom perspective it can be acknowledged this style of rhetoric isn't sustainable, and if you are constantly asking the question of what is or isn't the most socially-justice maximising narrative choice, you will lose, because there is no real answer and having material goals in mind matters more (and yes, this is still argument for encouraging diverse storytellers, because more material = more). My question is, what specific story do you want to tell with an authoritarian utilitarian in a fairytale story, and what are you using him to achieve, and what pathos are you giving him. Ironwood has very specific ends. He's a good litmus test that way.

I still find it really funny that I left one of those Ironwood interactions feeling personally hurt about what was assumed about my traumatic background or lack thereof. In much the way that Reylos were told they deserved the domestic violence they went through, somehow, I don't think this is a net social good? I don't want to air my dirty laundry to win Internet arguments or then have that used against me when it's not enough.

I generally hate even getting near the tone of fingerwagging Tumblr posts, because they rarely ever make me want to engage, even when I know OP has a conceivable point. I'm not talking about critical social issues where tone-policing is a rhetorical device employed to stop rocking-the-boat, I'm talking about that type of Tumblr post which rarely inspires thought and tends to just make you feel bad, and doesn't even manage to make me, someone who may even hold the same opinion, want to engage or commiserate.

It's why I try to be very careful in the way I present my arguments, but people tend to assume that's the tone of what you're saying anyway: dictatorial, guilt-tripping, presumptuous.

Ultimately when it comes to Cinder, the argument I am always going to make is on textual and comparative grounds, rarely am I going to be saying 'you only don't like her because she's a chick' because in the first place it doesn't change very much and a determined sexist is not going to give a fuck anyway. It's also very true that Cinder doesn't exactly have the best reception amongst ostensible non-sexists anyway, and so as always I think the issue with her is a bit deeper than gender, and it does get kind of tiresome to reference rhetorically.

As I've said in the past, I think that if you can ground yourself textually you are probably better off in the long run. There is a specific story being told with Cinder which yes, does come with some gender flavour. Some people really want that and want specific stories about various different kinds of sociopolitical empowerment, but that's not the kind of thing I'm personally attracted to and so it's not going to be the thing I talk about. I am interested in deeper psychological empowerment which does touch on these themes in some ways, sometimes, (e.g. the Heroine's Journey), but my focus tends to be cosmic. That's just my preference narratively. I think that this is tonally true to R/WBY and where some of its storytelling falls flat (e.g. with the White Fang) due to its particular narrative goals, and why something like Cinder's magical imprisonment works better, especially her magical (symbolic) conflict with Atlas. Equally with Emerald, Emerald's story is about escaping mythic imprisonment, but some people might want to more deeply analyse misogynoir in her story, or how Black female characters are represented in fairytale storytelling (and how culturally inaccessible that is or isn't; fairytales/myth transcend the Occidental traditions).

I think these are simply different approaches, and maybe I am being sort of politically irresponsible not wanting to push that angle overly much, I don't know: but for something like R/WBY I am not looking for deep and meaningful criticisms on gender, but using it to convey its broader thematic ideas (and maybe subconsciously making a commentary too). But I just don't think this is an overall sufficient approach for Cinder - or, for Emerald, honestly, considering the anti-redemption posts for her I've personally read (though I do think overall lack of consideration for her romance with Mercury is related to it...)

Obviously the text isn't the be-all and end-all (and sometimes there are issues with the text itself!) but when it comes to Emerald and Cinder et al., I think their narrative potential in the story is clear. I feel comfortable arguing from that angle.

[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. 

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 7 (Final)

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 6

Length: 4000 words

Trigger warnings: blood, mentions of loss

A. note: Scaramouche is my favourite character in the game and I really love him. But I couldn't help and feel awful when he said those words in Inazuma. Look, I don't think that Mihoyo is gonna let the huge opportunity slip and not make him playable (for which we need to have at least a tiny bit of friendship with him and well, right now mc straight up hates him) but in case that does happen, in case he doesn't get a redemption arc, I made one myself. I wrote this to redeem him in my own, and hopefully your eyes as well. I hope you enjoyed reading this story of that little bastard as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It was fair to say that Scaramouche was stunned by the sight of the local people.

Certainly not because he suddenly grew fond of them. It was rather because the way they appeared out of blue when little Yu gave them a sign. She let out three short whistles and the forest came to life in front of the harbinger.

Old men and woman, little children and whole families walked towards them. It was clear even for Scaramouche that they looked uneasy and hostile. They surely wouldn’t have appeared in front of the fatui if it wasn’t for Yu.

The sixth harbinger was astonished.

Because they would trust someone, especially a child so much.

Because there were so many of them.

He counted the people walking towards Yu. Way more than he’d thought there would be.

These people were injured, dirty and exhausted. But they were alive. And all because of one person.

‘Impressive’ he thought to himself.

Yu talked to them, explaining why the fatui was there and promising that they’re not in danger any more. The people seemed less at ease in his presence now but the harbinger still felt the piercing gazes. If looks could’ve killed he would have been dead in an instant.

He knew they all blamed him for the things that had happened. Maybe they even thought he was the one who made the abbys attack their village.

But Scaramouche got used to these types of glances during the years and he did not care about them any more. All that mattered was that they were able to help.

He stood behind little Yu who was still clinging onto her doll. Scaramouche stared at the bloodstains on the toy as she asked the people of Qingce to help find you.

The thought to promise them money crossed his mind but the instantly threw it away. He just somehow felt that it would be very wrong.

These people won’t help him because he can pay them. They won’t help because Yu asked them to either. They will help because you had been guarding them for years.

Mentioning your name caused them to stir up, to get loud and the all of a sudden the whole crowd was ready to go and search in the mountains.

It was obvious how much they loved and respected you. Maybe even more than Scaramouche used to, he realized.

Yu turned to him and nodded.

‘I think we can go now.’

‘How are you going to search everything?’ the harbinger asked as he crouched down to the child. It wasn’t needed since he wasn’t much taller than her but it felt like the right thing to do.

Yu’s eyes wandered to the hat. She reached out and gently touched it.

Scaramouche normally would’ve ended the person who messed with his hat but when the child did it, he somehow felt no urge to do so.

‘It’s because so many people are watching’ he explained to himself. But it still felt a bit weird not being annoyed.

He cleared his throat so Yu would focus on him again.

‘We know this place well’ she answered, letting her arms fall back to her side. ‘We will split up and warn each other if we find something.’

‘My people are out too.’

‘Then call them back.’

The harbinger glared at the child. She really was fearless, wasn’t she, huh. First touching his hat and now disrespecting the fatui.

‘You know…’ he crossed his brows as he began to speak but Yu quickly cut him off.

‘Everyone is afraid of them. And they’ll just be in the way. They don’t know the mountains, do they?’

Scaramouche clenched his teeth together. But he had to admit that the girl was right.

He stood up and walked towards the agents standing by a nearby bridge. They were there since the people appeared to make sure they don’t try to do anything to their harbinger.

He gestured to bring them closer then stood and crossed his arms.

‘First, I want to know how a big group of fatui agents were unable to find anyone when there was a whole village hiding in the forest’ he questioned them with a glare.

The agents were bowing already but now they bowed even deeper.

‘F-forgive us, our lord!’ a pyro agent answered. ‘They’re locals and we…’

‘Spare your apologies, I don’t care.’

Scaramouche closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. He really didn’t care, he only snapped at them to let out a little frustration.

‘Call back everyone from the mountains. And let these people do what they want. Anyone who disturbs them in any way shall be punished.’

‘But my lord…’

‘Do as I say!’

Scaramouche turned his back to them and the agents hurried away. He watched as the people of Qingce split up and began their search in the forest, around the destroyed village.

He looked up to the mountains. Clouds hid the most of them, they were so huge, so high. And there were so many places you could be.

Was is it even possible that you were alive?

Scaramouche never lied to himself and this was the first time he wanted to. He simply just didn’t want to accept the small chances of finding you. He wanted to feel hope.

‘You better be alive, Y/n’ he muttered to himself. ‘For your own sake.’

For his sake.

*

‘Have you taken a look around in that cave too?’

‘I haven’t but I can go if…’

‘Stay.’

Scaramouche climbed to the cave and looked into the hole. It was smaller than it seemed from below and inside it there was absolutely nothing.

He quietly let himself down. He jumped on a bigger stone on the path under him, the bells violently jingling on his hat.

Little Yu asked nothing. It was obvious from the harbinger’s expression that he found nothing.

The air began to feel a little chilly in the mountains. The sun was getting ready to go down and let the moon take its place.

They’ve spent their whole day with searching. They’ve found absolutely nothing so far.

There were a lot of traces left behind the abbys order and the monsters. It was also clear that the fight continued outside of the village as well. Corpses of dead monsters bordered the narrow paths.

But your body was nowhere to be find.

Scaramouche looked up to the sky. The first star had already appeared. And with that, their last piece of hope started to slip away.

‘We haven’t looked there yet.’

The harbinger snapped out of his dark thoughts and glanced at the child in front of him. She pointed at a smaller mountain nearby.

‘That’s very far away from the village’ Scaramouche claimed. ‘We’d be just wasting our time.’

‘Then where do you want me to go?’ Yu asked.

The man let out a sigh. She was right, they’ve already looked through every bush and searched every rock on this mountain.

He started walking towards the other one without saying anything, and Yu silently followed him.

In the valley below them, lots of figures were moving and changing places. The locals still haven’t given up even though it was getting colder and darker with every passing moment.

A red dot appeared. Then another. They started lighting torches.

Scaramouche felt like choking. He touched his throat and fastened his steps.

He tried to banish the horrifying thoughts from his head but his desperate tries were unsuccessful.

You’re dead. They’re only going to find a cold body and not you. You’re dead and it is his fault.

He shook his head to quiet the voices and to get back into focusing on his search.

This made him realize that he hadn’t seen little Yu in a while. Scaramouche stopped and turned his head to check on the girl.

She was behind him a few meters away. Her movements were too slow to keep up with the harbinger’s.

‘Are you coming or not?’ The man growled at her. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Sorry…’ She was out of breath, quietly panting. ‘You can leave me behind. I know I’m just slowing you down.’

Scaramouche rose his brows at the young child who was not even tall enough to reach the ground from a bigger rock. Was she really that aware? What should he do now? Just leave her here? He was willing to do that, to be honest. The sun was about to completely disappear.

Yu grabbed the side of the rock. She let her feet down, trying to get down safely but she was too tired – the little girl stumbled and fell.

Scaramouche didn’t even realize he was reaching out – but a moment later he found himself holding the child in his own arms.

They stared at each other, the sixth Fatui Harbinger and the kid from Liyue. It was impossible to tell who was more surprised, the one holding or the one being held.

But it was the man who found his voice first.

‘Don’t think I’m gonna carry you like this to the other mountain.’

‘I didn’t think that’ she answered quietly.

Scaramouche cleared his throat and opened his lips. But before any other words could’ve come out of his mouth, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

They both jerked their heads up.

The sound was coming from below, south to the village.

The whistle was repeated – two short, two long ones.

‘They’ve found her’ Yu said.

*

Scaramouche had no memories of how he got down from the top of the mountain.

All he remembered was the crazy pace of his heartbeat. The darkness invading his head. That terrific feeling clenching his heart, incredible, deep fear he’s never experienced before.

There were many people standing in his way in front of a big cave. He pushed them away as he rushed to get closer.

It was dark. Everyone stood with a torch in their hands. He heard the whispers but the words were incomprehensiblenext to the loud beating of his own heart. There were figures but they were blurry, everything was blurry…

Until he saw you.

You were laying on the ground. Your body completely still, your chest not rising nor sinking. Your clothes torn, bloody.

There was so much blood.

He stumbled and fell on his knees in front of you. A local turned to him and spoke but he understood nothing. His hand was shaking as he reached out to touch you.

You were… cold.

He forgot how to breathe and just stared down at your body. Your messy hair hid your face and that just didn’t feel right.

Why was this happening?!

Everything was supposed to become alright after they’ve found you!

How dare you be dead, how dare you not wake up to his touch, to his wishes, to all wishes around you…!

‘Balladeer!’

He snapped out of the blurriness when someone grabbed his arm. An old lady with a serious look tried to pull him back.

‘Let go of me!’ he hissed, pushing her away. He groaned when the grip became stronger instead on his arm. Pain in his heart and body blinded him as he shouted. ‘I said, let go of me or else…’

‘Please stay out of the way of my people’ the lady asked in a calm tone. ‘She needs serious help.’

‘What help can you provide when she’s dead?!’ he screamed at her in a hoarse voice. ‘You stay away from her!’

‘Please calm down. Y/n is not dead… yet.’

Scaramouche slowly closed his eyes. The words echoed in his head.

She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead. Yet.

He took a deep, shaking breath. The cold air in his lungs cooled him off a little.

You were alive. But also, only barely. He finally understood what that meant. But he couldn’t let himself feel any relief nor fear…

He was a harbinger, he was part of the Fatui under the rule of the almighty Tsaritsa. He was Scaramouche, the Balladeer who simply could not allow himself to show any vulnerability in front of mere mortals.

Even if it was about you.

Even if he wasn’t the same person any more.

‘Bring a healer’ he said in a lower tone.

‘We don’t have any vision bearers among us’ the lady answered. ‘But we’ll do everything to keep her alive.’

Scaramouche nodded and stood up. It took a lot of strength to tear his eyes from you but he forced himself to do it and turned around.

‘Alert my people and tell them to give you all that you need’ he told the locals as he fixed his hat. ‘Tents, medicine, food, everything.’

The people stood there in silence for a few seconds, not knowing whether to obey him. They only moved when the old lady from before thanked him. Then they finally set off towards the village.

Scaramouche wanted to turn back and take a glance at you one more time to make sure you’re really there and not just a hallucination. But suddenly little Yu appeared in his sight and that made him stay.

‘She’s alive’ the girl whispered. The mask she had worn so far finally broke and her expression was an expression of a little child. She seemed tired, sad and a little happy. ‘I’m so glad… Scara.’

The harbinger nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. His heart was still beating fast with fear but those heavy weights on his shoulders finally started getting lighter.

He felt something touching his hand and he opened his eyes to the sight of Yu holding onto him.

This type of physical connection was very far away from what Scaramouche would tolerate coming from a human but he felt way too tired to resist. He just let the little girl clench his pinkie and they both watched silently as some helpers grabbed your body and moved it to a safer place.

*

You felt like something that had been sitting on your chest for a while finally moved. Something even bigger, a huge, scary type of darkness slowly left your body.

It left you with the first breath you were aware of taking in a long time.

You let out a small sigh. And opened your eyes.

There was a fabric cover above you.

You were in a tent, safe and sound. Alive.

The first thing you noticed was the temperature. It was warm, welcoming and comforting. Lot of soft blankets covered your body which hurt badly but the pain was dim.

You tried to look around but your head was too heavy. You could barely tip your head to the side.

But the sight was worth it.

Your breath was taken away one more time. You just stared in silence and you could feel your eyes widen in shock.

‘You’re awake.’

Scaramouche closed the book he was reading and looked at you with a straight face.

‘Finally.’

He put the book down with a slow movement.

Mixed emotions invaded you. You fell from relief to happiness to fright in a span of a few seconds. You were alive and Scaramouche was here with you, but – why did he seem so distant? Was he still angry at you even after everything that had happened?

You almost let fear overrun you. Almost.

But your gaze fell on his hands and he couldn’t hide his true feelings from you any more. His hands were visibly trembling as he still held onto his book.

Little did you know he could have not read a single word written in the last couple of hours. He just sat there and watched over your sleep, not dozing off for even a second himself.

The shaking of his hands became even more obvious and he couldn’t hold himself back any more.

He moved closer and placed his trembling palms next to the sides of your body. He looked down on you from above and as you stared back at him, you could clearly see something that wasn’t there before.

The usual cold, emotionless blur was nowhere to be found in his dark eyes. Instead, there was pain. And a lot of it.

‘How dare you do this to me?’

During the years of your relationship, he’s grown to be comfortable in your presence but he never ever showed any signs of vulnerability in front of you and you just accepted that it’s probably never going to happen.

It was shocking, almost scary seeing him like this.

The desperate expression on his face softened and he let his head plop on your shoulders.

‘Scara’ you whispered. Your voice was hoarse and dry but it was your voice. You were able to speak.

The realization of how unlikely your survival was suddenly hit you and your eyes teared up.

‘Scara, I… I really thought I was gonna die…’

‘Then you’re stupid’ he answered, speaking into the blankets covering your shoulder. ‘You should know that you can’t die without my permission.’

You laughed through your tears. They streamed down on your face, straight into your ears. But even that felt so good. Crying was a sign of being alive from the very beginning of life and you never understood that so much than at that time.

‘Don’t… leave me ever again.’

You didn’t event think, the words just left your mouth.

‘Don’t worry.’ Scaramouche finally got himself together enough to sit up and at least pretend that he was alright. ‘You have successfully proved you’re not capable of taking after yourself so now I’m definitely stuck babysitting you till the rest of our lives.’

His movements said otherwise though. The way he caressed your cheek to dry the tears up showed that he’s not just stuck. He wantsto stay.

Just what kind of thinks did he go through in the past days? – the question occurred to you.

To think about it… why did he even come back? How did he hear what happened? And your people?! Were they safe?

So many questions echoed in your head and you couldn’t even put most of them into words that made sense. So opened your mouth and quietly asked:

‘What happened?’

‘I want to know the same’ he said. ‘What happened? How did you get so far away from the village? How are you alive in the first place?’

You thought back to the night. Pain stabbed you instantly and you had to close your eyes for a moment to calm it.

‘I don’t remember much. But I think the abbys wanted to take me with them. Is that… possible?’

‘I heard all kinds of things about them’ Scaramouche nodded. ‘It is very possible. Continue.’

‘There isn’t much to say… Obviously I tried to resist but there were too many of them. They probably realized I would be just a burden. I remember a mage knocking me out. But they didn’t kill me…’

‘Well, given your injuries, they must’ve thought there’s not a lot of time left for you. It really is a miracle that you’re alive.’ Scara stated. ‘And you were in that wet cave for an entire day too. You were nearly dead when we found you.’

‘We?’

You stared at him and your heartbeat dropped.

‘You mean…’

‘Yes’ he sighed. ‘That people of yours.’

He went silent for a moment then rolled his eyes.

‘They helped me out… I guess.’

‘So they’re all alive and safe?’ you asked and couldn’t help but laugh in relief. ‘That is so amazing! Thank you, Scara!’

‘Thank yourself, idiot’ he snorted. ‘You were the one who kept a whole abbys army away from them after all.’

The harbinger shook his head.

‘I hate that you were so reckless to do that… but I have to say I’m impressed. We should spar again sometimes.’

‘Aren’t you afraid you’re getting your ass kicked?’ you grinned.

‘I compliment you one time and you get this cocky?’ he crossed his eyebrows. ‘I have to put you back into your place, I see.’

You laughed and as you were finally strong enough to move a little, you grabbed his hand. He had to oppress his smile with force.

‘And how did you know… we were going to be attacked?’

The question made his task much easier. The harbinger’s face turned back to being serious once again.

‘I have my connections’ he answered briefly. ‘But you don’t have to worry, the fatui had nothing to do with the attack.’

‘I would never think that’ you rushed to make your words clear. ‘I just… hope that my people feel the same.’

Scara shrugged. Then averted his eyes as he thought of someone.

‘I don’t know about the others but there’s one person who clearly does.’

‘Who?’

‘That girl… Yu or whatever her name is.’

You stared at him in surprise. You’d never thought the day would come where he mentions a child and doesn’t frown. And to think that it’s Yu as well! Yu who was normally wary of strangers and such a gentle child…

Just what happened to him? – you asked yourself again.

You searched for answers in his eyes but it seemed like there were things that even this new type of Scaramouche, this more vulnerable and open one wouldn’t tell.

But it was alright. Maybe you didn’t need to know. You were just happy to be there and experience it yourself.

‘How is Yu?’ you asked.

‘Alright’ Scara muttered.

‘Her mother?’

‘Oh, her… Well…’

He hesitated for a moment and that was enough. Every good and warm feeling was instantly replaced by cold ones and you found yourself sitting up in dread.

‘Please tell me… She’s not…’

‘Hey, don’t sit up! Lie back right now!’

When you didn’t obey, Scaramouche pushed you back with his own hands. He was right, your body started aching terribly from moving and the physical pain almost outgrew the pain in your heart.

‘Is she…’

‘Yu’s fine. Don’t worry.’

‘No! I need to talk to her!’

‘You won’t.’

You clenched your teeth together in despair and Scara flinched. He saw himself in you when you did that. Earlier this day his expression was still this full of pain.

‘Scaramouche!’ you said, calling him by his first name which he suddenly realized, he hated more than that stupid nickname. ‘I will go and talk to her and you can’t stop me!’

‘I…’

‘Just think about everything you felt while I was missing! I know you don’t want me to go away again but you need to understand.’

‘All I’m trying…’

‘Maybe I really am cocky to think that it was painful to you but if I’m not and it really was, then just imagine that Yu feels like that too right now. And on top of that, she has no hope whatsoever. She knows that her mother is dead and there’s no…’

‘Oh, to Celestia, can you shut up for a moment?’ Scara interrupted you harshly. Then he frowned and quickly continued. ‘What I was about to say is that under no circumstances should you get up with these injuries. But you can talk to Yu.’

‘I can…?’

‘Yes, idiot. I’ll call her over.’

You stared at him in silence.

‘You’d… do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘So… you won’t mind if she stays with us?’

‘I guess not?’

‘Not even for a long time?’

‘I said no, stop asking these stupid questions.’

You were speechless and just gazed at him without saying anything for a long time.

You had mixed feelings about the Scara you woke up to so far. But this had finally convinced you that he really has changed into something better.

A slow smile formed on your lips. It grew bigger and bigger and it completely lit your face up.

‘You’re grinning like an idiot’ Scara claimed but nothing, not even his salty remarks could take away your happiness any more.

‘Scara, I really love you.’

‘You better do.’

He stood up and turned away as quickly as he could to try and hide the blush on his face. He knew if you saw that, you’d be teasing him about it till the rest of your lives together.

You were still grinning “like an idiot” as he was rushing to leave the tent. But even though he was in hurry, before he’d stepped out, he made sure to turn back and say:

‘I’ll be back.’

[telfordelle]

Naughty

Characters: Filip "Chibs" Telford x Y/N

A/N: I just had to get this out of my system, I guess. Also, here's a recipe for the Purple Nurple

Words: ~ 2.2k

Warning: Smut

You were in the Clubhouse, sitting in front of the bar. Nobody in the club knew that you two had something going on. You weren't sure why Chibs hadn't introduced you yet, but you were fed up with hearing his excuses over and over again. Therefore, you figured that it was time to provoke your man a little bit. You knew that the club was having a party this evening, so you decided to dress up and surprise your favourite Scot. Your black lacy lingerie was brand new, and he hadn't seen it yet. He was in for a surprise when he'd undress you this evening.

"Another beer, honey?" Gemma asked you. You nodded and thanked her after she had slid the beer over the counter to you. Gemma came around the bar and sat on the stool beside you.

"Is everything okay?" she wanted to know. You chuckled - Gemma had always been good at sensing your mood.

You had known Gemma since you were young. Her son Thomas had been your best friend in kindergarten and first grade. It had broken your heart when your best friend's health was getting worse and worse, and after his death, you had been devastated. From that time on, Gemma had taken you under her wing.

"Nah, it's nothing. Work's just a bit stressful at the moment," you lied, hoping that she wouldn't notice it. But of course, she would. After all, it was Gemma you were talking to.

"Honey, I know that this is not your 'my work sucks' face but your 'men problems' face."

You sighed. Why was she so good at reading you?

"You're right," you admitted.

"So, what kind of man is troubling you?" she asked.

"The kind who doesn't seem to be sure if he wants a serious relationship or not."

"What makes you think so?" she asked, "Did he say that directly?"

"We've been together for a while now, and I know that he’s the type to be in a serious relationship, but he doesn’t want to make it official and introduce me to his friends,“ you complained.

"Well, did you introduce him to yours?" She raised an eyebrow as if to prove her point.

"Gemma, that's not the point. I mean, he made it pretty clear that he isn't interested in that. So he probably also isn't that interested in me," you replied sulkily.

"Honey, maybe he just needs some time. Also, men can be pretty dense sometimes. You two should probably just talk it out, trust me. I've been with the most stubborn and dense men you can find in Charming," she said, laughing heartily. Hearing her laugh, you couldn’t help it and joined in.

"Well, I hope everything will work out in your favour. I'll see you later!"

You nodded and smiled at her. Talking to Gemma always lifted your mood.

You grabbed your beer, took a big sip, and looked around the Clubhouse. You were familiar with most of the club members, but as always, there were also some people you didn't recognize - especially the Crow Eaters. Sometimes you wondered if Chibs still hung around with some of them. Whenever you tried talking to him about making it official, he was blocking you. He said that he had his reasons, and at first, you believed him, but as the situation didn't improve, you got increasingly frustrated. And speaking of the devil, or rather, thinking of the devil, there he was.

You gulped, why was he so sexy? You took another sip of your beer, debating whether you should just go to him or leave the decision up to him. Mentally, you slapped yourself to stop staring at the Scot. To your displeasure, you found that others were also interested in your man. Fucking Crow Eaters. One of those bitches was clinging to the Scot, ogling him. You clenched your fists as soon as she started to caress his shoulder in a flirty way. Forcing yourself to look away, you exed your beer, giving the guy at the bar a sign that you wanted another one. Or even better, something stronger. You ordered a Purple Nurple, hoping that this one would numb your thoughts - and feelings.

Still, you couldn't help it and had to sneak a peek. And what you saw made you hold your breath. That bitch from before had her hand in your man's back pocket, and it seemed as if she was biting his earlobe. Instead of pushing her away, he was - grinning?

You saw red. Alright, two could play this game. It was time to take some action. You knew that Tig was always up for some fun, no feelings attached, so you made your way over to him.

"Hey, Tigger," you greeted him. You used the nickname because you knew that it would make Chibs furious - albeit knowing that he couldn't even hear you at this moment.

"Y/N, what's up?" he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Wanna dance?" you asked.

"Sure, babe," Tig replied, smirking. He took your hand and led you to the centre of the room.

You circled each other, gazes remaining locked. You knew that the other Sons were watching you, so you were fairly certain that Chibs' eyes would also be on you. Tig wiggled his eyebrows as you danced towards him, lewdly swaying your hips. You gently rested your hands on his chest. Slowly, your hands slid down his body as... you could hear someone clear their throat.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?" that someone asked with a thick Scottish accent. You turned around and were greeted by an angry-looking face. Chibs nodded at Tig, who got the hint and excused himself.

"What's your problem?" you asked, knowing that the question would get him even more agitated. His eyes turned dark.

"You're mine," he growled.

"Well, last time I checked, you weren't willing to tell anyone about us," you snapped.

"Then it's time to change that," he replied, scowling.

"Oh, all of a sudden?" you retorted. You knew that you got what you wanted, but it still made you angry that you had to play the jealousy card.

"Lass, ye'r comin' wi' me," he said huskily. Chibs grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you with him towards the door. While being dragged away, you caught a glimpse of Gemma, who was smirking. Of course, she would connect the dots immediately.

Instead of going to his bike, he went for one of the trucks.

"Get in," he growled, holding one of the doors open.

"Why should I?" you replied, arms crossed in front of your chest.

"I'm not discussin' this wi' ye," he answered. You knew that both of you had done their wrongs, so you got in without another word.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You just hoped that you would get to your flat soon. Your eyes kept wandering to him. Did you finally fuck up? Was this the point of no return? All you wanted was for him to finally acknowledge you in front of the others. You sighed. You sighed. Finally, you arrived at your flat. He went straight for the door. Reluctantly, you got out of the truck. Had you pissed him off so much that he would end your relationship? Hands trembling, you opened the main entrance and went up the stairs. You could hear him follow you. Luckily, your apartment was on the second floor.

"I'm so angry wi' ye right now, I cannae put it into words," he snapped.
 "Tch, what are you angry for?" you huffed. 
He growled. "Ye'r MINE, lass." His eyes had a dangerous glint to them. If you hadn't been so angry, maybe you would have been turned on by now. Scratch that, you definitely were turned on. But you still had to stand your ground.
 "Yours, huh? Certainly didn't seem like it when that fucking Crow Eater was feeling you up. You don't even have the balls to tell the others about me! Maybe I'm just tired of waiting, Tig didn't seem to have a problem being seen with me in public." You looked at him challengingly.

And Chibs snapped. He saw red, thinking back about you dancing with Tig, touching him. He pinned you against the door and kissed you hard, wandering from your mouth to your neck. You moaned into his ear, which only turned him on even more. You could feel how hard he was, and you began stroking him through his pants.

"Bed," he growled while picking you up. But instead of just throwing you onto the bed, he sat on its edge and bent you over his knees.

"You've been bad, lassie," he murmured while grabbing your ass.

"Guess I have to punish ye," he drawled, accent getting thicker the more turned on he got.

"Lift yer ass," he said, tone demanding. You did what he said, and he immediately pulled down your shorts, taking in a sharp breath as he saw your new lingerie. It seemed as if your surprise was working. Frantically, he also took off your shirt.

"Ye look good. But don't think you'll get off your punishment just because of that," he hummed, rubbing you through your pants. You hissed - you were already wet. He began rummaging through the bedside cabinet where you stored your toys. He chuckled, which probably meant that he had found what he had been looking for. He blindfolded you and you could hear him opening a bottle. You shivered in anticipation. He pushed your panties aside and let two fingers glide between your buttcheeks, making them slick with lube. You gasped as he entered your hole.

"Relax," he murmured into your ear. You concentrated on his voice.

"Maybe this will help you," he said. Before you could ask him what he meant, he shoved something into your mouth. "Suck on it," he commanded. You recognized the shape as one of your buttplugs. You squirmed under his touch, excited for what was about to happen. Maybe you should be naughty more often if that meant that he would punish you this way.

He removed his fingers, only to replace them with the buttplug shortly after. You drew in a sharp breath.
"Ye like that, dinnae ye?" His thick voice made you even wetter, which he immediately noticed.

Still bent over his knees, he spanked you a couple of times. Each time his hand connected with your ass, a wave of pleasure surged through you. Blindfolded, every sensation felt more intense. You bit back a moan.

Sternly, Chibs told you to get on all fours and lift your arse. You could hear from the sound of his voice that he was annoyed with you. He was displeased with your behavior at the clubhouse. Now he had to make you behave again.

You heard him opening his jeans and sliding them down his hips. They fell to the floor with a thud. You were so wet, he would be able to slide into you at once. You bit your lip, and your hips rolled involuntarily at the thought of this. You needed some friction, right now. You needed HIM. You gasped as he opened your lips with the head of his hard cock, teasing you because he didn't immediately put it inside you. It felt like an eternity. Chibs ran the tip of his cock up and down your folds, making you long for more.

"Filip," you whimpered, begging him to finally fuck you.

"Don't come. I'm going tae fuck ye just a little 'n' slowly. Don't ye dare come before ah say so."

He thrust into you, at last giving you what you so desperately needed. Spreading your buttcheeks, he stroke over the buttplug with his thumb, making you moan out loud. Chibs leaned over you, bringing his hot mouth toward your ear.
 "Who's the only one allowed to touch ye?"


"Y-you," you barely managed to get out.

"What was that? Say it louder," he demanded. Why was his voice so sexy?

"You!" you cried out with pleasure.

"Good girl," he murmured into your ear before grabbing your hips and beginning to fuck you harder and faster. You were almost there, but he hasn't allowed you to come. You spread your legs wider, rotating your hips and meeting his movements. Your breath became short.

"Do ye want to come?" Not being able to form any coherent sentence, you just nodded.

Instead of answering, he took off the blindfold, flipped you over, and kissed you hard. His thrusts became more erratic. He brushed your hair out of your face and leaned his forehead against yours.

Your orgasm hit you like an earthquake, bucking your hips you enclosed Chibs with your legs, wanting to feel him even deeper inside you, be even more connected with him. He groaned and you could feel his cock twitching as he came, shuddering. He kissed you deeply, almost tenderly, conveying all his feelings for you.

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

Both of you were still shaking, as you snuggled up to him.

"When are we going to tell the others?" you wanted to know.

"Lass, I don't think there's a need to do that anymore - they already know now," he laughed.

You punched his shoulder, glaring at him.

"Alright, alright, I got the message. Tomorrow, okay?"

Well, you could live with that. Smiling, you cuddled up against him, never wanting to let go again, ever.

[novemberhush]

Thanks to @firemedicdiaz for tagging me to share 10 of my favourite characters from 10 different pieces of media. 😘

I added gifs of each character, but it’s fine to just list them if you’d rather.😊

1) Fred Thursday (Endeavour)

And sticking with blokes who are dad-shaped, have a pseudo father/son relationship with at least one of their subordinates and whose death would devastate me...

2) Bobby Nash (9-1-1)

And moving on to yet another dude who’s dad-shaped and has a pseudo father/child relationship with, well, most of his underlings...

3) Phil Coulson (Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)

4) Raymond Holt, a.k.a. Everyone’s Dadtain (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

5) Cobb Vanth (The Mandalorian)

Oh my God, I’m cackling! I just typed ‘Cobb Vanth’ into the gif search and all these gifs of people saying ‘daddy’ and fanning themselves and biting their lip, etc, popped up! There was even one of that teacher from Matilda (Miss Honey, is it?) doing that thing with her glasses! 😂 What can I say? I guess the Olyphant thirst is real. Understandably.

6) Walt Longmire (Longmire)

What? I like mature dudes and cowboys, space or otherwise.

(What do you mean, have I got daddy issues?? Why would you even think that?? Whatever. My next choice will totally destroy that idea.)

7) Aaron Hotchner (Criminal Minds)

See? Told you my next choice would... oh. Never mind.

8) Kathryn Janeway (Star Trek: Voyager)

Because I think it’s time I got some women up on this list and teenage me would never forgive me if I didn’t include Janeway. (She still should’ve ended up with Chakotay, though. I know, I know, strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to complete her and all that, but, damn, woman, did you see how fine that man was? In the immortal words of Michael Bluth, you gotta lock that down. I certainly wouldn’t have minded making first contact with him.)

9) Samar Navabi (The Blacklist)

Missing Elizabeth Keen? Pfft. I’ve hardly noticed she’s gone. Samar’s the one I miss. I practically squeed when she popped up again in The Bear Mask episode, even if it was only in Aram’s mind. (No, I don’t have mommy issues either, thank you very much.)

10) Benton Fraser (Due South)

Because I actually like seemingly buttoned-up characters who are about duty and doing the right thing, even if that sometimes (oftentimes) means making hard choices. They’re often dismissed as boring Dudley Do-Right, stickler for the rules types, but they can be just as complex, if not more so, than all your cool antiheroes and rebels, etc. What makes them tick? Why are they the way they are? What’s so wrong about having a strong moral compass that’s in good working order anyway? And what might happen if they strayed from their path? Etc, etc.

Plus, like, Paul Gross (a misnomer, if ever I heard one) was so hot in that show. Teenage me lusted hard for that man. Middle-aged me does not blame her one little bit.

And there we have it. I really like my authority figures, huh? I’m not gonna look too deeply into that. I’m sure it’s fine.

I did this game before recently and I can’t remember who all I tagged (and I’m too lazy to go find it on my blog and find out) so if I’m tagging you in this game for the second time and you don’t feel like doing it again, that’s fine. Just as it’s fine if I’m tagging you in it for the first time recently and you aren’t feeling it. No pressure, I promise!

I tag @mistmarauder @prettyboyandthekid @jennoasis @evanesdust @kiti-the-warrior-poet @kitchenisking and anyone else who wants to share.❤️

[shinygoku]

i can't seem to get this to let me send a nice image again... but (at your leisure) can you do Duck for the character ask? ♥

First impression

Huh, with a name like Duck, I expected him to be more avian. And maaan, what is up with the shape he has??

Impression now

Ah right, that's a Pannier Tank Engine, and they just Look like that lol. Still unsure about the alleged Waddle motion, maybe cause I ain't seen enough of these babies in motion.

Anyhoo, while I can absolutely see why he's a big fan favourite, I'm a bit more ambivalent, personally. I still Like him, but I wouldn't put him in my assortment of Most Beloved.

Favourite moment

His arc with Diesel, natch! Again, more than a singular moment, but the whole shebang with buildup, fallout and resolution is one of the series' biggest Turning Points and Duck himself is on top form. Though I gotta shout out to A Close Shave for being him centric and damn cool 🦆😎

Idea for a story

Hmmm.... the order of these points may compromise the mild surprize that's possible, so I'll answer this in the last section ;3

Unpopular opinion

Other than my rather "yeah he's fine lol" mild reaction to him? :P

I vastly, and I do mean Pretty Dang Vast, prefer how he looks in the book illustrations where he has a black smokebox bordering his face. On the whole I adore the TV show's models, but his circular face on the massive green slab ends up kinda offputting. Maybe that's also a factor in my lower key reception of him too, haha

But seriously, compare these book illustrations, which is more harmonious with the other characters to you?

Favourite relationship

Ahh geeze, I ain't given it much thought.... unleeessss [see Headcanon Section]

Also shout out for (initially at least) being Diesel's Arch Enemy, even if that kinda drifts away with the TV show and time.

Favourite headcanon

Ok, here we go... this is all pretty much your own doing, Jobey!

It may not have been your intent, but I'm starting to think Duck is one corner of a Platonic Love Triangle, with the other end being Thomas, and the mutual object of their ....friendship[?] is Percy. I better draw a Diagram lol (Also no, it's not a shipping thing lol)

So like... Duck was brought in specifically to help Percy out, they get along well and have a lot of stories/episodes together. Eventually Percy is put on the Ffarquhar, or "Thomas' Branch Line" and the amount of time Duck spends with Percy promptly plummets. Related is that I genuinely can't think of any stories where Thomas and Duck interact in a meaningful capacity. It seems whenever those two are in the same scene and it's not a swift drive by cameo, it's because Percy is there.

It makes me start to wonder if Duck and Thomas have any particular thoughts on the other, or just the low key 'yeah he's not actively a dick to me so we're cool'. Is it out of character to Headcanon Duck as being somewhat jealous of Thomas, simply for whisking Percy away? It sounds rather more silly written out than in my head asfsjkd

But like, I'm thinking of eps like All At Sea, where Thomas doesn't feature until right at the end (irl prolly a Studio Mandate lol) but it makes me wonder if Duck himself is thinking "Oh smeg, it's Thomas. Can't he stay up by the quarry for once? He's always everywhere!"

And weirdly, cause it's from Season Six of all things, is the ep Scaredy Engines. I flip flop on whether I like how it plays the exact same Moral from Percy and the Dragon again, but with Percy and Thomas' roles swapped from the other ep, or if I think it's inferior to said Dragon ep. However, the role Duck plays in Scaredy is very interesting...

So Thomas was being kinda a dick in the ep, teasing Percy about being scared, so Duck takes on the Karmic Trickster mantle that had been left behind for several TV eps by now, and arranges for Thomas to get scared back. The thing is, while he's pleased with a job well done, Percy is still concerned when Thomas doesn't reappear at the Fireworks show, so he leaves Duck and finds Thomas back at the sheds instead.

Yeah, I could very easily read into this lol. Duck's plan to avenge Percy by proxy worked, but also backfired, as Percy himself went off towards the guy who, certainly from Duck's Point of View, should have been left licking his wounds alone and feeling the weight of The Lesson soak in. Duck has again been jilted by Percy in favour of Thomas, even though Duck in particular sees Thomas' actions as Jerkish. Percy is much more willing to forgive this and see a lack of malicious intent, this is the kind of ribbing they share, and Thomas actually hiding scared is enough to get Percy to seek him out.

I may just be overreading, of course, but the tl;dr of this is that I think Duck and Percy have a pretty conventional Nice to Each Other Friendship, but Percy spends more time with Thomas and they have a relationship that can look screwy to outsiders (I again refer to You, Jobey, and that you said Thomas and Percy bring out each other's worst traits lol) but they pretty much muddle along as best buds anyway. I can see Duck being jealous but determined enough to stay civil and professional, even if internally he's always a bit annoyed when Thomas rolls in somewhere and takes Percy's attention.

Man, that got long!

And I still have the Fanfic Idea for here! But don't worry, it's related:

Basically something that examines this a bit more, but the meat of it being Thomas and Duck actually directly talking about it and maybe coming away with a better understanding of each other. Could be one'a them Locked In A Room Together type of situations, like a particularly poorly planned path by the sea that gets covered by high tide or whatever. Bonus points if Percy catches some of this without them realising and is like "what in the hell are those two dumbasses rabbiting on about. Me??? Oh god"

Bonus: Duck says Thomas is welcome to have Diesel as his arch enemy instead lol

That's all I have now, sorry Duck stans for not talking about The Great Western! 🦆🦆🦆🦆🦆

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

Ch3: What Happens in Vegas...

Summary: We catch up with what Fliss got up to whilst Frank was living it up in Vegas, before they both face up to the events of the weekend, because this time what happened in Vegas certainly doesn’t stay there…

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

Just when it seems like everything’s evened out, and the balance seems serene, see the fool I’ll be, still running ‘round on the flesh rampage.

“Hey!” Fliss greeted Bonnie as she walked over to where the woman was supervising the after school club.

“Hiya!” Bonnie smiled “You heard from Frank today?”

“Yeah, before.” Fliss smiled, before she looked and Bonnie “I gotta say, that video of Simon…”

“He’s an idiot.” Bonnie shook her head “Punching his own reflection…I mean…”

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s probably the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages.” Fliss giggled and Bonnie snorted, shaking her head again. At that point Mary came running over, her cheeks pink

“Hey Lissy.” “Hey sweetheart, you ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I got a surprise for you!”

“Me?”

“Yup!”

“Where is it?”

“We gotta go pick it up.”

“Oh, ok…bye Miss Stevenson!”

“See you Mary!” Bonnie smiled as she started to head off to Fliss’ car “Hey, give me a call…we can do lunch Sunday before the boys get back.”

“Sure.” Fliss nodded. “I’ll text you.”

With a final goodbye she headed after Mary and climbed into the driver’s side.

“Where’s Thor?” Mary asked.

“He’s at Mum and Dad’s with Rupert and Fred.” she said, “I thought after our surprise we could stay there for the weekend, use the pool and the Cinema Room…”

“Ok…” Mary looked at her suspiciously.

“I promise you’re gonna like it!”

“Just tell me.” Mary looked at her as Fliss set off driving.

“Sure you wanna know?”

“You’re as bad as Frank.” The girl rolled her eyes and Fliss laughed.

“We’re going to pick Steve up from the airport.”

Mary’s face split into a huge grin, it was a well-known fact that besides Bill, Fliss’ brother was basically her favourite person that wasn’t Frank on the planet.

“Uncle Steeby is coming to stay?” she looked at Fliss.

“Yup for a whole month. He has some work in Orlando and Tampa so he’s gonna be staying in town for a while, and then in Easter Sian and the twins are flying over.”

“Oh man!” Mary grinned, laying her head back on the seat “This is great!”

Mary’s excitement seemed to increase the nearer they got to the Airport, and Fliss had to practically hold her down in the seat as she parked the car, telling her to wait a second. Once she’d managed to park they headed into the arrivals lounge and little after 15 minutes later her brother appeared, towing his suitcase behind him.

“Hey Stack!” he grinned as Mary flung herself at him and he swept her up in a hug “How’s it hanging?” “Same old, same old!” she grinned and he let out a laugh before he placed her down and turned to Fliss.

“Oh my God!” he smiled as Fliss walked over to him “Look at you!”

She laughed “I know…” with a nod she looked down “Nothing until 16 weeks and then wham…now I feel like it’s getting bigger every day.”

He pulled her into his arms and gave her the usual bear hug before the three of them headed out to the car. On the way back to the house, Steve filled Fliss in on what exactly he was doing. The construction company he owned was in the running for a very big job in Orlando building a complete village of holiday villas not far from Lake Buena Vista. As such he was out here to meet a few people and attend the Bidders Conference, whilst also taking a look at some potential office buildings in Lakeland.

“If we win this tender Fliss, it’s going to be huge.” he smiled at her “We’re talking millions.”

“That’s great.” she smiled “You’ve really blown it up since Dad handed over the reins, I’m really pleased for you!”

“I got lucky.”

“No, it was hard work.” Fliss glanced at him.

“Frank says you make your own luck.” Mary added.

“See!” Fliss grinned at her brother. “So, would you guys move out here or…”

“I’m tempted.” he said, “As with anything, I’ll need a project team who can oversee the local suppliers and labour that type of thing, manage the schedules and what not…but our head offices will still be in Liverpool, so I’m undecided. Either way I’ll be spending a lot more time here, certainly in the first 12 months whilst it all gets up and running.”

“How does Sian feel about it?”

“She’s excited. She knows what it means to me, to the business. Obviously she realises it means more time apart as I’ll be out here quite often but…”

“Is it selfish of me to be happy about that?” Fliss smiled and Steve laughed.

“Nope, because we all know I’m the best big brother in the world.”

Fliss grinned and shook her head as Mary began to enthusiastically talk to Steve about school and University and the Girl Scout group she was in. Fliss interjected whenever she needed to but other than that she was happy to let the two of them chat away.

Once home Steve headed over to the Annex where he would be staying whilst Mary went outside to play with the dogs, Fred happy to oversee things from his spot on a chair on the large decking platform which-over looked the pool area. Steve appeared an hour or so later having showered and changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Fliss grinning at him, calling him a tourist. Whilst it wasn’t cold by cold standards, she found it chillier having grown used to the blazing heat of the summer. Steve, who had come from the chilly early spring in England, simply rolled his eyes and handed her the box he had in his hand.

“It’s a present from me and Sian.” he smiled.

Fliss glanced down and smiled at the selection box of Pukka Tea bags.

“Steeby this is great!” she beamed “I’ve been struggling to find them out here since Sian recommended them.”

She gently opened the box and glanced at the various herbal teas. There were 12 different flavours such as Peppermint and Liquorice, Ginger and Manuka Honey, Chamomile and Rose to name but a few. There was even a handwritten note inside from Sian, explaining which ones had helped her with various symptoms she felt during her pregnancy. She closed the purple and gold box and looked up at Steve, tears in her eyes.

“Hey, come on Titch!” he laughed as she fell into his arms, chuckling herself at her ridiculous tears “It’s just tea bags.” “It’s really thoughtful, thank you.” she stepped back, wiping her eyes “Fucking hormones.” Steve chuckled, rubbing her back slightly before she turned and began pulling the rest of the stuff out for dinner.

“Wanna help?” she asked.

“You really want me to?” He smirked “I’ve still not forgot the time we made brownies and set fire to the curtains at the Farm house.” “Ok, first off those curtains were rank, as Mum said when Dad came home and hit the roof, second off, they were pot brownies and we were already stoned after smoking a load! Cooking and being high do not mix.”

Steve laughed “God, poor Mum didn’t know what to do. Came home, found us both on the floor eating them, with burnt curtains hanging at the window.” “She knew we were stoned, she told me.” Fliss grinned, handing Steve a knife “Said she lied to dad that it had been her to get us off the hook.” “Well that didn’t work because Dad told me he knew full well it was us. He made me pay for the new curtains and told me that if I ever let you smoke that stuff again he was going to beat me within an inch of my life.” Fliss laughed “He was so full of shit, he never raised a hand to either of us. Never would either.” “No, but the threat was there. Even if I was 22 at the time, scared the shit out of me.”

“Thankfully we both grew up since then, huh?” Fliss shrugged, as she grabbed a chopping board to start carving up the meat for the tacos.

“Hmmm, debatable.” Steve nudged her. “Although I can safely say I haven’t done weed since the twins were born…as tempting as it was at times.”

“I can’t remember the last time I did.” Fliss mused “Was certainly before I moved to Boston.” “Frankie boy not dabble every now and then?”

“Nope.” Fliss said “He doesn’t smoke and says the last time he did pot it made him pull a whitey so he steers clear. Hardest thing he does now is Bourbon.” “Huh…” Steve mused “I had him pegged as a bit of wild one…” “He’s not.” Fliss shook her head “I mean he cuts loose when we go out, and I dread to think about the states he’s gonna be in this weekend but…” she shrugged “He’s well adjusted, sensible, level headed…can be a bit of a child at times but, show me a man who isn’t?” Steve shot her a look and she chuckled.

“So, how is he?” Steve asked. “Seems like ages since I spoke to him.” “He’s good.” Fliss smiled “His work is going well. He’s really excited about the baby.” her hand dropped to her bump. “We’re gonna start looking for houses now our landlord had said he won’t hold us to our contract. Frankie wants to move as soon as we can so he can get a nursery ready but I’m not bothered. Not like we’ll need the extra space really until a few months after it’s born.”

“You’d be surprised.” Steve raised an eyebrow “Babies accumulate a lot of stuff…” “Well, we’ll manage either way.” Fliss shrugged “Most important thing is they’re safe and happy. We can figure the rest out as we go.” “You gonna buy or…” “Hopefully.” Fliss nodded “With work and stuff now we shouldn’t have a problem borrowing now but, I don’t know, we’re going to look into it properly once Jake’s wedding is out of the way in a few weeks.”

Steve nodded and took a deep breath “You know, I wasn’t sure about you two at first, not because I didn’t like Frank, I did, I mean I do but, well, I just thought after Dickhead that you needed time to heal and find yourself again.” Fliss looked at him as he chewed the inside of his lip before he turned to her. “But then when I saw you again after your first Christmas together and then over the Easter…I dunno, you just…”

Fliss smiled and looked down, shrugging “I might have healed in a lot of ways before I met Frank but I was still broken Steeb. Finding my way in a new relationship was hard work, it was daunting…I constantly found myself automatically doing things I did with or for John…like you know the first time Frank ever stayed over, in the morning I just got up and was about to make him coffee and he was so puzzled by it.” she shrugged “that could have been so awkward but Frank…well, he didn’t let it feel that way. Simply told me to stay the fuck in bed.” “Don’t wanna know.” Steve pulled a face and Fliss laughed.

“Joking aside, I know it used to bother him because it was almost like on a subconscious level I was comparing the two of them but he never once lost his temper, not really anyway, other than to tell me to stop putting him on a pedestal for being fucking normal…his words, not mine.” she said, framing them in quotation marks with her fingers. “He just gets it. He gets me.” “You finished with the sales pitch?” Steve asked her and she narrowed her eyes at him as he laughed “You don’t need to convince me Titch, I like the guy, I just wasn’t sure you were in the right place but it's obvious he helped you get there.” Fliss smiled.

“And Mum and Dad worship the ground he walks on.” Steve shrugged “Like seriously…”

“Awww you jealous?” Fliss teased and Steve turned, pointing the small knife he was holding at her.

“Behave.” he smirked and Fliss laughed.

“I know what you mean though…whenever we argue they’re both like ‘you need to stop being so hard on him, Lissy’.” She snorted.

“Well, to be fair, you are a little bit…” Steve shrugged “Oh, I dunno, a bit of a pain in the ass at times.” “Fuck you.” she sniggered, as Steve chuckled and once again looked down at her.

“I’m glad you found him. You deserve to be happy.” Fliss smiled, and let her brother give her another hug before she instructed him to get on with his allocated job of dicing onions if they wanted any chance of eating this side of summer. Between the two of them, they had dinner ready in half an hour and the three of them ate inside at the large kitchen table. It wasn’t long after they finished that Frank Face timed. After a conversation with Mary, instructing her once more to behave, she handed the phone to Fliss who smiled at her man and excused herself for a little while so she could go talk to him in private. He told her they were off to play poker, promised he wouldn’t gamble Bean and Mary’s inheritance away, before he apologetically said he needed to go and promised he would message her later, despite her insistence that he didn’t need to keep checking in.

The siblings and Mary, plus animals migrated to the lounge of the villa as Steve yawned, desperately trying to keep himself awake as long as possible to counteract the time difference between Florida and their home in the North West of England. He ended up helping himself to a healthy shot of Bill’s 12 year old Single Malt as Fliss had an apple juice mixed with lemonade, the 2 of them on the couch, the foot stools of the recliners in front of them whilst Mary led on the rug, playing on her computer.

At one point she let out a snigger, and Fliss looked at her suspiciously.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Frank before told me to stop doing maths and do something else…so I’m googling.” she shrugged.

“Googling what?”

“Random pregnancy facts…did you know the longest pregnancy ever recorded was 375 days?”

“What?” Fliss spluttered “That’s over a year!”

Mary grinned “and the shortest was 21 weeks and four days…both babies survived.”

Steve looked at Fliss, chuckling to himself as he took a drink of his scotch.

“Woah, your heart grows bigger too…” Mary said, “and your blood volume increases by 40-50%. That’s pretty cool.”

“No wonder you get fat…” Steve mused and Fliss picked up a cushion, hitting him in the face with it.

“And your voice can change!” Mary looked up at Fliss “Says here that it can get lower…” she studied her for a second before she nodded “Talk to me…” “What do you want me to say?” Fliss asked, dropping her voice deliberately and Mary shook her head, rolling her eyes.

“You’re doing a Frank…” she sing songed.

“Doing a Frank?” Steve looked at his sister.

“Code for being an idiot.” Fliss smiled.

“You’re 18 weeks right?” Mary continued.

“Yeah”

“It says here that’s the time the baby can hear sounds…but it gets more responsive at 25-26 weeks…” she paused “Have you felt Bean move yet?”

“No.” Fliss shook her head, “but apparently for your first baby it’s not uncommon for you not to feel it until after 20 weeks.”

“Huh, they call it quickening…” Mary mused then she grinned “I can’t wait to feel it kicking you.”

“Gee thanks Stack…” Fliss looked at her as Steve let out a loud laugh

“I bloody love this kid!” he grinned and Mary smiled back.

*****

Saturday flew by. Fliss had lessons all day at the yard, Mary hanging around to help Joanne with various tasks before she herself got to ride Monty. She was now fully walking, trotting and cantering off the line competently, so when she asked Fliss if they could try a little jump, seeing as Frank wasn’t there to shit himself Fliss agreed.

Joanna set the cross poles up, leaving the jump at less than half a foot high, but it was enough for what they wanted to do.

“Ok…so…” Fliss said, nudging the ground pole with her foot. “We’re going to just trot him at this for the time being, so when he steps over this pole you have a count of one before he is going to take off. So you need to stand up… and fold forward slightly, giving him the reins. Show me.” Mary obediently stood up, and Fliss moved to help her adjust her legs so they didn’t fling too far back.

“Ok, good…” Fliss nodded. “Joanna’s gonna lead you over the first few times ok, and if you feel like you’re losing your balance then grab hold of this bit at the bottom of his mane. It won’t hurt him, I promise.” “OK, I’m ready…” Mary nodded.

“Alright…” Fliss said, stepping back. Joanna led Monty away, before they picked up trot and ran at the small jump.

“Get ready to fold!” Fliss instructed Mary, as she approached the pole. Doing exactly as she was told Mary leaned forward as Monty took off from the ground and landed perfectly after the jump. Mary sat back up and looked over her shoulder at the jump then to Fliss who gave her the thumbs up.

“Woah, did you see that?” Mary grinned, and Fliss nodded.

“Sure did!” she laughed. “Go again?”

Mary nodded eagerly and Joanna laughed. “Well done kiddo!”

They repeated this 5 or 6 times more before Fliss asked Mary if she wanted to try on her own. Never one to back down she nodded so Joanne unclipped the line and Mary trotted Monty around in a circle before she came at the jump.

“Ok, sit up and look straight between his ears at where you’re going.” Fliss said “Don’t look down…” Mary approached the jump and Fliss held her breath, but needn’t have bothered. Monty, ever the pro took Mary over the poles easily and stopped a few strides at the other side, Mary letting out an excited yell.

“I did it!”

Fliss gave her a huge smile.

“Can we film it and send it to Frank?”

“Damned straight we can!” Fliss grinned, “Do it again.”

She pulled her phone out, filmed Mary once again jumping and then turned her phone off, slipping into her pocket as Mary rode Monty back over.

“That was amazing!” the little girl was beaming ear to ear.

Fliss nodded “Yeah, it was. You did really well Stack. You wanna walk him off now then and we can feed and go home?” Mary nodded as she turned Monty away to let him walk around the outside of the paddock. With a smile she grabbed her phone and sent the footage to Frank. He replied a few minutes later with a load of wide mouthed emojis accompanied by the words “Jesus Christ, what did I say about keeping all 4 legs on the ground?”

“Oh hush Sailor!” she replied “She loved it. Now don’t forget I want a photo of you and Greg in those suits before you go out.” “Yes ma’am…now by my watch it must be nearly 6pm there. Take Mary and Bean home and get some rest.”

Rolling her eyes she responded about him being bossy to which he replied he was entitled to be as she was carrying his kid. A few more jokey messages were shared before Fliss promised to go home and Frank said he would talk to her later.

They grabbed a pizza on the way back and once more joined Steve for dinner, the 3 of them sitting in Bill’s large cinema room later watching Avengers-Age of Ultron. Before it had finished Fliss fell asleep, to be woken by Steve at the end of the film, Mary laughing at her as she groaned and stretched out.

“Sorry!” she grinned and Steve snorted.

“She falls asleep all the time.” Mary laughed “Frank said the baby is like a parasite, sucking all her energy.”

“A parasite?” Fliss snorted indignantly, her hand falling to her bump “You hear that Bean, that’s your dad saying that. Rude…”

“He isn’t wrong though.” Steve laughed. “Sian used to refer to our two as the bloodsuckers.” Shaking her head Fliss stood up and looked at Mary, “Bed, come on. You’re out with Roberta tomorrow.” “Anywhere nice?” Steve asked Mary.

“Just to the beach.” came the reply. “I haven’t seen her in a while so we’re gonna go watch the surfing competition. Roberta likes the shorts the men wear.”

“Sure she does.” Steve smirked, laughing.

“Some of them are brighter than Frank’s shirts.” Mary mused, causing Steve to laugh harder.

They bid him goodnight, getting ready for bed before Fliss tucked Mary in and went to the spare room. She fell asleep not long after but was woken early Sunday morning with a desperate need to pee. Once sorted she text her phone to find a very drunk text from Frank, declaring he loved her and couldn’t wait for Bean to arrive and for them to get married. She shook her head, glancing at the time, it was almost 4 am meaning it was 1am in Vegas. Smiling as she replied half asleep herself, telling him to maybe think about drinking water instead of any more alcohol, she turned over and closed her eyes.

***** Frank sat dumbfounded, his entire body rigid as the person next to him in the bed let out a sigh, and then a deep groan before a head emerged from under the covers.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frank exhaled and let out a groan as Simon looked at him “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, technically this is my room, jerk.” Simon said, blinking “What year is it?

“You scared the shit out of me.” Frank took a deep breath “I thought…”

“You thought you left with the blonde?” Simon peeked up at him “Nah, man. Mind you, wasn’t for her lack of trying. She was all over you. Eventually you told her to fuck off. You were quite rude actually.” Frank let out a sigh, his head falling back against the head board.

Simon sighed turning over, before he peered under the covers. “For the love of- Frank you’re naked.” “I’m aware of that.” Frank groaned.

“Fucking hell…” Simon grimaced, before he rolled out of bed “I’m going for a pee. Put some clothes on.”

Once Simon was in the bathroom he climbed out of bed, his head still spinning as he found his clothes in a pile on the floor. Shoving on his boxers and shirt he looked around the room to see an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a pizza box on the table.

“Where the hell did we go?” He asked Simon as he walked back into the room. “Don’t ask me.” Simon looked at him, falling face down on the bed. “I know we took Greg back to your room…”

“We did?”

“Yeah he was wasted.” Simon nodded, rolling over as Frank flopped back on the bed. “He could hardly walk so the bouncers asked us to take him out of the club. We threw him in your room then…we must have gone back out…hang on…”

With a herculean effort, Simon pushed himself up and found his phone. After a brief scan his eyes widened and he snorted.

“Look.”

He turned the phone round to Frank, who saw a selfie of him and Simon in front of a face down Greg in the hotel room. Simon then began to flick through.

“Oh, ok so we went to a liquor store…” he turned the phone round to show Frank a blurry photo of a shop front “Don’t ask me why I took that and oh my god!”

“What?” Simon pressed play and a load of cheering and singing hit their ears as they watched footage of a small man dressed as a leprechaun dancing in the hotel foyer, Frank on his knees in front of him, laughing.

“I literally have no memory of that…at all.” Frank shook his head.

“Looks like we called Bonnie as well…” Simon snorted “If this angry text message that I got at 3 am is anything to go by.”

“Oh fuck.” Frank hastily reached for his phone, which really didn’t have a lot of battery left, and he hastily scanned his calls. There were none to Fliss, but he had sent her a message. According to her reply she’d been up to use the toilet, so that was ok.

His phone illuminated then with two messages. One from Fliss asking him if he was hungover, as he deserved to be, and another from Greg asking him where the fuck he was. Deciding to reply to Greg first, as he could picture the man stressing he tapped out a quick reply informing him not to worry, he’d be back at the room as soon as he’d managed to dress himself, which at the moment thanks to his head was proving a little difficult, before he replied to Fliss saying he was indeed hungover and he needed to crawl into a hole and die and as ever, reminded her he loved her.

No sooner had he sent it, she was calling him.

“That was quick…” he mumbled, before answering it. “Hey, honey…” “So, wanna tell me exactly where and what you were doing that requires you to get dressed before you go back to your room?” Her voice was steely.

Shit. He had sent the messages to the wrong people.

“Lissy, it’s not what you think.” He instantly began.

“Oh, you have no IDEA what I’m thinking!” her voice grew louder

“No, listen…I’m with Simon.” He chuckled.

“You think this is funny?” She sniffed and Frank grimaced.

“Baby, stop.” He sighed “Look, we ended up back at his room and I passed out here. That message was meant for Greg as he was asking me where I was. Instead he now has a message saying I’m hungover to fuck and that I love him.”

She was silent and he could hear her on the other end of the line rustling something before she spoke again in a quiet voice “So you weren’t with anyone else?”

“No, Sweetheart I wasn’t. Why would I want to be huh? Most beautiful girl in the world waiting for me at home.” At that Simon let out a retching noise “God you make me want to puke, Adler.” “Oh fuck off Si you dick.” He shot back.

“Hey, Fliss.” Simon leaned over to speak down the phone, grabbing Frank’s wrist to stop him moving it. “Now you, Bonnie and me have all seen Frank nekkid...”

“I swear to God I’m gonna punch you in a minute.” Frank mumbled, jerking his arm out of Simon’s reach and pushing him so hard he rolled over and fell off the side of the bed. Frank let out a laugh as Simon groaned and a hand appeared in the air, flipping him off.

“He knows about you and Bonnie?”

“Apparently so.” Frank mused

“So anything else you wanna tell me about what you got up to? Other than naked spooning Si?”

Frank laughed “We found a dancing leprechaun.”

“A dancing leprechaun?” “Yeah, in the hotel somewhere.”

“Standard.” she giggled “So, are you ready to come home now you’ve spent the last few days acting like overgrown frat boys?

“Yes, I’m more than ready to leave Aldrich Whitaker behind”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“My alter ego for last night. He’s a trust fund ass hole.” Frank grinned.

There was a pause before she replied, snorting “Whatever.”

At that point his phone gave him a bleep to tell him he was dangerously low on battery power. “Look, baby, my phones gonna die. I’ll call you when I get it charged ok?”

“Yeah, sure, hey Frankie, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.” She apologised softly.

“It’s okay, I’m not surprised after that message.”

“Yeah but still…” she paused “Can I blame the hormones?”

“If you want.”

“In that case it was totally them.”

He chucked “ Hormones or not, I love you.”

“Love you too sailor”

With that his phone cut off and he glanced down at it, the screen blank as the power had gone. He dropped it on the bed, before leaning back again, his hand against his forehead.

“I’m NEVER coming to Vegas again”

“Oh you not fancy it for your Batchelor party then? Simon teased as he threw Frank a bottle of water from the mini bar.”

“The fuck I do.” Frank shook his head.

*****

“I’d like to say I’m surprised but…” Bonnie shrugged as Fliss snorted, taking a drink of her apple juice from the carton as they walked back to their cars in the setting sun. They’d had dinner at one of the beach bars and stayed simply chatting for half an hour or so, but now Fliss was now ready to head home, shower and bunker down for the rest of the evening until Frank came home.

“I knew he’d end up paralytic.” Fliss said, watching as Mary wandered back towards them, huge ice cream in her hand. “Stack that’s bigger than your head.”

Mary shrugged, handing Fliss her change “It’s good though.” “Mint choc chip?”

“Yup.” she grinned, taking a huge lick. “When’s Frank back?”

“He lands into Tampa in about 4 hours.” Fliss looked at her “Why, you fed up of me already?”

“No, just thinking how peaceful it’s been without him annoying me.”

Fliss grinned and Bonnie gave a chuckle.

“Hey, did you tell Bonnie about you jumping Monty?” Fliss asked.

“Oh, no…” Mary turned to the woman, enthusiastically telling her all about it as Bonnie listened, Fliss walking alongside them, her hand rubbing her bump. She was just thinking about how nice a nap would be right then when Bonnie’s phone went.

“Sorry Mary.” She muttered, frowning at the number. “Hey, Lisa?” Fliss attention turned to Bonnie and she watched carefully as she spoke to Jake’s fiancé, her eyes flicked to her “No, no why…what’s…oh, ok…yeah…”

She cancelled the phone call and instantly tapped at the screen.

“Everything ok?” Fliss frowned.

“Yeah, I just need to check something.” she said. Fliss glanced at Mary who looked at her, shrugging.

“Here…” Fliss handed her the keys to the jeep “Go open the car…” “You know if you want me out of the way just ask.” Mary rolled her eyes.

“Ok I want you out of the way.” Fliss looked down at her. Mary snorted and took the keys, wandering off the 50 yards or so to the jeep. Fliss watched her climb in the back, the door staying open and her legs dangling out of the side. “Bonnie what is it?”

“Nothing…” Bonnie said, far too quickly as she looked up at Fliss. Fliss frowned.

“Bonnie…”

“Honestly, it’s nothing, just something Lisa told me about on facebook so…” Bonnie stuttered slightly so Fliss narrowed her eyes.

“Stop bullshitting.” Fliss said, holding her gaze “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Look, I’m sure it’s not what it seems…” Bonnie sighed, holding out her phone. At those words Fliss felt her heart sink as it could only mean one thing, and she took the phone with a tentative hand. She looked down at it and could see that it was a photo and from the logo in the bottom right hand corner it was from the official club page that the boys had been in on Saturday night.

It showed Jake, Greg, Simon, and a few others that Fliss didn’t recognise but that wasn’t what Bonnie had been referring to. What she had been talking about, as Fliss could clearly see was the background of the shot, which showed Frank with a blonde woman. Her arms were round his neck, his hand was resting on her lower back and their faces inches apart.

“Like I said, I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation…” Bonnie said, but Fliss wasn’t listening. She was busy flicking through the other photos and then she came across another of Frank, the same girl perched on his knee.

She felt sick.

“Sure, perfectly innocent…” Fliss swallowed, handing the phone back to Bonnie, her voice sounding detached. Bonnie looked down at the snap now displayed on the screen and she took a deep breath.

“Look, Fliss, Frank loves you…he was probably just drunk and…” “Touching up some whore that’s sat on his lap.” Fliss shook her head “Save it Bonnie, I gotta go.” “Fliss…”

Fliss turned away from her, the tears stinging her eyes as she headed to the jeep. Taking a deep breath she wiped her eyes, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Are you ok?” Mary looked at her.

“Yeah, fine…just tired and hormonal.” Fliss shot her a smile.

“We can watch a film when we get back.” Mary suggested “Just chill out?”

“Yeah, yeah we can.” Fliss trying to quell the sick feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with Bean.

Had Frank really cheated on her? She would never in a million years thought he had it in him to be unfaithful, and she was desperate to believe Bonnie, that there was some perfectly innocent explanation for it all. And maybe, just maybe with the first one she could. It could have been taken at a bad moment, when they were just talking to one another, Frank being friendly…but then again why would they have their arms round one another. And as for the second one…the same girl was sat on his fucking lap with her arm looped round his shoulder.

And he looked perfectly comfortable with it. 

She rubbed her bump again and Mary looked at her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine sweetheart.” she nodded, painting a smile on her face before turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s go home.”

******

Frank sighed as they all trudged through the arrivals lounge, rubbing his eyes. He was ready for a shower and collapse next to his girl, he felt like he had aged a decade over the last 3 days. The rest of them looked just as bad as they headed to the waiting car, Simon’s phone reminding Frank he needed to turn his on to.

“Oh, shit…” he heard Simon groan “No, that’s not…he didn’t…I swear…”

He glanced at Frank who stood still, watching and leaning on the door frame, his own phone in his hand as it started up.

“Yeah, ok…love you…see you soon.” Simon swallowed and cut the call looking at Frank.

“What is it?” Frank looked at him, a cold feeling washing over him “Has something happened to Lissy or Mary? Or the baby, please tell me no…” “No, nothing like that but you need to call Fliss.” he said, “Frank, there’s photos of you and that blonde chick on the club facebook page. Someone tagged me and Greg in them, Lisa saw them and Bonnie and…” “Photos of what?” Frank frowned “I didn’t do anything…” “There’s a photo that makes it look like you are…and one of her on your lap.” Simon said and Frank swallowed, his stomach churning.

“Oh fahk!”

“Just get in the car.” Greg looked at him from where he stood at the other side. “Call her on the way, we’ll back you up…it’s a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” Jake assured him.

But it wasn’t fine, because no matter how much Frank tried, or how many messages he sent, Liss wasn’t picking up or replying and when he saw the photos, he could understand her being pissed. He would be if it was the other way round because they looked bad. The drive home seemed to take forever, and when the car finally rounded the corner onto Frank’s road they all offered to come in as well and help him explain, but he shook his head, knowing full well if he did that she would feel backed into a corner. No, this was his own dumbass fault. He’d face up to it and talk to her, make her understand how he’d told the girl to back off…she’d listen, she was reasonable.

The house was quiet when he entered and he walked through to the lounge where Fliss was sat on the sofa, her knees bent up beside her. She glanced over the back of the couch and he could see she had been crying, which made him feel like even more of bastard than he did already.

“Lissy, honey, I swear…” “You know, when I asked if there was anything you wanted to tell me, maybe I should have asked if there was something you should tell me” She sniffed, uncurling her legs and standing up and Thor’s ears pricked up from where he had been laying on the rug.

“Listen, those photos, they’re not…” He shook his head. “I told her to get lost, honestly I swear to you.”

He moved towards her, his hands dropping to her hips but she pushed him hard in the chest, stepping back.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

“Sweetheart, I swear to God…”

“I don’t wanna hear it Frank.” she shook her head, walking past him. “Where are you going?” he asked, “Lissy, you can’t leave. Please, sweetheart…” “I’m going to bed, but let’s get one thing straight. The only reason I’m not screaming at you right now and storming out, slamming the door behind me is because of Mary.” she spoke calmly, too calmly for the anger which was radiating out of every inch of her body. She looked at Frank, her eyes watering as she shook her head, turning away. “You can take the couch.”

“Lissy…” “Frank…just stop.” Her voice cracked, and with that she left the room, Thor trotting behind, the bedroom door clicking behind her.

Frank stood, rooted to the spot, debating whether or not to follow her, before he decided not to. The last thing he wanted was to anger her that much she stormed out, or worse, she got so stressed something happened to the baby. No, she’d set the boundaries so he decided to respect them, and turned instead to the couch, sinking down onto the cushions his head in his hands.

She was angry, upset and she had the right to be and like he had said in the car, in her position he knew he would feel the same. She needed to sleep, calm down enough so that they could talk and he could explain, get her to listen to him. And then she’d see that it was a huge misunderstanding, even if she remained pissed at him for having the girl so close in the first place, which, ok, he shouldn’t have done but fuck…the thought of cheating hadn’t entered his mind, not once.

He swung his legs up, rubbing his face over his hands. She’d believe him. She had to, because if she didn’t, then had no idea what the fuck he was gonna do.

**** Chapter 4

[vaguely-concerned]

Any tips for a TF POV fic? I want to write one because I too went through a time in my life when I let feelings bounce off cuz that was easier, but I feel like that's not quite on point for him 🤔

God I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about this and they’re all so wordless and frustratingly evasive to me yet (I am in the process of writing a looooooong T.F. POV fic and it gives me much more trouble than Graves POV, probably because as a person I’m quite a lot more like the T.F. Type in real life lol). But yes, here we go, let me try to express some of what I personally try to have as my hm ‘anchor points’ for his perspective. (Heavy disclaimer that these are just my personal & disorganized little musings and by no means the only or ‘correct’ way to read the character!)

- First of all I agree, the image of ‘bouncing off’ doesn’t feel quiteright -- it’s in the right neighbourhood but the wrong address sort of thing, but it’s really hard to come up with a way to explain how I feel the nuance here.

*insert three hours later spongebob meme here* Okay, so the metaphor I came up with is: T.F.’s relationship to emotions is a direct parallel to his relationship to water/the ocean: it’s scary down there, it’s dark, it’s dangerous, and if he should ever be dumb enough to try to go in too deep it’ll kill him dead because boy oh boy on so many levels this man just did not learn how to swim. As far as he’s concerned any sensible person would simply bob along on the surface in a sturdily built boat and try not to think too much about the weird shit that lives down there in the depths. (In this metaphor the layer of artifice and performance so habitual it’s basically integrated into the fabric of his soul is the boat. Y’know, the part that’s Twisted Fate and not just plain ol’ Tobias. I’ll hasten to add that I think both parts of his identity are equally ‘real’ and equally him, but the Twisted Fate part is like… protecting the Tobias part. Keeping him from drowning, as it were. I’m not sure he’d think of it like that himself for the longest time, though, I suspect he has more of a ‘that man is dead’ attitude towards the Tobias part after Graves is gone)

I think what I’m trying to get at is the idea that to him, raw emotion is as hostile and unknowable and unnavigable an ‘environment’ as the deep ocean. (And the only time we see him willingly go there, physically and otherwise, is for Graves, so you know let’s jot that down first of all lol.)

- He seems to genuinely quite like and be interested in people – how they think, what moves and motivates them, their secrets and foibles. So I tend to try to keep the uh ‘detail work’ in his POV focused in that direction. Priority going like 1) people 2) people’s valuables 3) the relative availability of people’s valuables at this moment if you have clever hands and a very charming smile haha

- One of my favourite things about T.F. is that he seems, I don’t know… quite genuinely good-natured beneath it all? If you back him into a corner some sharp and dangerous things peek out (he has survived in his line of heh ‘business’ for like thirty years, and a lot of it on his own), but for the most part and when unthreatened he has a sort of mildly amused and intrigued live-and-let-live attitude to the world even as he’s conning it that I find deeply charming. Which to me ties in with:

- T.F.’s first instinctive reaction to danger (perceived or real) the majority of the time seems to be ‘Flight’. Confrontation and violence are basically his ‘when literally everything else has failed’ options. (As seen prominently in Burning Tides, where he just keeps running and running and the only time he actually starts throwing punches is when he has to because Graves is in immediate danger and they’re backed into a corner. Which feels like it means something huh lol, I often think about what could actually make T.F. angry enough that he would openly express it and that seems to be the most likely angle for it in my eyes.)

- My take on one of the fundamental differences between Graves and T.F. is that Graves has A LOT of feelings but doesn’t quite know it (or more like can’t quite conceptualize it I should say) – he has a hard time identifying or finding vocabulary for feelings that aren’t some shade of anger. Meanwhile T.F. KNOWS he has feelings, he just doesn’t like it, ardently wishes he didn’t, and will do pretty much anything to run away and not have to engage with them haha.

Another important difference: when brought out of equilibrium Graves gets angry, and T.F. gets scared. I have the feeling that beneath it all he’s scared a lot, and it’s why his persona is so oriented towards gaining control in ways where people don’t realize it enough to even think try to take that control away from him until he’s already long gone. Misdirection as a way of life babEY

- This might be too deep in the ‘my WIP/process specific’ territory to really count as general analysis, but I think it’s there in canon too – there’s almost a feeling that he implicitly feels like he has to make up for some fundamental flaw or lack he has at the core? (Not a weird thing for him to end up feeling, considering what happened to him as a kid.) All the rest of him, all the cleverness and style and charm, is there to ‘make up’ for how at the end of the day he’s… wrong somehow. As Graves, who knows him better than anyone, focuses right in on, a coward. And that is CERTAINLY not the whole truth and even Graves in a full rage relents when he sees the effect the accusation has on him and once he gets the actual facts of what happened. But I think that sense of deep unworthiness is what’s stuck with him emotionally. His people left him because there’s something fundamentally lacking and immoral about him. He lost Graves because he’s not good enough, because he’s a coward who leaves people behind. He deserves to be alone. Mix in a ton of survivor’s guilt to taste, and I think you have the like… core emotional wound he’s constructed around.

There’s also something here about fear of profound powerlessness specifically in situations where words, generally his strongest card that’s not a literal card (har har har oh we do have fun here), simply don’t work right at the moment when he needs them to the most – he tried to beg for his people not to leave him behind, he tried to convince Graves to get the hell out with the rest of the crew… and it didn’t work. (In Burning Tides you see he’s given up even trying to explain himself, he just wants Out in whatever way leaves both him and Graves tolerably in one piece, even if he won’t be understood or heard or less alone afterwards. It takes him until like half way through the entire chase to even THINK about just telling Graves the truth. In all fairness to T.F. it probably wouldn’t have worked at that moment, but it does vaguely crack me up that he didn’t even consider it until all of Bilgewater harbor was already burning merrily behind them fhsajkfa)

- He has a little bit of a (perfectly justified considering his background honestly) chip on his shoulder, especially when it comes to powerful or arrogant people. There seems to be a special satisfaction in outsmarting and robbing specifically rich assholes (which would also be the people who have the most to steal, so y’know good times all round). From his short stories and few places in his bio you almost get the feeling that he has a funny sort of Robin Hood-esque sense of lopsided justice about it. (Robin Hood-esque only so far as to define ‘the poor’ as the eternally hard-strapped ‘T.F. & Graves Waistcoats and Cigars Fund’, of course lol)

I think T.F. both has a mind that tends more towards analyzing the big picture and also has more direct experience with like… structural/systemic powerlessness and oppression. So the cons they pull are probably partly how he channels the emotions that arise out of that (and the rest he just represses, like the relatable guy he is haha)

- Graves being back would cause some IMMENSE internal conflict in him, I feel – of course all the feelings of relief and attachment and love, but also… so much of who he is now came about specifically to find a way to deal with Graves being gone, with seemingly just shutting down the entirety of his need for real human companionship or closeness for like a decade, things that are suddenly starting to be brought online again and must be tremendously stressful to deal with when you’ve had it completely suppressed and deadened for so long. He’s put so much into trying to be fundamentally unattached to anything, anywhere, anyone (and there are some things here about perpetually being an outsider his whole life that I can’t quite put into words, but that’s a dimension too.) That sort of psychological self defense mechanism doesn’t just contentedly nod its head and go away just because something good happened one time haha. Probably a work in progress there huh (at least he’s not alone in it now <3)

PLUS some bonus Graves POV observations because man. I love writing him, he’s just a marvel of a man

- I know I call him a dumbass all the time, but in a street smart way I think he’s actually quite clever haha, he just has a bad tendency to get hung up on an idea and get tunnel sight. (I’ve based this a lot on the short stories but see also more recently his Sentinel skin voice lines for good examples: he’s incredibly straightforward in that ‘well obviously if it doesn’t affect me personally I ain’t gonna give it that much thought’ way, but you also have glimpses of surprising insight/shrewdness and… I don’t quite know how to put it, but something like an ability to get to the bottom line of something without getting caught up in the details. (I suspect T.F. does find himself lost in the details quite frequently, he’s much more attached to the decorative curlicues of the world.) Graves clearly & frequently has no idea what’s going on, but he strips things down to the essentials very quick: Lucian’s story as a direct thematic mirror to Viego’s, Is There A Sun Lady – Oh, I See, all of this is weird and creepy and needs shooting, and maybe most crucial of all: Isolde doesn’t want to be with her husband anymore so what he’s doing is just like. Extra shitty. He gets what he needs to get and then just barges ahead heedlessly with that. Icon.)

- He’s actually pretty darn eloquent in a gruff sort of way and uses some quite sophisticated vocabulary! And the way this is contrasted with the tendency to slip into blunter coarser language just as readily -- like when he takes the time to describe the monster that takes down the Prince’s ship in such poetic terms as ‘gargantuan’ and ‘the behemoth’s immense, distended jaw’ and it having ‘pallid dead eyes the size of the moon’, and meanwhile during his swim at the beginning of the story we get bastard cold and bastard dark and full of bastard jellyfish and crabs – brings me such immense and unending delight

- He’s more eloquent in his internal voice than he is when speaking (especially noticeable in Destiny and Fate; he does have a tendency to fumble his words when talking lol), and he gets quite easily lost in his own meandering reflective musings in a way I find incredibly endearing. I’d almost call it whimsical at times, honestly, hilarious as that is? Like when he’s literally so absorbed in a line of thought he forgets which way they’re rowing and T.F. has to remind him. (I think T.F. generally has more of a grip of what’s going on around them than Graves does lol)

- There’s an important distinction to be made that Graves actually does, by and large, read T.F: very closely and seemingly also pretty damn accurately. He’s good at (and clearly very interested in) reading his moods, spotting what tactics he’s using interpersonally, when he’s being genuine and when he’s being dissembling.

What Graves is actually bad at is understanding his own emotions, and to not bleed those emotions into other people’s motivations and behavior, especially when he’s upset or in heightened states of feeling, like he is all the way through Burning Tides. He can only name his own feelings in a vocabulary of anger, when it’s pretty clear from the subtext that there’s a whole bunch of other stuff going on there, and he has incredible trouble divorcing those feelings from what other people’s got going on with them right then. He feels hurt, betrayed, and undone by everything that’s happened to him, so the intention to hurt, betray and undo must live in the other person who he feels caused it. In less drastic cases you see him do this a bit when he feels like T.F. is being evasive with him – taking it as a form of rejection rather than realizing T.F. is just lost in his own thoughts, sort of thing. There’s a real improvement in this one between Burning Tides and Destiny and Fate, though, so maybe he’ll have an easier time of it with some time and practice.

Sorry it took so long to get back to you on this and that it’s a bit of a rambling mess, words have been real hard recently. Or rather I have too many words, all the time, left and right, I just can’t put them into the right orders to make any sense hahaha, I hope there’s some useful point in this somewhere for you at least!

[honourablejester]

Some thoughts for potential characters for an Arabian Nights/Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor style D&D desert campaign, since Genie Warlock is now an official thing

Point of note: The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is one of my favourite Ray Harryhausen movies, and one of my favourite Classic Hollywood swashbuckler/fantasy/adventure movies (allowing for its extremely 70s sensibilities and attitudes), and its influence is probably going to be very clear here. Heh. (Honourable mention to the 40s Thief of Bagdad also)

Firstly, I feel like a specifically Arabian-Nights-ish setting might let you get in some of the more unusual races more easily. Depending on if we’re going fully desert with this, or if we’re adding in Sinbad-style coastal/mountain/jungle shenanigans, you’ve got room for things like aarakocra, yuan-ti, tabaxi, genasi, tritons, sea-elves, goliaths, tortles, etc.

(Sidenote on monsters for the campaign: you cannot have an Arabian Nights inspired setting and not include a Roc at some point. It’s just not done, I demand giant birds. Actually, given the variety of monsters in Arabian Nights and all the myriad spin-off stories from it, you could probably throw in just about anything. All the sea monsters. Anything found in a haunted desert ruin or Cave of Wonders style dungeon. All the constructs, Jaffar in Thief of Bagdad certainly felt free to throw in all the mechanical murder weapons.

On that note. Actually. Warforged PCs. The ‘Silver Maiden’ who didn’t want to assassinate a king for some sorcerer. Or did assassinate a king for some sorcerer, and is now dealing with the fallout. Huh.

But. Anyway. I just. Love the Roc. It’s iconic)

Some backgrounds that fit nicely for your stereotypical Arabian Nights adventures: pirate, sailor, fisher, criminal, charlatan, urchin, courtier, sage, far traveller, guild artisan/merchant, possibly also archaeologist if we’re counting ‘delving into desert ruins’ under ‘archaeology-ish activities’

Classes and subclasses that instantly jump out:

Rogues are instantly the archetypal hero type here, given Aladdin, Sinbad, Ali Baba, et al. Heh. Swashbucklers and arcane tricksters also jump out among subclasses, because adventuring sailors and magic thieves. Rogues just grok really well in general though. Roll up all your sly, streetwise, impulsive, treasure-driven, secretly noble thief princes and line ‘em up!

So … A tabaxi archaeologist-slash-arcane trickster who grew up a street urchin and found themselves getting sent into strange desert ruins for cash from a very young age, until they just got a taste for it and went into business for themselves? Or a water genasi sailor-swashbuckler who’s looking to buy/acquire their own ship and are willing to go a lot of strange places and take a lot of strange jobs to get the capital up? Or a halfling street thief who very inadvisedly fell in love with royalty and is looking for enough cash to successfully masquerade as a noble suitor?

Warlocks, since genielocks are the reason we’re here in the first place, so we’ll obviously throw that in. Fathomless, fiend and undying also fit very nicely, depending on where we’re bouncing in our desert voyages, fathomless for coasts and undying for tombs

For the genie, because I’m still in love with the ‘live in your vessel’ idea, I’m feeling like Jafar’s peddler disguise from Aladdin could come in here. An actual peddler, guild-artisan, who encountered a djinni in the desert, and now has a few odder tricks up their sleeve, and on occasion sleeps in their lamp. I feel like rock gnome would work here? Not sure why. Alternately, we could go with the original fisherman-frees-a-genie-from-a-bottle, and get a poor (sea-elf?) bastard who is very out of their depth over here?

Bards, my darling bards, leaning into the court shenanigans a setting like this offers. If Scheherazade herself was anything, she was a bard. Lore, whispers and eloquence all jump out nicely. Also, here’s where you see my Golden Voyage love, because my absolute favourite character in that was the Vizier. He had it all. Genteel manners, tragic backstory, facial disfigurement, honourable motives. Sure, you have your Disney Jafar viziers, but you also have your historical Jafar viziers, and everybody loves some court shenanigans.

So. A human/half-elf courtier-turned-fugitive lore bard, who ran badly afoul of his court’s new ‘court wizard’, to the tune of a hideously disfigured face that he hides behind a quite beautiful mask, who’s out looking for people to help him fight said wizard and reclaim his kingdom for its just rulers?

On that note, Sorcerers and Wizards are obviously genre staples (admittedly often as villains, but hey). If you’re leaning a bit on some ‘court wizard’ shenanigans, then sorcerers with subtle spell might have an interesting edge, and pretty much all flavours of wizard would fit right in

Putting the yuan-ti in as the wizard/sorcerer might be a bit on the nose (though possibly not as much as the genie warlock with, say, a basket as a vessel), but they do also fit very nicely with both the court shenanigans and also tomb-diving aspects of this kind of setting/story. So. A yuan-ti pureblood illusion wizard who’s trying to find a specific tomb/cavern, a-la the Cave of Wonders? Or a tiefling sorcerer whose life’s goal is to successfully become court wizard and/or vizier?

Of the martial classes, I feel like Monks oddly fit quite nicely. Sun soul might even get a decent look in, as well as long death and mercy. Possibly it’s still the rogue thing, but Arabian Nights as a genre just feels very Dex-based to me. We survive on skill and savoir-faire and slyness, not force and faith.

Also, random inspiration here, but the RL archaeological discovery of the 5000-year-old 6ft tall Iranian lady found in a Burnt City with a golden artificial eyeball wired into her skull is of some influence here. A sun soul monk lady with a golden eye from a ruined desert city taken over by a blue dragon would be … a very cool thing. I feel. Heh

And of course, anything else you feel like. Just because my brain is ruled by rogues and sorcerers here doesn’t mean that’s all there could be. Light, tempest and knowledge clerics feel nicely evocative as well. Storm barbarians. Swarmkeeper ranger with a locust swarm, if we want to throw in some earlier influences. Stars druids work really nicely for the navigator idea, both as desert walkers and nautical navigators. Anything you want, really.

I guess I’m kind of surprised that I don’t really hear much about coastal desert-y style campaigns in D&D. It has all the monsters for it. And, like, if ever there was a genre of story focused on tiny heroes facing really weird monsters, the Odyssey/Sinbad the Sailor type stories are very much it.