#is that you periodically realise you were wrong about it 3 years ago and have to come back

[finnlongman]

Hey @oddnub-eye, I don't know if this is what you were looking for when you sent this ask originally, but I'm still working on my translation of Oidheadh Con Culainn and there is a bit where Cú Chulainn cracks up about a raven (Badb, but unclear at this point whether Badb ingen Cailitín or the more usual Badb, since both are referenced; probably the daughter of Cailitín, in context?) having an unfortunate intestine incident, and "that is the last laugh that Cú Chulainn made". I could see this getting absorbed into retellings somewhat.

It is however a fair while before he actually dies and is before the whole standing stone incident, so wouldn't inherently change my answer above. But I had a vague memory that you'd asked me something about smiling/laughing, and I wasn't sure whether it was related to that scene I just got to this week. Figured I'd mention it since it was ringing a vague bell for me.

Hello, I hope you're having a good day. Is there any manuscriptal (I don't think that's a word) basis for the tradition/idea of "Cú Chulainn dies smiling/laughing"? It seems to be a very prevlant motif throughout what I've seen/read in...pretty much everything that is not BMMM/Aided Con Culainn (unless I'm misremembering things). Is this another Oideadh Con Culainn thing that's prominent in the general image of the character/story but the exact source isn't known because OCC hasn't had a translation or is it more a folkloric element of the character that he just kinda...absorbed over time for various reasons. It's always been an engaging and intriguing part of his story for me and I'd appreciate if you were able to shed some light on its origins. Thank you for your time and I hope you have a great day

Hmm, so, it's definitely not in BMMM or in OCC -- here's the moment of his death from OCC, which is one bit I translated for my thesis so I already have it to hand:

“Alas that,” said Cú Chulainn, “I give my word and I swear by the noble gods, that it was not possible that it was not a heart of stone or bones or iron that was in me until today, and if I had thought that it was a heart of blood or flesh which was in me, I would not have done half of that which I did of arms or high deeds.” It is then Cú Chulainn faced the men of Ireland, and he put his shield to protect himself and he put his lance against his shoulder and he took his unsheathed sword in his hand. His soul departed from his body after that, and his upper part and breast against the standing stone. It is then fell the chief of valour and arms, glory and prowess, protection and bravery of Ireland.

The closest he gets to smiling in this whole section of the text is feeling "great gladness" when Láeg comes back to him on the battlefield and helps bandage his wounds, which is probably not what we're looking for.

There's an early modern poem about his death that has this same motif of him talking about realising for the first time that he had a heart of flesh and blood -- aka recognising his own mortality -- and I don't remember any smiling there, either.

And BMMM has no smiling either:

He came then to a territory a great distance west of the lake, and his vision failed him, and he goes towards a pillar-stone in the plain, and placed his body-belt around it so that he might not die sitting or lying down, but rather so that he might die standing. Thereafter the men came around him, and they did not dare approach him. They thought he was alive ...

(trans. Bettina Kimpton)

Most retellings do in origin derive from BMMM or OCC, and when they're by Irish writers, it'll often be from OCC. Remember, not having a translation into English makes it inaccessible to English readers and scholars, but being such a late text means it's in a version of Irish that's not all that challenging for those who have modern Irish -- making it easier to read than the more difficult and medieval language of BMMM. One of the reasons it hasn't been translated is because Irish speakers don't necessarily need it to be, unlike the earlier text where the language is more archaic and challenging.

However, a lot of those retellings will have gone through a few intermediaries, who've added details which get passed on. For example, Lady Gregory's version of the story, which looks like a mixture of the two, has a detail about a cuckoo towards the end that I think is her own addition. This is how I worked out that Lady Gregory was probably the source for Rosemary Sutcliff's version -- Sutcliff also references the cuckoo, which is very distinctive.

Happy are they, happy are they, who will never hear the cuckoo again for ever, now that the Hound has died from us.

(Cuckoos show up as, like, a symbol of grief in some of the medieval Welsh poetry, so I was super intrigued to know if this was actually in the Irish text as it would be an interesting comparative point with the englynion. But as far as I can tell, it's a Gregory detail -- although there's a lot of poetry from OCC that I haven't translated, so I may be wrong there. If it is hers, perhaps she took inspo from the Welsh?)

There's no smiling in Lady Gregory's version, though, which would have been my best guess, since she's so many people's introduction to the story.

The most popular source for the majority of Ulster Cycle retellings, like Standish O'Grady's stories about Cú Chulainn, is Keating. When it comes to the death tale, I don't think they're using the History of Ireland, because Keating's treatment of Cú Chulainn's death there is to say, "I don't have time to tell you this story, here's where to find it:

Know, O reader, that if I were to relate here how Cuchulainn fell by the sons of Cailitin, and Fear Diadh son of Damhan by Cuchulainn, and the death of the seven Maines sons of Oilill Mor and of Meadhbh, and of many other stout heroes who are not mentioned here, a long narrative would be needed concerning them. But if thou wishest to get a lengthy account of them, read Brisleach Mhuighe Muirtheimhne; Oidhidh na gCuradh; or Tain Bo Cuailgne; or Tain Bo Reaghamain; or Deargruathar Chonaill Cheamaigh; or Feis Eamhnan; or Tain Bo Fliodhais; or similar tales which are now to be seen in Ireland; and thou shalt find therein a copious account of the above-mentioned persons and of many other champions and warriors of their history and adventures.

Helpful! However, I think Keating tells the story somewhere else, because O'Grady tells us that he he does, and in this version the medieval and early modern accounts are combined, which creates some confusion for O'Grady: Láeg both dies and doesn't die, a fact O'Grady found understandably puzzling.

So, if I could find where Keating tells the story, I could check if it's a Keating detail (my brain gave that for me as a "keating deating", thanks brain), but if it were, I'd have expected to come across it in a few more of the places I've looked.

It could be a folkloric tradition or from one of the bardic poems or something, but my best guess is that somebody added it into their retelling because they thought it was a nice touch, adding a bit of poetic drama, and other people copied them because they liked it (and because a lot of the retellings out there in the world are derivative of each other rather than going back to the source material). The fact that I've never seen it doesn't mean it isn't widespread, though; my knowledge of retellings is limited largely to Gregory, O'Grady and Sutcliff, since I generally prefer to work from the earlier texts, and that means my knowledge in that regard is pretty incomplete.

If it were a 'canonical' detail, I would have expected to have come across it by now, and I've never seen this in any version of the story I've worked with. Doesn't mean it's not out there, though -- I'm learning new things all the time, and there are things in this tale I would have sworn down weren't there at all if you'd asked me two years ago!

So, yeah, this is a very long answer to say, "no idea, I'm afraid", but hopefully it was useful or at least interesting.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for refusing to change how I dress in my own home?

👕 < to find this later.

I've got a doozy for ya. So my (28 F) best friend L (27 F) recently got a dream job offer in my city. Her only problem was that the start date was earlier than expected, she was living far away, and her lease required her to give two months' notice. Since I have a spare bedroom, I offered for her to stay with me for the notice period, for free.

There's been no issues with L - we've been best friends for the better part of a decade, and we had already been roommates back in college, so when she moved in we fell back into our old rhythms pretty well.

The issue is with L's girlfriend, A (also 28 F). L and A have been dating for around a year. Since L moved in, A has been over 2-3 times a week. We usually only cross paths in the morning (when I'm going/returning from the gym) or in the evening when I'm home from work. My gym clothes are usually some combo of a sports bra and joggers, and at home I mostly wear tank tops and sweats.

After the first few times at my place, A started to make comments about my clothes and/or lack thereof, but I laughed them off since they were along the lines of "sure you won't get cold?". I didn't bring it up with L because it didn't seem worth it - I know that it means a lot to have her girlfriend around since they were previously long distance.

A couple days ago, I came back from the gym to find A glaring at me over breakfast. I asked her if something was wrong, at which point she hit me with "it just feels like every time I see you, I see a lot of you, you know? Don't you ever cover up?". It was 8am, I wasn't having a good morning already, and my patience snapped: I told A that every time she sees me, it's inside of my own home, and if she's uncomfortable with how I dress at home, she can solve that by leaving.

It was at this point that L arrived in the kitchen and the conversation ended there. I've not seen A since.

So, am I an asshole for refusing to change how I dress at home to make a guest more comfortable?

P.S. Before anyone asks: yes, everyone involved in this story is a lesbian; yes, L and I briefly dated when we first met before realising we liked being friends a lot more; yes, I do realise that this might be some good old dyke drama and if so I'll take both your judgement and any patience you can throw my way, thanks.

What are these acronyms?

[toythrob]

Too shy to slide in your dms but I need to get something off my chest. I saw how detailed your answer to the last ask about edging regiment was (that wasn't me btw) but it made me believe you'd be the best person to approach

I'm extremely new to this side of Tumblr. I literally didn't even know about edging until a month ago. I'm very interested in learning more about it. But, I've been cumming non stop since I had my first ever orgasm years ago. I've had like 3 orgasms a day at minimum. So it's not easy for me to just flip the switch and not cum again. I tried getting into edging myself but I'd literally end up cumming on the 3-4th edge.

I realised I needed actual guidance from someone, someone who can teach me and hold me accountable, so I made this Tumblr. Since then, I've encountered a few doms/mutuals who claimed they could help me in this journey. But their instructions were always "don't cum for the next 3 days", "don't touch yourself for a week" and punishments if I broke the rules. Obviously it went nowhere because i ended up cumming pretty quickly.

This is just leaving me more frustrated now. I know what I need, i need a schedule, i need someone to let me cum in the beginning and then slowly increase the gap between when I'm allowed to cum. Use my love for orgasms as a way to ease me into edging. But no dom seems to understand it.

Am i wrong for wanting this? Is this an absurd approach to even expect? am i just a failure at being an edgeslut?

Sorry if this is too long. Feel free to ignore if you don't want to respond, i totally don't mind!

- ✨

I‘m happy to hear from you. I’m sure that you’re not the only one in this situation, so I‘ll try my best to answer this in as much detail as possible as this could be helpful for others as well.

First of all, you’re not in the wrong at all and you‘re not a failure. Sometimes people can be too impatient or inconsiderate. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for you to start off slow, especially considering that you’re still quite new to all of this. You should always have fun and not feel like you’re being pushed to do anything.

I‘ve got a few ideas on how you could ease yourself into this and slowly increase the intensity.

For the beginning, it might be enough to try edging just once. Make sure to stop when you feel yourself getting close…it’s better to stop too soon rather than too late. Over time you will get a better feeling for how far you can push yourself before you inevitably cum. Then take a break for a minute in order to calm down again.

This might already be the point at which you want to reward yourself and make yourself cum. But depending on how you feel, you could also stop altogether and just go about your day (to practice being denied) or start over again with another edge (maybe pushing yourself just a little bit further this time). You could even see how long you can keep doing this and just edge again and again until you can’t control it anymore and finally cum.

I don’t know what the right starting point for you is. I could imagine that you might want to start increasing the number of edges first in order to get used to controlling yourself and stopping in time. Once you think that you’re comfortable with that, try denying yourself…for example start with a manageable amount of edges in the morning and wait until the evening to give yourself an orgasm (or maybe just a few hours if that’s too hard in the beginning). Next, try to increase the denial period and/or number of edges.

Regarding an exact plan, I’m not sure what the right approach for you is…that’s for you to decide. Especially after hearing about your experiences so far, I could understand if you wanted to start on your own and explore how far you can push yourself. Needless to say, it’s easier when someone else is in control and tells you what to do (as long as that’s reasonable). I‘m of course more than happy to help with that if you need it 😉 (communication is easier if you dm me but it’s not a problem if you want to keep this anonymous)

And don’t worry too much about the occasional accidental orgasm…you’re still very new to this and need to learn how your body reacts. As long as you’re not doing it on purpose, I don’t see a reason for such harsh punishments 😉

I hope that this was helpful for you. Let me know how you get on with edging and denial. As this is public, maybe also let others know what helped you and if you have some other useful tips and ideas for starting off.

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 2: One Hundred Years of Solitude

← Prologue

← Chapter 1

→ Chapter 3

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 10.5k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (not even y/n dw), use of 2nd person though bc it makes sense for the story - trust me, Sebastian is veery confused and veeery jealous but he found a friend in this madness, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He smiled as he sat down next to the blonde girl, ignoring the giddy feeling in his stomach as you watched his every move. He also might have accidentally sat right opposite of you.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: I deeply apologise for the late update. I wanted to use this Chapter to expand a bit over his life at Hogwarts and other relationships, other than, yk, the rrrrromance. Anyway, Daphne is my crush.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"Intrigued by that enigma, he dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her." - Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

The Great Hall was almost empty when he entered it, as most of the students had already gone to class. Since he had a free period before Charms, Sebastian decided to allow himself more sleep than usual.

Not that it had been any useful.

He felt exhausted, dragging himself to the nearest seat at his House table and resting his head on the cold wood. There was hardly anything left, and he was more than happy to just munch on a cold pancake and drink a glass of pumpkin juice, enough to sustain him for at least a few hours, although barely.

Perhaps it was the sight of the Hall, empty and familiar, perhaps it was the enchanted ceiling shining sunny rays on the Slytherin table, perhaps it was the unsatisfactory breakfast after an unsatisfactory dinner, but for a split second, Sebastian was at home.

It was a sour feeling, like his pumpkin juice had spoiled and his pancake had grown mould in his hands, yet he couldn't stop feasting on it, searching for a piece he could savour, if only once. That, he realised, was the beginning of his destruction.

Memories of the previous day's conversation came flooding back and he groaned, the weight in his chest growing heavier, and the pancake suddenly seemed even less appetising as he dropped it onto the plate.

'Everything is clearer in the morning', Dumbledore had said.

Perhaps he should lend me his glasses, Sebastian thought.

Fortunately, the headache had subsided since the conversation, and although his sleep hadn't been as satisfying as he'd hoped, he felt a little better than he had a few hours ago. Maybe it was the pumpkin juice.

He shoved the pancake back in his mouth, almost choking on it, and rubbed his eyes before standing up. From his table, a few Slytherins turned their heads towards him, and he recognised a few of his peers among them: a brown-haired boy was waving a wand around with a devil-may-care attitude while a blonde girl tried to snatch it out of his hands. None of them seemed in a rush to leave, which almost made Sebastian think he had read his timetable wrong.

He checked again for good measure and he was glad to know he was absolutely right. He then thought he might have been mistaken about the students: they either weren't in the same year as him as he had previously thought or they were waiting for the perfect moment to be fashionably late.

Sebastian, for all his self-respect and gallantry, had little time to be fashionable.

Leaving the students be — and ignoring their eyes on him as soon as he turned towards the door — he headed off to class, ready to begin lessons in a new, unfamiliar environment.

It felt bloody ironic to think that after five years.

If anything, the hallways were deserted and the cracking fire of the torches put him at ease, and that was a pretty huge step up. The walk to Classroom 2E was almost refreshing, and for once, he didn’t lament the stairs. The same couldn’t be said for the screeching laugh of a certain Slytherin girl as soon as she saw him wander around.

“Lost, new fifth-year?” laughed Pansy Parkinson, then she turned to her right as if expecting someone to pat her back.

If her goal was to discomfit him, she might need to review her bullying strategies.

“You’re not still crying because of what happened yesterday, are you?” retorted Sebastian, only stopping briefly to look at her before resuming his walk.

“I could give you detention,” she shrieked.

“That would delight me.”

Pansy Parkinson didn’t follow him, for which he was delightfully glad. Not that it would matter that much: he’d see her in class anyway — probably fleering at him with newfound energy once she had his beau  beside her.

A perfect pureblood pair, he almost wanted to throw up.

The classroom hadn’t changed an inch, so much that Sebastian almost expected Professor Ronen to parade down the stairs with his purple robes and terrible jokes. Instead, what waited for him was a short man standing on a pile of books, swinging from left to right on his tiny legs. He was waving his wand around, blank scrolls of parchments depositing themselves on each desk while a whole new bunch of them floated around his head.

“Oh! Come! Come!” he shrieked as soon as he saw Sebastian, gesturing for him to approach his desk. “Have your classmates met you yet? Oh, I’m sure they have! You seem like a nice, friendly bloke!”

Sebastian wasn’t sure if the words “nice” and “friendly” suited him, actually, but he gave the professor a smile nonetheless.

“I’d told Dumbledore he ought-a make a proper introduction! I can’t imagine how odd it must have been for you — and especially in such circumstances,” he whispered the last part, and Sebastian felt his smile falter and his heart drop pathetically to his stomach. That is something that adults do, where in all their experience and emotional maturity they always fail to consider their younger interlocutors' perspective, and Sebastian really wanted to snap at the small man and make him understand that he didn’t exactly feel the need to be reminded of his situation all the time.

The man seemed to notice, too (and what miracle, Sebastian thought), and he brought his hands to his mouth, capping it shut like he had just revealed a big secret. “Sorry,” he muffled, “I ought-a be more sensible.”

Unwinding his hands, he finally addressed the rest of the students, motioning Sebastian to turn towards them.

To say his introduction was embarrassing would have been too kind a compliment.

He stayed still like a statue, almost hoping that the less he moved, the less visible he was. The professor did the honours, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to take out his wand and blast Draco Malfoy and his gang to Merlin’s grave as they snickered.

“You may go and sit next to Miss Davis.” The small man lightly patted his back to direct him towards the desk. “I’m Professor Filius Flitwick — you can come and find me for any doubts, my office is open at every hour!”

“Every hour indeed,” whispered Miss Davis as soon as Sebastian sat down. “He might even give you cupcakes if you look distressed enough!”

Sebastian thought that Professor Flitwick might have to step up his baking game, as far as distress goes.

Charms class had paid off, and Sebastian felt better, more like himself, than he had in the past twenty-four hours. Flitwick was a little eccentric, but a very knowledgeable and capable Charms master, other than a lenient Professor by Hogwarts standards — he didn't even give extra assignments to those who were late.

Miss Davis — or Tracey, as Sebastian learnt — had been very helpful. She shared her book with him and lent him her notes. Sebastian realised there were quite a few things that he had never heard of, fruit of many decades of research and discovery.

On the whole, he believed he was content enough and ready for his next class. Sebastian felt at ease in an almost confounding way: and he was sure he'd become jittery soon enough, yet a new found purpose — if only for a short time — invigorated his spirit. If he focused on school, he'd fill his brain enough not to think about anything else. That was ideal.

"What do you think, mate?"

A Slytherin boy approached him, slinging his bag on his shoulder, and Sebastian jumped a little, surprised by the sudden voice. He recognised him as the boy in the Great Hall, with the messy brown hair and the long face, but his blonde friend was nowhere to be found.

"What?" asked Sebastian, slowing down to allow him to approach.

The boy smiled reassuringly. "Flitwick. That was your first Charms class in Hogwarts, was it not?"

Sebastian had to bite his tongue at that, willing Professor Ronen’s jovial face to disappear from his mind. “Indeed it was…”

“So?”

So…

Sebastian tried not to make a comparison, but a wall of pros and cons was already manifesting in the window on his mind, served with just a tad of cognitive bias.

"Oh, it was good. He's a bit eccentric isn't he?" said Sebastian tentatively.

"Yeah, but he's all right. We thought he was part elf for the longest time but we never dared to ask."

Sebastian smirked, remembering the professor’s squeaky voice and the books he had to stand on. He was almost bizzarre, when he moved his wand around: like a toy hit by a Transfiguration spell that jumped around as if alive. "I thought he was a bit… short."

"Yeah. Apparently he's part Goblin instead, but heh, same thing," said the boy nonchalantly and walked past him.

Sebastian faltered, stilling in place as if someone had poured concrete on his shoes. Just as a cracked mirror, the toy decayed on the wooden floor, moulded by years of humidity and abandon.

He thought he had grown even slightly accustomed to the changes — to the people wandering around him, the classmates treating him like a foreigner, the professors having to hide him under carefully practised smiles and braided hands on their mouths — and yet, the mere idea that his own professor had goblin ancestry was tearing him apart like nothing before. 

He knew that Goblins weren't the ones that cursed Anne (his friend had told him that, after all), and he knew, logically and maturely, that just because a few of them were bad didn't mean all of them were, but he still felt a little flame of anger — and prejudice — light up inside him, along with scattered guilt for his own thoughts and the memory of Feldcroft's events.

Sebastian wanted to forget the past, and yet it kept following him, even through space and time, and he couldn’t help but think about that goblin slitting his own throat at his wishes, and intrusively imagine Flitwick being in his place.

He really tried to ignore it, for his own good. Flitwick was a good teacher, a skilled wizard even: his ancestry had nothing to do with it — or him. He hoped that he wouldn’t need more time to warm up to the Charms professor after hearing the new information.

But he knew he did.

“What’s that face, new student?” came Draco Malfoy’s provoking snicker, followed by his group’s. “Was this little class so hard it made you realise how dense you are?”

“I'd worry more about your failed Colour Change Charm today. Need help with that?”

Draco Malfoy shut up immediately.

Upon leaving the classroom, Sebastian read his timetable again and saw that he had three free periods before Care of Magical Creatures. He groaned in displeasure and then cringed at himself: he was probably the only student in the whole world who wanted to actively study at the moment. He sighed and simply decided to spend his free time in the Library to try to catch up on what he had missed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Could you direct me to the books involving the events of the last century?" Sebastian asked the librarian as soon as he entered the room, and she eyed him suspiciously before handing him his library card and pointing him in the right direction.

Not much had changed in the Library, so much that Sebastian was still able to pronounce every book by memory as his eyes skimmed over the covers. He walked through the Library like it was home, his chest caving with a soft buzz of comfort and excitement. Sebastian thought he might cry on the spot if he didn't have so many curious eyes on him.

There was, of course, a new section with books he had never read before: books of the new century, and, wistfully, the books he was searching for. Whilst the new shelves broke that bell jar of naiveté gradually forming around him as part of him still clung to the past, an excited grin broke onto his face nonetheless; he had always prided himself on having read every book in the room — except for the Restricted Section — and the idea of absorbing even more knowledge was almost invigorating enough to brighten up his day. He was his parents' son after all.

Madam Pince stared at him from across the room, her neck moving to watch his actions in a way that eerily resembled a rattlesnake as he grabbed as many books as he could carry in his arms before placing them on the nearest desk where another Slytherin girl sat. She looked at him suspiciously, with a playful hint in her eyes.

"Busy, aren't we? I almost took you for a Ravenclaw,” she said jauntily, then glanced back down at her book, a copy of Intermediate Transfiguration, and unwrapped a parchment scroll beside it, pushing a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear so it wouldn't fall in her face.

Whether the girl intended it as a compliment or not, he allowed it to go over his head: her teasing had already stepped foot into his boundaries, but Sebastian felt like the bell jar was too broken to stop it, and he let it be.

"I've a lot of catching up to do," he sighed as he took a seat in front of her, opened the first book on the list — A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot — and read the table of contents, frowning when he noticed the book didn't get past the 19th century. What surprised him the most was that this was, technically, the assigned book for the year. Was the history of the past century so useless and uneventful it didn't deserve to be shed light on?

The girl raised her head and looked at him as he focused on the words in front of him. "Oh, right. You're the new student everyone's talking about, aren't you?"

That was not exactly on his list of yearly accomplishments.

Sure, he was the best duelist in Crossed Wands (second best, he suddenly reminded himself) and his duels were the talk of the school for days after they happened, and especially if they involved her.

But that was good talk. The kind of talk that makes people know you as talented and dashing and charming (and a loser sometimes, but only because she was better: and if she was better, he didn't care), not the kind that depicted you as the boorish and lonely new student who didn't even deserve a formal introduction and had a fight with two Prefects on his first day. That was the bad talk: the talk he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy (or perhaps only to those like Duncan Hobhouse, because he was a boorish and a loner and his formal introduction should spare everyone present. But that was Duncan.)

"Everyone?" he asked then, rhetorically and with a strange need to eat those words back up and become that boorish loner, too.

"Well, it's quite an unusual occurrence. People are curious."

Curious wasn’t exactly what Sebastian needed at the moment, yet Hogwarts was, after all, a bracket of adolescents waiting to feast and find something else to worry about than their potions essay.

"Fair enough," he said, folding the book shut and putting it aside, deeming it useless for his research. "I'm Sebastian Sallow."

"Daphne Greengrass. Pleased to meet you." She extended her arm towards him over the table, her palm open and waiting, and he faltered for a moment at her boldness before repeating her movements. Her grip on his hand was firm and confident as she shook it. Sebastian studied her face more closely, a feeling of familiarity lingering on the back of his mind.

"Are we in the same year?" he asked, almost feeling the gears turning in his brain as he tried to recall her face.

"You're observant," she replied sarcastically. "Yeah, I was actually sitting behind you in Charms just now. Next to Pansy?"

Like an epiphany. He remembered the blonde girl at breakfast. She was one of the few students who arrived late to Charms class.

Then his brain focused on the name she said, and his eye twitched. "Don't tell me you're friends with her."

"I wouldn't say 'friends'; she can be rude sometimes."

Sebastian had a word in mind that perfectly described his combination of “rude” and “Pansy Parkinson”, but decided not to say it. He just rolled his eyes and Daphne smiled. "Really, most of the time she's all right. Quite nice even — but only if you're a pureblood. I'm actually surprised she's never thought of me as a blood traitor, considering the stances of my family, but I suppose there's a clear line between support and neutrality, and we haven't crossed it yet."

As if neutering any possible debate, she began scribbling on her parchment what seemed to be the beginning of an essay.

Sebastian felt like the line between neutrality and supremacy was much more blurred instead.

"Delightful," said Sebastian simply, picking up the nearest book and beginning to read it as they fell into a comfortable silence.

The books felt like a balm and a curse, redolent of pretty much every emotional experience Sebastian had lived through in the past day.

After about an hour, he put the books back, having flicked through them all, and had just begun to let his eyes wander over the shelf in search of a new one when he heard shuffling behind him.

Daphne had put her books away and was frowning at him. "It's nearly lunchtime, I'm heading to the Great Hall. D'you want to come?"

Sebastian paused for a moment, looking around and noticing how the Library was emptying by the minute. "Uh, sure. I didn't realise it was that late." And he found himself following Daphne outside, striking a conversation on the way and feeling a little lighter.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The sun was still as hot as ever as he followed his fellow Slytherins to his Care of Magical Creatures class a few hours later. Draco Malfoy led the group, snickering along with Pansy Parkinson and the two big students about some second-year Hufflepuff they took points from. Sebastian rolled his eyes so hard he could have sworn he saw the back of his own head.

When Malfoy's blonde hair disappeared from his field of vision, he almost rolled them again when he recognised the familiar robes of his Gryffindor classmates.

Gryffindor could only mean one thing: You.

He frantically looked around for your familiar silhouette and breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing. You hadn't mentioned any elective other than Divination to him — apart from your obvious dislike of Arithmancy — so perhaps, by some benevolent Supreme Being, you hadn't chosen that course, and he would have to see you even less.

His solace was short-lived, because after only a few seconds he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Sebastian turned and saw you walking towards him, followed by the two Prefects and the boy with glasses. Just like that, dread washed over him like magma, and he was sure his vision had lost focus for a moment — his body shrivelled at your presence, like you had touched him and burned his skin to the bone and no amount of Wiggenweld could fix it.

He grimaced (and he thought that the fact that he managed to contain his face to a simple grimace was noteworthy) as you approached and mentally prepared himself to start a conversation with you — because of course you would talk to him: you had done it every time you had met the day before.

It was logical, like Ominis being angry at him for no reason, or Anne taking his hands in hers when they met.

(But that logic can break, and he knew it all too well.)

It's not that he didn't like talking to you — he did: far too much, in fact — but he had made a promise to himself and was willing to keep it. He had already regretted telling you about the Undercroft, and he had felt incredibly embarrassed that morning when he had remembered your conversation.

‘I suppose I had no other choice,' his mind played it over and over mockingly, taunting him like a broken cuckoo clock in an old lady's house — and he has seen an awful lot of them in his time living in the countryside — or like one of those school kids he wanted to strangle when he was young, singing off-key doggerels at the bare mention of a girl's name.

You flashed him a smile and gave him a quick wave, and the corners of his mouth lifted against his will. He sounded himself leaning towards you, ready to strike up a conversation when you would inevitably stop beside him. After all, you had followed him the night before when he left the Great Hall, hadn't you?

And so he spoke, "Hi—"

"Neville? How did you get here so fast?" you said at the same time, shifting your wide eyes towards the Gryffindor group. You practically dashed past him, rushing towards another Gryffindor boy standing just a few feet away from him, and Sebastian was left there, his greeting hanging in the air unanswered. "We literally just left the greenhouse, did you sprint here or what?" He heard you laugh.

"Hello, Sebastian," said Hermione, as Ron and Harry gave him a nod of acknowledgement, with polite smiles on their faces. The three of them joined you and Neville, along with the rest of the Gryffindors, and Sebastian sighed, a heavy feeling in his chest and pure shame seeping through his veins. He thought he had physically heard his stomach bounce like a poorly knitted pillow, and the more his mind replayed the scene, the more it unbounded until all that was left was a poorly looped slip knot.

"Well, that was awkward." Daphne was right next to him again and had witnessed the whole interaction. Sebastian's eye twitched.

"What was?" He decided to play dumb, already knowing he'd be unsuccessful as his gloomy expression was more than enough for a tell.

"'Hi." She taunted him with an exaggerated dreamy sigh, and he bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance as another step forward in that boundary almost felt like a kick in the shins.

"I did not sound like that."

"You sounded exactly like that," she smirked. "You almost threw yourself in front of her, too."

"I did not," he protested weakly, looking at the ground to measure his position and see if Daphne was actually right.

She was.

"I beg to differ. What's with the few steps you took forward then?"

Sebastian was properly blushing now, and as the girl giggled, he felt like a wet Puffskein in a camp of Poachers. He frantically looked around to ensure no one was looking his way, and no one was, yet he still felt as if their eyes were just barely waiting to peel the skin off his bones as languidly as a blink. He took a step back as if it could undo his actions.

"Don't tell me you've already got a crush,” Daphne continued, either unaware or uncaring of Sebastian's feelings. “You've been here — what, a day? I mean, I get it. She is gorgeous; I'm sure many guys and girls would agree, but that's a record."

"I don't have a crush," he said through gritted teeth, arms tightening around his midriff as he crossed them to his chest protectively, yet at the sceptical look on his newfound friend's face, which seemed to reach parts of him that felt a bit too personal — specifically the alcove between his ribcage and heart — he snapped. "I don't! She just reminds me of someone else I knew. It's not her I... It's just not like that, all right?"

A few heads turned to him, startled by his outburst, and he chewed on his cheek to calm down. He did not need further attention.

He opened his hands and caressed the palm over his arms, as if smoothing the skin down.

The girl stared as well, and Sebastian was pleased to see her bite her lip as if regretting her words. "Wow, all right, I get it." She took a few steps to stand right beside him, trying to appear unfazed by his tone, and faced the Professor, whispering: "So, it's like a 'fill-in crush'?"

Not again.

Sebastian sighed heavily, like it could remove the huge weight of her words crushing his lungs. "A what?"

"You're attracted to her because she’s, in a way, similar to your other crush," said Daphne matter-of-factly, nodding in satisfaction at her own statement.

His blush spread, and he had to close his eyes to bask in that bell jar again, if only for a little.

"I wouldn't say 'attracted'," he muttered, but Daphne only raised her eyebrows knowingly, and he found himself yielding like a fool. "Well, yes... probably."

For some reason, the admission didn't actually crush his lungs as he had expected.

(He then thought the sigh had actually been responsible for that: let's give credit where credit is due.)

"Mm..." Daphne seemed lost in thought for a while. "Well, the only advice I can give you is to sort out your feelings."

Feelings. Those weren't feelings. They were a trick: a traitorous, disgusting trick of his brain that made him want to throw up.

"There are no feelings to sort out. I don't feel anything for her." Sebastian averted his eyes. "Nothing real, at least," he mumbled the last bit, turning his head away from the blonde girl. It was a terrible large word for such a small muscle.

"Well, that's great, for now. But if you do at some point — or if you two become friends in the future — really put some thought into it. After all, you can't rule the heart." She winked at him as Professor Grubbly Plank began her lesson.

You can't rule the heart. Sebastian knew this all too well and yet seriously wished he could. Especially at that moment.

"Was your crush unrequited?" Daphne added musingly as she got her book out of her bag, and his breath caught in his throat. He had, for a moment, settled down in that peaceful certainty that was a closed conversation.

Logic was broken again.

"Why... Why is that so important?" he asked, reproaching himself for his ridiculous stutter.

"It must have been if your brain is looking for a replacement."

“I do nothing of the sort,” he spat defensively, as if Daphne’s words had moved past that alcove and directly touched his nerves. He turned to glare at her, but she just shrugged and acquiesced to his words without arguing. That unbalanced him, like missing a step and feeling the void under your stomach.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been deeply offended by the girl’s assumptions, yet for some reason, he was relieved by her utter lack of judgement about his insane situation.

“All right, I’m just saying. Be careful," she resigned and proudly showed him her assignment sketch of a Bowtruckle, as if the conversation had never happened. Despite everything, he snorted at the sight.

“I’m impressed. It looks almost different from a twig,” he said, pointing at its head, and she slapped his arm with her book.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The day had gone better than he had imagined, and the next day started just as well, only with a bigger breakfast. This time, both Daphne and Tracey sat next to him, and that mere action made him feel normal again. (And there were no dry pancakes this time, Sebastian noted happily)

Ron and Hermione had stopped him right after he left the Great Hall to give him his textbooks for the day.

“McGonagall asked us to get these for you. They’re a bit worn down, but they will do. I hope.” Hermione had said.

Transfiguration class went by quite smoothly, and McGonagall was more of a capable teacher than he was willing to admit. He grinned in victory when he was the only one to have Vanished his mice completely by the end of the lesson.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” Daphne complained, holding up a slithery mouse tail. “There’s no way you managed to do that before me. Beginner’s luck,” she sulked.

“Next time, you should start from the tail,” he snickered proudly.

“Next time, I’ll Vanish your mouth, Sallow.”

After that came two whole hours of Potions, and Sebastian was curious if the rumours about Snape being strict and — quote — a bully were true (the rumours being Ron Weasley).

He entered the class, careful to keep an eye on you, just in case you had the bright idea to sit next to him, and basically sprinted to one of the square tables that already seemed too crowded for you to attempt to follow him.

Unfortunately, his planning was as bad as ever because he ended up banging his hands on the table to avoid crashing into it, inhaling some of the dust and erupting into a coughing fit that momentarily broke his focus. When he noticed the bright red hem of your uniform right next to him, it was already too late.

"’Morning," you smiled politely at him, and he forced himself to smile back, certain that he could not have mustered a better expression than one that said, 'I'm going to puke.'

To be fair: the dungeons were quite humid, and that, mixed with the various strong smells of potions and ingredients — and the dust still lingering at the back of his mouth — was not helping.

“‘Morning,” he said, making his voice as clear as the ceiling of the Great Hall. The thought of being mocked by Daphne Greengrass again surpassed any social etiquette in the proper tone to use. You, however, seemed totally unfazed.

He assumed that being around blaring Gryffindors every day must have attuned your ears to withstand ultrasounds by now.

“How was your first day? I forgot to ask yesterday.”

Yeah, you walked right past me. Did you remember that, at least? he almost said.

“Not bad at all. I had only three classes, though,” he shrugged nonchalantly. The fact that you didn't even stop to talk to him and ask how he was doing was not bothering him.

Maybe it was mildly upsetting, like waiting all day to explore the Highlands and then being stopped by a sudden rain.

Perhaps just a little annoying, like receiving an A instead of an E on an essay one had worked on for days.

But not bothersome. That would mean he cared, and he didn't.

You nodded and began setting your ingredients on the table. “What about today?”

He had to force himself not to care then. Force himself to suppress the sudden, prideful fluttering in his chest. He decided he was going to check the dorms that night: there were definitely a few moths or flies nestling around that he had accidentally swallowed while sleeping.

"McGonagall, first two periods."

You gave him a sweet smile that made his stomach tighten, and before he could stop himself, the moths fluttered and he blurted out, "I was actually the only one to master the Vanishing Spell today."

You seemed to be caught off guard, and he saw Daphne stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he didn't quite grasp what he did wrong. Then, like a cannonball he felt his cheeks warm up, as if his body had caught up before his brain.

Because he had just shamelessly bragged about himself like a first-year learning the Levitation Charm for the first time.

"Cool." Your voice was about an octave higher as you nodded at him, unsure how to respond to his statement. He bit the inside of his cheek, and wished the Giant Squid would burst through the window and snatch him away to make him its lunch. He definitely needed to check the dorms.

"W-what about you?" he asked instead, knowing that not even the Squid would show him mercy at this point.

(He suspected it would laugh at him, too.)

“Two free periods. I caught up on homework a bit.” You shrugged off your robe and neatly placed it with the others in a corner of the classroom closest to your worktable. “Hogwarts Professors do love an essay, don’t they? Feels like I haven’t stopped writing since the year started. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they asked us to write one right on the train.”

He grinned. “Seems like I have a lot to catch up on.”

“If you’re lucky, they’re going to spare you. I can’t believe I still need to work on my essay on Gillyweed; I thought I might spend the evening—”

Just like that, a tall Gryffindor boy came sitting on your right, and Sebastian watched as you faltered, pausing your hand mid-air. You were holding a handkerchief in which you had wrapped your Erumpent tongue: It never made it to the table's surface.

“Hi,” said the boy politely, flashing you a smile that you returned immediately.

“Hi,” you breathlessly replied, finally setting the wrap down and wiping your hands on your cardigan, taking a deep breath. Sebastian waited for you to continue your sentence, but it seemed like your conversation with the Slytherin was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

“Is this seat taken?”

What happened later felt more like a warm rush to his forehead, which quietly manifested into a frown. Why was he bothering asking if he had already put his stuff down?

But you didn’t seem to notice.

“Not at all — you can have it.” You stuttered a bit.

He watched this whole interaction with his mouth open, noticing the small smile dancing on your lips as you stole glances at the boy, and he did the same. They said looks could kill, and those gazes felt indeed like tiny stabbings all over his skin.

He met Daphne’s gaze, and she gave him a knowing look, hiding a smirk. His jaw set, and he mouthed, “Don’t start.”

“Today, you will be brewing the Babbling Beverage,” Snape said, forcing Sebastian to look away from the pathetic and horrifying scene next to him. “It’s fairly easy to grasp and should be a piece of cake for students who are supposed to be at Ordinary Wizarding Level, but I’m sure even then, some of you will encounter difficulties if so to speak.” He shot Neville a smug glance, and the boy seemed to shrink into himself. Malfoy snickered.

“Instructions are on the blackboard. You may begin.”

He saw you take out your textbook and search in your bag for — something you probably didn’t find. Groaning, you took out your quill and ink and began scribbling the instructions on the book, crossing ingredients and numbers, adding arrows and switching passages. That took you a whole five minutes before you closed your book and got to work.

He added Alihotsy leaves as his water simmered, and you did the same after a few minutes, glancing at what seemed to be a watch. The leaves had to stew in water for twenty minutes, so he got closer to you out of curiosity.

“Is that a watch on your wrist?” he asked, leaning over your shoulder as you were reading the time. It was worn and a little chipped on the sides, the hands wavering between seconds passing.

“It’s a wristwatch. Do wizards not use them?”

Wizards definitely used watches (he himself carried a pocket watch at all times), but he had never seen them worn as a bracelet.

“It looks fancy.”

You snickered. “Nothing fancy about it. I actually bought it for a cheap price."

That would explain the painfully slow pace of the hands.

"I can see it's barely moving at all," he smirked.

"I know," you stifled a small chuckle. "You could say it’s dying on my watch.”

Sebastian paused then, with a quiet buzz in his brain. There was a moment of realisation on his part before he found himself snorting, insides twisting and cringing at your terrible joke.

And the best part (the absolutely amazing part of it all) was that he would have had the same idea had he been in your place. A lousy, dreadful pun that would make anyone's chest shrivel in embarrassment. And yet he loved it.

"Merlin, that was awful!" He tried to hide the absolute joy on his face. Anyone else — Ominis, Anne, her — would either dismiss or ignore him when he made jokes like that, and rarely laugh. And there you were. It was you saying it, and it was you laughing at it. And it was him feeling warm all over again.

So different. How could you be so different?

"And yet you laughed. That says more about you than it does about me."

It did indeed say a lot about him, Sebastian acquiesced to that, and yet when you turned to smile at him, he froze. And if he hadn't caught a glimpse of your clock, still feebly moving, he would have thought time had too.

Sebastian hadn't realised how close the two of you actually were. He hadn't realised if it happened when he leaned to look at the watch. Or if he got even closer as he laughed.

His vision blurred for a second and his delusional, twisted mind screamed at him to lean in, and lean in, and lean in, because it was her, after all. He could just do it, just to put an end to those fluttering feelings that have been eating at him for months.

And he did. Just a little, enough to feel your breath touch the side of his face. Enough to notice the stray thread coming loose from the shoulder of your cardigan. Enough to notice every fleck of colour in your eyes.

Your eyes.

So different.

It wasn't her.

The rational part of his brain tightened the reins of his body, stopping him immediately like an abrupt braking, and he took a step back, almost stumbling backwards, heart hammering in his chest.

If you were her, you wouldn't have made a joke like that. It just wasn't her personality, he reasoned.

And yet, he wished it was. He wished he could mould the two of you together and keep you both with him. Then he forced himself out of his fantasy: the last thing he needed was to lose his grip on reality more than he had on his own life.

He decided to just sort out his ingredients while he waited, trying to stop the blush from spreading across his face.

He didn't look back at you to see your expression.

"Well, it could have been better." He eyed his potion gloomily. It was dark pink and definitely didn't smell like bubblegum, as it should have, not like yours. He glanced at your cauldron, which was filled with bright red liquid: a perfect job. His shoulders slumped.

“Mm, not bad,” said Daphne as soon as she was beside him. “You were supposed to stir five times before adding Leech Juice, not six.”

“I got distracted," he muttered, sending you a glance. You had asked the other boy — whose name was ‘Dean’ as he heard you say more times than he can count (you had only said his name twice, but it was twice too much for Sebastian’s taste) — to grab you a pair of Billywig stings that were drying in a basket beside him and that you couldn’t reach yourself. You could’ve asked him. He had some spare stings as well — maybe not as many as Dean, he admitted, but enough for both of you.

“Right, right, by your ‘not-crush’ and her… ‘yes-crush’?”

“She doesn’t have a crush.”

“Right, she doesn’t. And it’s definitely not requited either,” Daphne remarked sarcastically, looking at you and the boy chatting merrily. Sebastian thought he might throw up in his cauldron and create a whole different brew altogether.

“Just because they’re chatting doesn’t mean there are romantic feelings involved.” He stirred the potion again in frustration, and the mixture turned purple. He cringed. Thank Merlin, he had already filled a phial to hand Professor Snape.

“Come on, I’ve been in this school longer than you, and everyone knows something is going on between her and Thomas. They’ve been at it since last year.”

“She called him ‘Dean’ before.” He frowned, his stomach churning painfully. Maybe you hadn’t asked him for his Billywig stings because he had eaten them without realising.

“Yes, Dean Thomas,” the blonde rolled her eyes. “You should’ve seen the look on his face when you got close to her to ‘look at her watch’.”

“I was really looking at the watch.”

“Yeah, well. It was priceless either way.”

He felt a wave of pride strike from inside him, but he forced it back down almost immediately. Sebastian wasn’t here to date, and if you and Dean Thomas had something going on, then so be it. He didn’t care, anyway. He didn’t care that you had just lightly punched the boy’s arm, laughing at something he had said (Was he that funny?), or that he had asked you if you could study together this evening (So graceful), or that you had said ‘Yes’ and he had told you to meet him in the Library (That was his brand).

Sebastian had promised himself to stay away from you, and that’s exactly what he was planning to do.

But he had also promised himself to catch up on his studies, so how bad could it be if he ‘followed’ you there?

And the Library was a public place, open to any student, so how bad could it be if he accidentally sat near your table? Or at it?

“Please, don’t.” Daphne’s voice brought him back.

“Don’t what?”

“Follow her to the Library tonight. That would be pathetic. And stop staring , it’s creepy.”

Sebastian just wanted Daphne to stop walking around him and hitting all the right spots. Was she a Legilimens or what?

“I—I wasn’t planning to.” His face flushed with his lie, and he sighed deeply again. “I just... I mean, I need to study too. And I wasn’t staring.”

Daphne sighed, dropping the subject. He suspected she thought it was no use arguing with him. He was actually glad for that reasoning.

"Come on. We still have another hour to go through. Try to pay attention.” She said tiredly.

You had left the class with the Gryffindor that day, leaving Sebastian absolutely fuming like his messed up potion he had half a mind to dump into Dean's morning pumpkin juice.

[Read more]

Taglist:

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(I'm still having trouble tagging some of you, sorry :( )

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

hurt/comfort with female reader with Werewolf! Sanford?

reader has she/they pronouns

Pubby man :3

Werewolf!Sanford x Demigirl!reader

CW: mentions of painful transformation, reader gets hurt by accident

Scrolling down your feed today greeted you with posts and photos of both your ex boyfriend and ex best friend, mutual friends showering them with love and praise about their engagement, completely forgetting about how a year ago you'd caught them cheating together.

She was moved in, and you were evicted, a lifelong friendship down the drain, and a supposedly solid relationship of five years gone, bags packed and dumped outside with you.

Old scars ached again, tears filling your eyes despite how hard you tried to fight them. "She thought I actually loved her!" Ex bf laughed, his girl joining in. "They're so stupid! I mean really [Name], do you think someone like him would care for a nothing like you?"

It was dark, a light drizzle dampening your skin and suitcase, hands shaking from the winter chill and adrenaline pumping in your veins. Who could you even call right now? The two people you'd usually turn to were the ones who'd caused this agony.

A name popped up in your contacts, one you'd run with in the past for a brief period. Sanford, a man with a spotty past, but a heart of gold. It'd been a few years... Would he have the same number? Would he remember you? Would he even care?

You hit dial.

Your walk down memory lane was disrupted as the bed was weighed down, San flopping down next to you with a towel around his hips, and one around his lengthy locs. "Hey princess," He sported a wolfish grin, but it dropped when he saw you crying. "oh sweetie, what's wrong?"

He sat up and pulled you into his arms, even if you'd tried to resist, you doubted you could, his arms muscular from all the fighting and heaving lifting he did in his day-to-day. The smell of wet dog clung to him, part of his lycanthropy, no matter how hard he scrubbed or what scents he used, he'd always smell of wet dog out of the shower.

"It-it's been a year since it happened," He glanced and your phone, still on the photo featuring ex bestie's hand, showing off the stupid rock on her finger. Carefully he took your phone and set it down.

Over the past year, you'd rekindled your friendship with Ford, introducing you to his current company and friends. As different as you were to the team, they'd mostly accepted you with open arms, with the exception of the ever looming darkness named Hank. They still didn't seem to have warmed up to you.

"Why did you bring an outsider in? She looks weak, unable to pull their weight here." Hank grumbled in annoyance.

"Cause they're Ford's friend, you moody creep." Deimos rolled his eyes, patting your shoulder. "A friend of Fordie's is a friend of mine, alright chiquita?"

Doc, the leader of the group, watched you carefully behind his red tinted goggles. "I'll the the risk and accept you on the grounds that Sanford trusts you. But make no mistake, if you cross us, you won't like what will happen."

Once or twice a month, the boys would shower after working, and head out at night which had confused you at first, until you'd come to realise these outings always lined up with full moons. You'd cornered Sanford about it once, and he folded, showing off a massive scar on his back, claws had raked down it and eternally changed his fate.

"Werewolf. Would've have figured there would be werewolves out here, but there's vampires and witches, and other occultist stuff." He shivered as you touched them, long since healed over, but still sensitive and tender to touch. "I accidentally turned Deimos into one, who bit Doc and turned him, and in turn he changed Hank."

Despite the four of them being werewolves, you'd never seen any of them in their wolfy forms, and the curiosity picked at your brain whenever you glanced the scars on San's back, the one on Dei's shoulder, Doc's wrist and Hank's throat.

"C-can you please stay with me tonight?" You sobbed into Sanford's chest, and he let out a long sad dog sigh.

"It's a full moon tonight princess." His golden eyes met yours. "It'd be incredibly dangerous."

"Please?"

He sighed again. "Changing isn't super fun to watch, you get used to the pain after a few turns, but the noises and movements of it can be disturbing. But I am worried about you, so I will stay tonight. But whatever happens, please know I'm not going to be in full control of myself. The animalistic side can be vicious, which is why we go outside."

Darkness fell, Deimos whined about taking Sanford out and Doc seemed unconvinced about leaving you alone with another wolf, but eventually the three left when Hank began groaning and falling onto his hands, a sign of incoming change.

"Hank's always the first to turn." Sanford was laying on his stomach while resting his head on your lap, wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. Why would he get dressed up to tear out of his clothes later?

"I'd say it's because Doc bit him in the throat so the wolf side hits hit brain faster, but it's much more likely they're so eager to hunt and tear that they kinda force it." He was helping distract you, and it was working fairly well.

"Does he grow fur or is he bald like he normally is?" You had to stifle a laugh imagining a hairless werewolf.

"He grows thick black fur, like his eyebrows. But it's kinda funny they get hair once or twice a month only to lose it in the morning." San chuffed before letting out a long groan and exhale. "It's starting to happen, princess."

His golden eyes met yours, his iris growing further into his eye, his pupils narrowing into fine points. "I don't want to scare you, are you really sure you want me here tonight?"

"I couldn't be scared of you Sanford. I... Like you too much to be scared." A loud snap came from his body, his skull began to reform, nose and lips pushing outwards and transforming into a snout.

Sanford snarled the whole time his body shifted, his bones cracking and reshaping to accommodate his wolf form. You tenderly supported his head on your lap as he writhed in pain, he raked his claws over your thigh by accident, leaving bloodied scratches.

A mixture of black and dark grey fur coated his body, his arms, legs, back and face black, while the rest was dark grey with black mixed in. He was beautiful, his pelt incredibly soft under your fingers. San's golden eyes opened, and he looked up to you, a mixture of wildness and familiarity in him.

His cold wet nose twitched, and he looked down at your leg, noticing the scratch he'd made. "Don't... worry about it." You mumbled softly, apprehensive that he'd turn vicious if you spoke too loud. Of course you loved and trusted him, but at the end of a day, he was a gigantic wolf, who could tear you apart.

He licked the wound, and it ached, before going numb, and you watched as the flesh slowly melded together, forming a bumpy scar. Wolf spit had a healing factor of some kind, interesting.

Sanford got up, stretching his full body, joints creaking and popping slightly as they settled into their new positions. He shook his body, sending fluff everywhere, coating you, the bed, the floor, every surface.

"What are you going to do now..?" He looked at you, tilting his head aside. Normally he'd be full of energy, ready to spring, hunt, kill. But right now... He just wanted to lay with his packmate. San settled back on the bed, his chest heaving with each breath.

Admittedly he looked comfortable, and you cautiously laid your head on his side, hearing his heart beating. His fur was silky soft, he was a massive fluffy pillow, perfect to just close your eyes for a second on and-

You woke to the bed being disturbed, opening your aching eyes to see another wolf standing over you, his sea-glass eyes glittering softly. Tufts of black intertwined with his brown and white fur, his tail wagging slowly, careful to not spook you.

He smelled of smoke and earth, his tongue lolling slowly as he panted, tired from his hunt. Deimos, definitely Deimos. He collapsed over you, Sanford letting out a loud huff as the smaller, but still larger than you, wolf made himself comfy.

The next was a wolf of light and dark grey, white around his muzzle to show his age. Doc, judging by the black streaks sticking up like a mohawk along his back, and the scars along his face. He pressed his nose to your cheek before laying behind Sanford, the two back to back.

Last was a jet black wolf with angry red eyes, he leaped onto the bed, his lips peeled back. Interestingly, his missing lower jaw had been changed into one that bit his wolf face, and there was blood oozing from it. A lot of blood.

Hank spat a severed finger onto your chest, a familiar looking engagement ring around it, before they laid down, cheek slightly touching your leg. As grizzly as his gift was, at least Hank had done something nice for you. Kinda.

You tossed the finger aside and let the warm wolf pile lull you back to sleep, dreams of one day running with them flooding your mind. Perhaps... One day.

[ayyyez]

In honor of the books I picked up today that I ordered a week ago (finally got more kimi ni todoke!!), what series of manga can you see some of our haikyuu favs reading? Or if not manga what kinds of books can you see them reading, YA, thriller, mystery, etc. Feel free to pick whomever you want for hcs, I humbly ask for Tanaka thou <3

A/N: Look at you getting two answered in one day, it's like you own my ask box at this point bestie lmao but yes I have so many vibes for this one, okay <3

TAGS: manga/reading headcanons, fluff, general

CHARACTERS: Tendou Satori, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Kenma Kozume, honourable mentions at the end

TENDOU SATORI

Okay so we know he used to collect shonen jump magazine when it was around in a physical form. I say he was a subscription owner who would get each issue.

He strikes me as the kind of guy who likes collecting things. Especially artsy types things like his movies. Especially in physical form so his shonen jumps are no different.

He's a constant but casual reader in terms of what he keeps up with in terms of series.

By that I mean he's not like 'OMG I NEED TO READ ALL OF ONE PIECE I'LL BE SO UPSET IF I MISS ONE CHAPTER.' Absolutley not. He's a casual One Piece fan. I know it seems like they don't exist because once you're in you're in BUT HE IS.

He enjoys reading it, don't get me wrong, it's just he's not tearing the issue open for the next chapter.

Tendou's an allrounder with his reading. Will try everything in the issue. Really liked The Disastrous Life of Saiki K the year it was published! He just vibed hard with it.

With Shonen Jump, he's collected it forever so he's read all the early 2000's classics like Naruto, Bleach and Death Note. He watches the anime too.

Outside of the shonen jump I feel like the only manga he would go out of his way to purchase and read would be something of the horror vein because he's a horror fan.

The first time he went into a manga store and saw the covers of the Junji Ito works he HAD to know what they were about. Started with one and ended up collecting them all.

Still prefers watching horror and thrillers over reading them. There's just something more satisfying about cinematic terrors BUT he does enjoy his small collection of manga too.

He just over all prefers reading manga to chill out. Which is why his go to is more the popular shonen series.

Tendou is pretty good with recs too! If you handed him a romance and told him it was the best series in the world and he had to read it he would. He doesn't care, you like it so why wouldn't he? It's just not something he would usually pick up for himself.

He's pretty good at recommending things too. If you're unsure he'll just hand you a shonen jump mag and tell you to go nuts. Just don't read the ads like Ushiwaka please, he can't handle another one. lmao.

Hanging out with Tendou as teens reading manga together would honestly be the best lowkey date every. Just vibing in each others company. Probably watching anime together after too.

TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE

I see Tanaka as more of a manga reader too over anything lengthy like novels. He just doesn't have the discipline to sit there and read for long periods of time.

This is why studying is so hard for him! He just gets bored! Would rather be doing something where he can move around.

Definitely doesn't mind picking up a manga every now and again though.

Now as for what he reads. Well. Here's the things. He's actually a real softy at heart and a sucker for romance.

How does he discover this? Totally by accident, he swears.

He went in to pick up a couple shonen series and the shonen jump issue (he doesn't have a subscription he just picks it up on occassion) and the cashier accidentally mixed up a shoujo series into the bag that was on the counter on the side.

Tanaka didn't realise until he got home and for some reason he just never bothered returning it. He had paid for it after all. He might as well read it.

The thing is once he did, he couldn't put it down! He had to read another and another. He was hooked. And what was this serious? Well guess what it was also Kimi ni Todoke!

That gets him hooked on Shoujo romances and has him going in buying more series. He buys one for every two shonen series he gets, hiding it under them at the casier mentally telling them 'They're totally for my sister.' as if they can read his mind.

Doesn't get too embarassed if you ask him about it though it's just an awkward flush of the cheeks and 'Yeah, I like them.' Because Tanaka is one to stay true to himself.

Okay but because he reads a lot of it he kind of gets real sappy ideas about romance and dating.

All those ideas about being a gentlemen? Carrying your bad, walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to the road, standing in front of you during confrontations? All further reinforced by reading those manga.

Has a cute little blushy face when he reads the confession scenes too. Hopes to be that cool when he confesses on day.

If you like manga he really likes sharing that with you. Going to bookstores together, he vibes on just watching you browse with a content look on your face.

Will buy you anything you want. Even if its a whole stack. Tanaka is slamming those bills down and paying. Anything to make you happy and see that smile on your face.

KENMA KOZUME

Kenma started reading and collecting manga when his parents forced him to have a hobby other than gaming. Something about resting his eyes from screens.

He did already sort of like reading manga anyway. Was into series like the legend of zelda because of the game. Also collects the standard shonen jump series like one piece, hunter x hunter and naruto too.

The thing about Kenma is he started out with the popular stuff and then he branched out and collected a bit of everything the more he read.

He has a bit of everything from each demographic. Has your Sailormoon, Fruits basket and NANA from your shoujo. Josei like Chihayafuru, shonen/seinin like JoJo's bizarre adventure, fullmetal alchemist, AOT, Gintama, Tokyo Ghoul.

As time goes on he'll collect ones like Given, I hear the sunspot and Blue Flag too.

Likes going to art stalls and places he can collect fan djs and art books too. Isn't really big on chit chat but will say a sweet 'I like your work.' Then pays and scurries off with a little happy face.

Like buying work of his favourite games and characters at the same time. Especially at conventions. Hates the crowds but finds this worth it.

Appreciates being able to do these things with you. Bonus if you like doing them too. If you simply go just to be with him he'll just swoon lol.

Back to the manga. He likes the anime adaptions too but doesn't always get a lot of time to watch them. Prefers games after all. If he does though he prefers to watch the anime after he's read the manga.

Loves watching the anime as a way to spend time with you though after you both have read the manga. Loves being able to compare and criticise it together. Just cuddling and vibing.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Reads books/manga: Semi Eita, Kuroo Tetsurou, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yaku Morisuke

Reads manga: Hinata Shouyou, Atsumu Miya, Kunimi Akira, Hoshiumi Korai, Nishinoya Yuu, Kindaichi Yuutarou

Reads books: Sugawara Koushi, Yachi Hitoka, Oikawa Tooru, Kita Shinsuke

Reads food packaging and social media: Kageyama Tobio, Suna Rintarou, Kiyoko Shimizu

[nerdnag]

The time has come for me to finish my philosophy bachelor's.

...Lots of ramble below. I mostly just need to get my thoughts out, but there is a plan by the end!

For those of you who were around in May, you may recall that I struggled a lot to get a sort-of-presentable draft ready for my supervisor, hoping to be able to hand the thing in before the end of the semester, and was then completely slammed down into the dirt by said supervisor when he returned the draft a few days later with... pretty strong words about it. Few of which were positive. I couldn't bring myself to read the comments he'd left in the actual document at the time, because the email was enough to bring me to tears.

Yeah.

I mean, he wasn't wrong, it was just a bit shocking to have him go from "hey, how's it going for you, the thesis treating you well? oh and here's a link to a fun video i found on the internet" one day to almost-kinda-petty critique the next. And also, I am wholly unused to disappointing teachers, supervisors, mentors or superiors of any kind. That may sound strange considering my ADHD, which should in theory have gotten me in lots of situations like that, but my entire life, I've usually managed to make use of three things that have helped immensely to get things done well and on time: 1) special interests/obsessions/hyperfocus, 2) perfectionism and performance anxiety, and 3) high IQ. Number one has helped with motivation and creative flow; number 2 has helped motivate me through shame; and number 3 has helped me "bullshit" my way through assignments/relatively easily create a coherent and acceptable final product without doing all of the actual work I should have done (...and also making the actual work I do put in a pretty good quality).

But for some reason, these tactics didn't quite work out this time. I could come up with many different ideas about why this was, but one really important part of it was probably the fact that I've been heavily overloaded with work at my job and still haven't fully recovered from the immense stress I was under from March 2022-June 2023. I might not be able to recover from that period of my life without doing some pretty extreme changes in how I live my life, and although I've been working on trying to make some of those changes over the course of the first half of this year, it hasn't been impactful enough yet.

And so in the middle of this, of trying to recover from a backlog of both work and stress, while still being under quite a lot of stress at work (although not even remotely compared to how it was a year ago), I was also trying to write a bachelor's thesis in my spare time.

Oh, and did I mention I also took on a volunteer position in my spare time from April onwards that has demanded quite a lot of time?

(Jfc why do I do this to myself. ...Because it's fun and I am bad at saying no. That's why.)

Anyway, enough rambling about what's happened and the reasons for it - long story short, I realised I wouldn't be able to finish the thesis in time, and so I told my supervisor I'd hand it in by the end of the summer instead. And wouldn't you know it, the end of summer is closing in. :)

So with the help of my partner, I managed to finally open the document containing my supervisor's comments, and rather than lose myself in complete and utter anxiety and horror over the words, we could sort of laugh over how unnecessarily harsh he was being. (I guess my supervisor actually was a bit disappointed, since he'd seen before that I was more capable than that. I don't blame him.) I also realised that it wasn't quite as bad as I had imagined, and that my life isn't actually over and done for. So yeah. (He even had a couple of positive comments for me, actually.)

Then we made a plan for how to tackle this thing. I'm going away on the 22nd of July, so the goal right now is to have a finished draft to send to my supervisor on the 21st. Then he can read it, give comments, tell me whether he gives his approval or not, and after I've made any necessary adjustments, I can hand in an opposition version by the middle of August. Since I am currently on vacation, and I do need to actually try to wind down from work as well, I've settled on working on my thesis for 3 hours each day, starting tomorrow (the 13th), and my deadline each day is noon. If I realise after this Sunday that I need more time, I'll increase it to 4 hours every day.

It should work. I know what I need to do, and my supervisor's comments are clear. I enjoy writing and doing research and I will finish this in a way that I'm proud and happy about.

So there. That's my promise to myself. I'll climb out of this hole, fill it in with new dirt, and then start building the collapsed tower of blocks up again.

[cowplant-pizza]

I'm just curious why, if you've applied for universal credit, you're waiting for them to post you the forms? Applying for this is exclusively online? As for PIP, if you're as ill as you claim you should have scored enough for PIP or gone to appeals/tribunal if you were declined because you'll have enough evidence that their decision was wrong. Maybe exhaust these options to help yourself instead of constantly begging online in an economy where people are using food banks to survive.

ok ableist andy

1. i am currently applying for pip. not universal credit. that is NOT done all online. i need the forms.

2. when i first applied for pip 7 years ago i didnt score high enough. there is a “cool down” period of being able to apply again. hence not being able to go for it again until now.

3. “as ill as you claim to be”. i wouldnt wish my illness on anyone but honestly i think walking a day in the amount of pain i have to to through might make you less of a asshole

3.1. you’re literally part of the problem speaking like this. invisible illnesses exist and are hurting and affecting so many people around the world. thoughts and phrases like this is just fucking rude and ableist. just because you can’t physically see how much pain i’m in doesnt mean its not always there

4. so let me get this straight. you know nothing about my financial issues apart from the fact that i need to “beg for help” every month to be seen my private healthcare instead of relying on an extremely slow nhs, but you decide to shame me for asking for help because in this economy people are needing to go to food banks? you do realise how stupid this sounds, right? i’m quite obviously not expecting anyone who is in a bad position financially to donate to me. at all. ever. if you don’t have the means then that’s absolutely fine??? like why even bring that up? its such a useless point, unless your only jab is at the fact that i’m disabled needing help and the other people aren’t disabled needing help so i shouldnt ask for help because they’re more important and their issues are more prevalent than mine? hmmm ok

[qpr-culture-is]

I know it's not really a confessions blog or something like that but I'm just so confused and lost and I just want to describe my feelings to someone. English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes

So first of all I'm trans, I think it's pretty important to the story, kinda had a transphobic phase because my country it's not only very lgbtqphobic but our queer community is also very hostile towards trans people, like more than I have seen in other communities, so it's common. Pretty closed about this, tried to come out to some of my friends and classmates almost 2 years ago now, went wrong, don't talk to them and become very paranoid. Not even planning to tell someone about me being trans before a lot of people transferred to our class, they all were added in our group chat and I immediately pin pointed this dude with gerard way as their pfp who then asked to refer to him with he/him only and use other name. Holy shit. I literally never in my life seen an openly trans person, not even a closed one, never interacted with someone also trans irl so it was HUGE for me. Skipped first week of school, was kinda worried that I'm going to be an outcast, but that I finally meet him, and like the first thing he said to me was "wait are you that person with *fandom* as your pfp?" so we immediately connected. I was on cloud nine because he is SO COOL and only a few girls in our class are deadnaming him and it's so nice no one is being mean to him and I think it kinda changed my way of viewing how people will react if I come out to them. Because most people just don't care. Then I gave him my other socials and he saw me using any pronouns and he was like hey! How do i refer to you! Cool! And i told him that I'm actually also trans and he never ever questioned or doubted it even though I'm pretty fem presenting.

So yeah I rambled sorry it was just a really cool experience really cool dude. So the reason why I'm writing to qpr blog it's because I lately started catching feelings for him?? But I'm not in love?? I don't really know how to explain this but for a really long time I was just thinking that I just have a friend crush then that I want to date him and like I knew about qpr and I knew that qpr is way more complex and it's not just the secret third thing after dating and being friends. But like, I want to kiss him and give him gifts in a way that I view as romantic but when he's mentioning dating or his exes I don't feel a thing. Today was weird, I slept for only 3 hours and felt a little bit wonky, so I said a lot of things that were like straight up flirting. And I felt embarrassed and blushed and shit but not in "hehe I flirted with my crush!!" way but more in "holy shit it was embarrassing why did I say it" way. And he also talked about a guy that he has a very weird relationships with for the past 2 years, he said that like yeah we're friends but not really we had some periods of dating but not really and he also constantly flirts with other people including me. And I was just yeah kill him and didn't thought much of it, not jealous or sad that he have something going on with other people, but I still want to date him, but in friends way. So after I pondered about it for a while I think that I just want to have that Secret Third Thing with him. Still feel lost because I never felt like that before and because I think that I'm alloromantic and I was in romantic relationships before so I know how I act when I'm in love with people. With him it's so close what I feel when I'm in love with someone but at the same time it's so different and such weird foreign felling. Woud like to hear some advice for how people realised or what people feel and want in qpr relationships, I know it's different for a lot of people, but I want to hear something from heros who read this wall of text

Giving you a little breakdown of things I have noted;

-You can absolutely be alloromantic and want a qpr/have a squish

-To me it does sound like it may be a squish

-All in all you'll have to make that decision for yourself, and it could very well just be the fact that you've never connected with a person like you have with him before so it's all a bit different for you

And here's a bit of my past experiences

It's really a bit hard to remember since it's been forever, and given I'm aroace squishes have always seemed like legitimate crushes (in a weird way) so keep that in mind.

The last squish I remember having was a little over a year ago. I really connected with the person and they made me laugh a lot. I felt pulled to them in some kind of way. I wanted to spend time with them and I wanted to be called their partner. It was just,,, different than my previous feelings towards friends. Now, if it weren't for events that happened later on, I could have very well been convinced it was a romantic crush (we ended up in a romantic relationship for a bit but my aro ness got in the way and I began to feel very uncomfortable with the whole thing), and am honestly not sure how to differentiate those feelings from that of a romantic crush.

The only other time I can think of having a squish would be quite a while back, and at the time I was completely convinced it was romantic (I had not even really been aware of the aro and ace labels at the time). Once again, the feelings were towards a close friend. They were my best friend in fact, and at the time I really thought we understood each other like nobody else did, and it was almost as if we were very drawn to each other. Contrary to what you noted, there was a bit of jealousy here and there when they were with someone else later on (tho I know believe to be more in a platonic context anyways). And... thats basically all I've got

So those are my main experiences with having squishes, if that gives you an idea of what to expect from one. I'd also like to say that I'm so sorry for taking so long to reply to this! I've been a bit busy the last few weeks and am currently on holiday break now and haven't felt up to doing a whole lot (and keep forgetting to post as well)

[immacaria]

10 fandoms / 10 characters / 10 tags

Tagged by the lovely, wonderful @virgo-dream, and so sorry for taking so long to answer this. Really, really sorry, dear.

I'm not going to tag anyone because I think everyone already did this so, for those who hadn't, this is your sign to do it (and tag me to see it).

1. Leonard "Bones" McCoy (Start Trek)

My personality was based solely in this man for a long, long time. The sass, the "I don't care" caring type, his relationship with Kirk e Spock, the eyebrow lift. I love this man very dearly to this days and I'll never, ever stop saying so. I wanted to be a doctor for him, can you imagine?

2. Peter Pevensie (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Something something older siblings doing what they can for their younger siblings. He is here not only because he was hot as fuck in these movies, but because he was a good brother or, at least, tried to be. I sympathised a lot with him and his way of being for a lot of reasons but mostly because I was always the one to care for my friends and sibling when we were young.

3. Hob Gadling (The Sandman)

I found Hob Gadling recently and while in a dark period of my life. It would be a lie to say that this stubborn, possibly-crazy and completely charming man didn't charm me the instant I saw him (And I'm not saying only bcuz of Ferdie, okay?). His endless hope in humanity, in the future, in the little things made me happy for being alive again, you know?? Of sitting back and just enjoying the simple fact that I'm breathing. That I can listen to music when I wish to. That my family is one call away from me. That I can go to college. That I have food in the fridge. It may not be much for many or something so common that people overlook it, but I'm here, I'm alive and I can see the world changing again and again and I just guess Hob made me realise that, you know? So yes, Hob goes in this list.

4. Jiang Cheng/Jiang Wanying (MDZS)

Angry Jiujiu who cared too much, got hurt again and again for that, lost literally EVERYONE but kept going. Did he do wrongs? Yes, a lot. Does he need to go therapy? Yes, a lot. Do I love him still? Yes, a lot. It's just that, whenever I see this man, the only thing I can think about is how precious he is, how much he cared for his whole family despite always being compared to others, always being called angry and undesirable by society (That hit a little bit too close to home, but okay) but still helping it, still out there doing his part. Everytime I think of him, I gain strength to go through whatever it is that I'm going through because "If Jiujiu could do it, I can too".

5. Shang Qinghua (SVSS)

Shang Qinghua is just a little guy, a crazy little guy who writes porn for a living and gets dragged in his own world without wanting to. He is very unassuming, very overlooked, but he is fucking crazy and he will kill a lot of people if they as much as look at his King wrong. This man literally wrote himself the man of his dreams and THEN he got him. THEY GOT TOGETHER. If that isn't every writer's dream I don't know what that is. But, mostly important, I support Shang Qinghua's right, but his wrongs are much more interesting.

6. Kiki (Kiki's Delivery Service)

I love that little witch, okay? She is a little sweetheart with so much love, hope and wonder for the world!! She works so hard!! She is so brave!! I love her, okay?? And her movie is beautiful too!! The strength of learning how to rest, how to let things flow is amazing. It would be a lie if I said I don't see myself a lot in her, you know? Specially regardings on the resting side lol. That one is not easy.

7. Pete "Maverick" Mitchell (Top Gun)

He is crazy. He is unhinged. He is reckless. He is self-sacrificing. He loves with his whole heart (which means he grieves with his whole heart as well). When I first watched the movie, years ago, I promised myself that I would be like him (And Goose) as much as I could. That I would laugh freely, that I would be bold, that I would be as strong as that crazy little man who doesn't know when to stop and reaches for what he wants without fear.

8. Kaldur'ahm (Young Justice)

Do I need to say more? Do I? This mas was literally perfect. Good person, respectful, good leader, cared about his people, was hot as fuck. He was fucking amazing and would do anything to assure that his team would get out of their mission alive and as well as they could be, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

9. Mulan (Mulan)

Badass queen who made me who I am today. This woman wasn't afraid of anything. She was a badass who fought for what was right, fuck what people thought of her or of the way she was dressing. She would do what was right, no matter what. I love her for that (And Shang as well, I love Shang a lot. The couple that made me realise I was bisexual years later). Simply amazing.

10. Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano (HOO)

A queen. Never did nothing wrong, always has to put up with everyone's bullshit. Adopts a lot of little siblings, an amazing person. I love her and I had a MASSIVE crush on her when I was younger.

Honourable mentions (because they deserve it)

11. Porco Rosso (Porco Rosso)

I love that idiot, okay? He pretends not to care but he cares so much, he loves so much and he just wants to help. He is tired of the capitalism and everything, he just wants peace and to be left alone with his own things and plane. I love him a lot.

12. Merida (Merida)

I always saw her relationship with her mother a bit like mine with my mom. Merida just wants to be free, to do what she wishes to, be seen by what she is. She loves her little siblings, her mother and her father and even though she has no patience, she is never unkind to anyone. She is simply amazing.

13. Adam (Frankstein)

He was a monster (literally) but he was more human than many people out there. There was so much wonder in his being, he loved so much, cared so much and he just wanted to be cared and loved in return, but even his creator turned him down, even his creator recoiled from him and that made him suffer so much.

[megan-loves-surveys]

More.

Do you like zombie movies? Some.

What’s the grossest/worst thing you’ve ever seen in a public restroom? Blood everywhere, from an unlucky woman with her period I'm assuming.

What’s the most wasteful thing you regularly do? Dunno.

What’s the most difficult apology you’ve ever had to give? Not sure.

What’s the worst relationship advice you’ve ever seen? To get with a man who'd want to give me babies in the future. I don't want kids xD

Have you ever volunteered in a hospital? If not, would you ever want to? No.

What was your worst Halloween costume? I don't do Halloween.

Who has/had the worst reputation in your graduating class? Who cares.

When was the first time you can remember feeling mature? When I went to university and had to manage my own learning.

Have you ever had a disappointing Christmas, or any disappointing holiday if you don’t celebrate Christmas? Probably at some point.

Do you have any character bandaids in your house right now, or just plain ones? Just plain ones.

Have you ever had to give a pet away? No.

What’s the junkiest junk food you’ve ever eaten? Most chips xD

Did you play pretend a lot as a child? Were there any recurring plots or themes? Definitely. One of our faves was to be like the Spice Girls lol, I was always Emma cos I was the only blonde in my friend group.

How do you feel about runny egg yolks? YUMMY!! Gimme runny eggs <3 I get so disappointed when they're hard.

Has a teacher ever tried to teach you something that was undeniably wrong? Dunno.

If for some reason you had to give up one of your hobbies, which would you choose? Oh no! Probably writing fanfic, cos I slack off a lot and don't do it as much.

Have you ever hidden a relationship from your family? Yes, my first boyfriend ever. I was 13/14 and wasn't allowed to date, so I hid it. They found out eventually and I got in trouble lol.

How much do you know about first aid? Not much.

Which of your relatives do you know the least about? Any of them who live overseas.

Have you ever meditated? If so, did it do anything for you? No.

Have you ever given advice to someone who was much older than you? Oh yeah.

Have you ever used a view-master? Yes.

Do you ever listen to talk radio or podcasts? If you do, what are some of your favorite shows? No. Not my thing.

When was the last time you got ice cream from a truck? Oh god, years ago.

Are any of your favorite bands broken up or on hiatus right now? A few - surprisingly most of my fave bands are touring right now, so it's really only Little Mix who aren't together cos even Girls Aloud are touring later this year.

Do you know any sex workers? If so, how do they feel about their job? Not personally, lol.

What’s the biggest art project you’ve ever attempted? How did it go? Dunno.

What kind of wild animals do you see most frequently where you live? We don't really see many at all.

Have you ever cooked anything other than s’mores over a fire? No. I've also never had a s'more.

Are there any items in your house that you use for something other than its intended purpose? Dunno.

What do you hope the afterlife is like? It doesn't exist.

What’s the worst behavior you’ve ever seen from a child? Just acting like a little shit and not doing what they're told.

Have you ever planned an act of revenge? Probably.

Do you and your parents share any of the same hobbies? My Mum and I both love wrestling and my Dad and I both love video games.

Do you think it’s more exciting or scary to get older? Scary.

How was the reception of the last wedding you attended? It was fun from what I remember.

Do you have any physical photo albums? Yes.

Would you feel comfortable working at a sex shop? Oh yeah, that would be fun tbh.

Who was the worst friend you ever had? This girl who was actually a bully, and managed to isolate one of our friends from our group by acting like she could only be friends with her and not us. Luckily she realised and dumped her as a friend.

What’s the biggest sacrifice you’ve ever made? Hmm.

Have you ever campaigned for a political candidate, or otherwise played an active role in an election? No.

What’s the coolest hand-me-down you’ve ever gotten? What about the best one you’ve ever given? Dunno.

Do your parents and grandparents get along with each other? All of my grandparents have passed away.

Would you tell your co-workers what underwear you have on? If they asked me xD

Do you make your bed each morning? Yes.

How many family photos do you have in your home? Loads.

Are you concerned about the economy? Yes.

What is the most interesting food you’ve eaten? Dunno tbh.

Do you remember anything you learned in school? Oh yeah, lots.

Are you happy with how much money you make? Mostly. Could I use a raise? Of course xD

How do you feel about people who drive SUVs? Ridiculous in Auckland, you don't need a car like that in the city.

When is the last time you saw your real hair color? A long time ago, definitely over 15 years ago.

Are you the type of person that will parallel park? I don't drive.

Will you drive around the block to look for a spot? -

What do you like to collect? Wrestling t-shirts and action figures. And Converse!

How many pancakes could you eat in 5 minutes? A few.

Do you think cheese and mustard together on a sandwich is gross? No, I love that.

How do you feel about babies? They're cute, but I don't want one.

What is the worst taste to have in your mouth? Vomit.

1 - Are you interested in any reality TV shows? Not really anymore, I even gave up on The Amazing Race.

2 - When was the last time you made plans with someone? What are you going to do with that person? Mum and I go out every Friday, we made plans for that.

3 - How often (if ever) do you use moisturizer? Every morning, cos my skin is super dry.

4 - Name five things you can touch from where you’re sitting right now: Phone, drinkbottle, Airpods, nail file and glasses case.

5 - Have you had any of your wisdom teeth removed? What was the reason? (eg. infection, impaction, lack of space). No, still have all 4.

6 - What was the reason for your last hospital visit? Checkup about my shoulder.

7 - Where was the last place you had an itch? My foot.

8 - If you’re on a long car journey, would you rather drive or be the passenger? Passenger, cos I don't drive.

9 - What’s the earliest time you’ve had to wake up for work? What about the latest time you’ve clocked off for the day? I start at 9, so I get up around 7. The only time I ever went in earlier than that was when my boss had a Zoom meeting with a client who was overseas and needed me to take notes, and the meeting was at 8am for us.

10 - Do you use a laptop, desktop, tablet or phone to take your surveys? My laptop.

11 - Are you fussy when it comes to how your surveys are formatted on your blog? Yes.

12 - How old were you when you first got internet access at home? Was it broadband or did you have dial-up first? Late 90's, and it was dial-up cos I'm old lol.

13 - When was the last time you painted your nails? Last year.

14 - What’s your typical order when you go to Starbucks (or wherever your favourite coffee shop is)? Mocha java chip frappe, cookies & cream frappe, caramel frappe...

15 - What’s your favourite thing to have on toast? Vegemite or jam.

16 - Do you have any debt? If so, are you on top of paying it all back? I have my student loan, but I haven't began paying it back yet.

17 - What was the last thing you purchased with a credit card? I don't have a credit card, only a debit card. Last thing I used it for was buying some merch at the Five gig last night cos I used my phone to pay.

18 - Have you been to college/university? If so, has your degree been useful to you or was it a bit of a waste of money? I did, and it was a waste of money, I've never used my degree.

19 - How often do you travel by public transport? All the time, I don't have a car.

20 - Do you have an instagram account? If so, how often do you post on there and what kind of things do you post? No.

21 - Are you close to your extended family? Do you wish you were closer? I barely see them.

22 - Do you prefer to give your pets human names or not? Yes! Animals with human names are hilarious.

23 - Do you like having ice in your drinks? Definitely.

24 - When was the last time you went to a BBQ restaurant? Never.

25 - When was the last time you re-arranged the furniture? Is this something you like to do often? I can't really rearrange my room, I have too much furniture and not enough room. My bed can only fit in one place lol.

26 - Have you ever used a fire extinguisher? Would you know how to use one without reading the instructions? No, and dunno.

27 - What’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to deal with at your job? This one client who used to call me constantly and ask about their case, like at one point she called me about 10 times in one day. Leave me alone, lady.

28 - What was the last thing you used your mobile phone for? I looked up something on a walkthrough for a game I was playing.

29 - Did you used to play The Sims? What version or expansion pack was your favourite one to play? Still do! I've played all 4 games, but Sims 3 or 4 is my fave.

30 - What was the last thing you used a lighter for? No idea.

[norisbeinghuman]

What can you do for nature?

As a civilisation, we seem to be painfully aware of all the shortcomings in our contact with nature. Stories about all we have destroyed, and where we have failed, permeate our culture. Truth is, we don’t even believe anymore that we could do any good. Most of us feel like the best thing we could do for nature, is to leave it alone. But that kind of thinking is wrong. And dangerous.

How can we do good, if we can’t even imagine it?

If I asked you how humans are affecting the nature, I suspect you would tell me about all the bad things we are doing. About the pollution, the deforestation, about the insecticides and herbicides, about microplastics, and mining, and species loss. And you would, of course, be right.

But is that all of it? Is destruction all we are capable of?

Most of us actually do think so. Growing up in our culture, we absorb the image of pristine nature and of the horrible effect we, the humanity, have on it. We talk about nature and wilderness as something pure and good – and completely separate from us. We think the best we can do is to leave it alone.

If we can’t even imagine that our interactions with the rest of the natural world could be beneficial for it, how can we hope to actually do anything positive?

How are we supposed to find a way to live on this planet in peace and harmony with the rest of the life on it, if we assume from the get-go that we are only capable of doing harm? How are we supposed to be looking for solutions, if we don’t actually believe there are any?

I was thinking about all this as I was reading George Monbiot’s book Regenesis. While he had some good points, I found myself strongly disagreeing with his conclusions and solutions. I might write about it more some day, but not today.

I think George Monbiot got it wrong from the premise. For him, the number one problem of agriculture is land use. And so his solution is to use as little land as possible. Everything he suggests is considered from this point of view, arriving at dubious solutions such as using factory-grown bacteria as the chief source of fat and protein for people around the world.

It is clear that George Monbiot can’t imagine that humans could actually be useful to the rest of the natural world. And he definitely can’t see us as a part of it. He takes it even further, and as many of his fellow vegans, he even sees domestic animals as inherently damaging to nature and something that should be removed. It’s as if cows and sheep and other domestic animals have lost their status as part of nature in his eyes. It’s as if they were tainted by their contact with us.

Humans are nature too

We have been thinking of ourselves as separate from nature for a while now. The concept of nature came to be after the Middle Ages, during the period of Enlightenment. It is even more recent to think of ourselves as only being capable of natural destruction. But thankfully, our culture does not represent all the people in existence and definitely not all the people in history. We might have forgotten about it, but the truth is that humans can live in peace with nature. And not only that, we can even help it prosper.

One of the main ideas in the (absolutely wonderful) Ishmael trilogy by Daniel Quinn is the fact that humanity is much, much older than our civilisation. While it’s a fact fairly obvious to most of us, it has some implications that we don’t usually realise.

Our genus, Homo, is almost 3 million years old. Homo sapiens – modern humans, that were anatomically and physiologically identical to us – appeared some 300 000 years ago. Compared to either of these numbers, our agriculturalist, city-building, less than 10 000 years old civilisation, is like a blink of an eye. Humans have been here for a long time, living just like all other creatures do – as part of the ecosystem.

We tend to think about our prehistoric ancestors as not-quite-human; as if they were somehow unfinished. We assume they didn’t have our curiosity, our intellect and our drive, because in our eyes they were not yet living the way humans are supposed to. Yet, they were just like us, and yet they managed to live in peace with the world around them.

They knew they belonged to the world, just as much as rhinos and mites and sequoias do; and they knew that just like any of those other creatures, they had their role to play in it.

How can we know what they might have been thinking? Well, fortunately, there are still people living in this world now, whose lifestyle is closer to that of our hunter-gatherer ancestors than to our “civilised” ways. We still have a chance to learn from them. If we are ready.

Myth of the wilderness

The truth is that Indigenous peoples have been modifying and managing the nature around them for millennia. Many of the areas that we would classify as wilderness were shaped by human activity, including places such as the Amazon rain-forest, or the Australian aridlands. While this is still far from the mainstream perception, scientist are actually starting to point to how the whole concept of “wilderness” is inappropriate and how certain biomes rely on human input for their preservation (great article on this is Indigenous knowledge and the shackles of wilderness).

Picking sweetgrass

In her beautiful, gentle book Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer – a Native American botanist – reveals a lot about how her culture approached the natural world. She talks about the sense of belonging and feelings of community with all the life around them. She talks about the Honorable Harvest, which is a set of rules to make sure that people don’t take more than their fair share, and that enough is left to keep the cycles of nature going. (Rules like: Never take more than a half. Never take the first, nor the last. Take only what you need. Always give back in return.)

From her stories it becomes clear that the bounty of the land that the European colonisers encountered when they first arrived to the Americas was not an accident. It was not wilderness. It was the result of many millennia of careful cultivation at the hands of the Indigenous peoples.

One of the moving examples she gives, is that of sweetgrass. This plant was, and still is, used for ceremonial purposes among her people and is very important to them. Unfortunately, the sweetgrass populations are steadily declining. Various tribes have different ways of harvesting sweetgrass, and everyone, understandably, thinks their way is the better one. Robin Wall Kimmerer enlisted one of her botany master students to do a thesis about the sweetgrass harvest, trying to determine which harvesting technique was better for the plants – either pulling it out with its roots, or cutting it off, leaving the root in the soil.

She had trouble convincing the faculty to approve the study. They thought it rather useless, saying the result was known from the beginning, as it was obvious that harvesting would lead to decline regardless of the method. But nobody expected what actually happened.

The student spent two years harvesting from three different sweetgrass patches (following the rules of the Honorable Harvest) and documenting the results. She would pinch some of the grass from one of them, pull it out from the other, and the third one was left as a control. At the end of the study period, only one of those patches was not doing well, its population declining. It was the control patch.

As it turns out, sweetgrass needs to be picked. If it isn’t, if space isn’t made for new plants, they get smothered under the tall growth. The decline of sweetgrass goes hand in hand with the disappearance of the peoples who value and harvest it. And the patches that still thrive are, not surprisingly, located in the areas where the people still live and interact with them.

The ciiiircle of liiife

We often feel like it’s somehow morally wrong to be eating other living beings. We are sceptical to the beneficial effects that predators have on their ecosystems, and completely blind to the benefits they provide to their prey (not on the individual, but on the community level).

Lions picking out a sick zebra can save the herd from a disease spreading. Chasing the zebras around ensures they don’t spend too much time in one place, which protects the land from overgrazing, and the zebras from getting parasitic infections from infected manure of their buddies.

Big herds of grazing animals are what prevents grasslands from turning into deserts or forests. The shrubs and trees get eaten before they get a chance to grow big, and the grass gets thinned to make space for new growth, fuelled by the fertiliser left behind by the animals. Some ruminants, like the buffalo, even have an enzyme in their saliva that stimulates grass growth.

While there is nothing wrong with forests, grasslands are a different ecosystem, supporting an equally diverse network of plants and animals that can not thrive in a forest. Despite people who call for “rewilding”, and believe that the only valid landscape is a forest, grasslands have always been here. There is now even evidence that about half of Europe was covered by grasslands and meadows before the arrival of modern humans. But just like in the case of sweetgrass, the European grasslands now rely on us to help them thrive.

In the end, everyone eats and is eaten. Microbes, fungi and plants feed on death just as much as herbivores and carnivores do. Being lower on the food chain does not make one more virtuous. And being higher up on it does not prevent one from contributing to the community of life. Every ecosystem is a network where everything is attached to everything and each creature is needed, however cute or yucky or weird.

You find what you are ready to look for

I have been reading (and thinking) a lot about agriculture lately. It is our closest and most important point of contact with the cycles of life and of nature. It definitely seems like we got a lot of it wrong, and we need to make some changes.

I think it is important that we look for solutions with the right mindset. It is difficult to notice things that you aren’t looking for, let alone ones you can’t even fathom. I think it’s time we started looking at ourselves as creatures that do belong in this world, and that can work with it, care for it, and protect it, while receiving what we need to live. We have to believe it is possible first, before we can even start finding out how to do it. Thankfully, we humans are fast learners, and we still have someone to learn from. And while there is no going back to the Stone Age (not that I want to), we can surely find a way to practice some Honorable Harvest in our world.

The change, if it happens, will come from the bottom. From people with a new vision. From people like you and me.

Originally published on https://noriparelius.com/post/what-can-you-do-for-nature/

[survey--s]

584.

1. Can you remember what you were doing at 8:15 this morning? Finishing my coffee and/or getting sorted for work.

2. In your phone’s contacts, who is the first person listed under the letter ‘R’? When did you last see that person? Rachel, though I haven't seen her in over a year. I used to walk her dog but she moved months ago and I just never deleted her number.

3. If someone is sticking their nose into your business where it isn’t wanted, how would you deal with that? Would you say something to them? It depends what they're saying and why. I'd either awkwardly change the subject or tell them butt out lol.

4. What did you have for lunch today? Or, if you haven’t had lunch yet, what do you think you will have? Ramen, crackers with pate and a chocolate bar lol. I'm just trying to get through what we have in the cupboards to try and save a bit of money.

5. Is there someone you desperately want to see/speak to atm, but you can’t? Nah, I'm good.

6. Do you and your significant other have a special song? What is it? I guess so. Truly, Madly, Deeply by Savage Garden.

7. If you HAD to sing something on karaoke, what song would you choose? I have no idea, something fun. Maybe Mr Brightside?

8. Can you remember the last time you felt ill? What was wrong with you? About ten days ago when I was due my period.

9. What time is it now? Are you tired? 4.04pm and no, not particularly. It's been a really chilled day.

10. If you wear make-up, do you take it with you, to reapply throughout the day? I don't reapply it unless it's a really long day and I'm going somewhere special, which isn't very often lol. Most days I don't wear any.

11. What if you found the last person you kissed, in bed with the last person you texted? Seeing as they're uncle/niece then that would be pretty fucking disturbing lol.

12. The last person you held hands with - have you ever kissed them? Yes.

13. Can you remember what your parents bought you for Christmas last year? My mum paid for a 2hr beach ride and a riding hat. My dad gave me money which was supposed to pay for a year of riding lessons but then my instructor quit so now it's sat in my bank account lol.

14. Think about the person you fell hardest for. Why do you think your feelings for this person were so strong? How is he/she different compared to everyone else you’ve had feelings for? We just clicked, I guess.

30. Have you ever caught your friend cheating on their boyfriend/girlfriend? If you have, what did you do about it? If you haven’t, what do you think you would do? Yeah, and I didn't do anything. It's not my business.

31. When your last relationship ended, how long was it before you felt ready to think about being with someone else? I was single for about two months after we broke up.

32. Has any of your friends ever had a boyfriend/girlfriend that you found attractive, and you would secretly have liked to have for yourself? Attractive, yeah, but I wouldn't have ever thought about dating them.

33. How many guys do you know named Matthew? One, my friends' husband.

34. Think about the last person that made you cry. Would that person be there for you if you needed help? Yes, he would be.

35. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to sleep last night? Do you remember what you talked about? Mike and no, not really. Probably just the dog or something?

36. Has someone of the opposite sex made you cry at any point during the last 24 hours? Nope.

37. Is there anything you would like to say to your most recent ex? I'm good.

38. If your friends are sexually active but you aren’t, does that bother you? Have you ever felt pressured to have sex before you were ready, because your friends had done it? I really don't give a shit about other people's sex lives.

39. In your opinion, what is the difference between having a crush and being in love? Have your own experiences helped you to realise that there is a difference? Ugh.

40. Did the last person you hugged have any of these letters in their name: T, R, K, P, J? In their last name, yeah.

41. What’s the most unhealthy thing you’ve eaten in the last 24 hours? A whole bag of white chocolate covered raspberries.

42. What was the last compliment you received from someone of the opposite sex? I can't remember off the top of my head.

43. Who did you last say ‘I love you’ to? What colour are that person’s eyes? Mike, blue/grey.

44. If you took away the first and third letters of your name, what would you then be called? Ia.

45. Name 7 things that make you happy: Well I think the second part of this question is obvious – it’d make me less happy, so here are seven things at random: - animals, sunshine, a good night's sleep, the ocean, horse-riding, food and family.

46. Think about your Facebook profile photo. What kind of assumptions do you think a stranger might make about you, from seeing that photograph? Would any of these assumptions be correct? They'd assume I have a black cat. They'd be kind of correct but the one in my profile picture has died now. We do have two (soon to be three) more black cats though, plus a ginger kitten.

47. You buy a bar of chocolate, but you decide that you don’t want to eat it now, and put it in the fridge. When you go back later, half of it’s gone - someone else has started eating it! Who are you most likely to blame? The only other person is Mike lol. He wouldn't dare to eat my chocolate without asking hahah.

48. Choose 5 friends, and talk briefly about each person’s longest/most serious relationship. Who was the relationship with, and how long did it last? Nahhh. That sounds like too much effort lol.

49. Do you think it’s wrong for someone to commit themselves to a long-term relationship at a young age? Explain. People can do whatever they want.

50. Is there something happening in the near future, that you’re looking forward to? Having two weeks off work lol. I'm also puppy-sitting on Friday afternoon which is always fun!

[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. 

[furcoat]

Hi, you don't need to answer this but I'm very worried about you, I really hope this doesn't come as intrusive. I think that you should reconsider that surgery. There's nothing wrong with being trans, please don't get me wrong because it's totally cool, and if you really need some stuff to feel a little more relieved about dysphoria that's ok. But I've seen countless of bad surgeries. No doctor can build an actual penis or vagina. They are literally making money from very dysphoric and s*icidal trans people. Please consider that it's irreversible and that you were a teenager just a couple of years ago. Things change. Not saying that you will stop being trans. But maybe you can be trans and be at peace with your body without hurting it. It may be amazing for awhile, but it's not worth losing the body (that you think you will hate forever) that's trying to keep you alive. Also you can stop your period with pills, you don't need to get rid of an organ that actually holds your other organs and protects them from prolapse. I honestly think that you're just fine, and you literally pass with no doubt lol. I never realised that you were trans although I've seen you in pictures. The thing with transition it's that it's never enough because the actual process needs to take place inside. This is coming from my own experience from years with a lot of transmen/transmasc friends and classmates including my best friend from 10 years. I promise this means well I don't want you to stop being trans I'm worried you'll take it like that. Again you don't need to answer this maybe think about it a little more, and consider that if you take a step back, no good person is going to call you a traitor or non trans or something that you're not. The right people will always be there for you. Pls be safe !! <3

wow u really wrote that entire paragraph about my dick huh

• they can make a “real dick” phalloplasty is a multi staged surgery u have probably seen a lot of stage 1 phallo dicks that don’t ‘look cis’

• incredibly diminutive to say i am young and can’t make my own decisions what happened to bodily autonomy

• i think u have a huge misunderstanding of why ppl get SRS. i want to feel at home in my body and not be constantly notice how my body is wrong it’s for me not anyone else

• my organs have already been exoricised and yet…..funny how i am prolapse free…..LMFAO u r a mess

• thanks for saying u couldn’t tell i guess i won after all

[starlordamn]

‘Us’ - Michael Gray Oneshot

Summary: you and michael shared a kiss a few weeks ago at the garrison - a sudden change from his usual behaviour of ignoring you. he no doubt ignores you again, making your lovesick self devastated but not surprised, until he shows up at your door at three in the morning.

Warning: angst technically, lil bit of fluff if you squint, that’s it really, i only read over it once so possible grammar mistakes sorry!

A/N: i enjoyed writing this, it took me a while for some reason as i wrote it over the period of two days, but nonetheless it was fun, in ya’ll can tell he is my favourite person to write for at the moment. enjoy!

taglist: @lemur46

-

It was just a kiss.

That is what you were trying to convince yourself that it was.

About two weeks ago you and Michael had been at the Garrison late at night, it was near closing time, some three in the morning. You both weren’t drunk, but tipsy enough to let things be said that usually wouldn’t be. Or in this case it was something done that wouldn’t normally be done.

You both shared a kiss. The type that was anticipated for what felt like hours. The longing stares at each other’s lips, the hesitance as you both leaned in as if you both knew it was wrong. Yet it still happened. His lips had crashed with yours before you even had chance to register it, and you kissed him back like your life depended on it. And it was only the morning after that you remembered. He remembered too and you secretly hoped he would say something but he would never.

See, you had always been close with the Shelby family, Polly was like a mum, sister and aunt all mixed into one for you. Tommy, Arthur, John and Finn were the mischievous and protective brothers you never had. You sat in on family meetings, you were as good as blood family to them. But with Michael it was different, from the outset he was cold to you. You don’t know what it was about him that made you fall for him, but you did and you fell hard. Head over heels hard. The type that keeps you up at night. The type that makes your heart soar when they’re in the room. And the type that makes you feel dizzy.

That’s what was making you so confused. Michael had shown no interest in you whatsoever, so that night in the Garrison – you had thought – was a dream. It took a good few hours of mental debate to finally conclude that it was real. Unbenknownst to you however, Michael had fallen for you the second he laid eyes on you. Everything about you just made him love you. The way you walked with Tommy’s paperwork, sometimes stumbling and then laughing at yourself flushing slightly with embarrassment. The way you would make jokes with the others and looked truly happy to be in everyone’s presence all time. And the way your kindness stretched to him even though he’d been nothing but cold to you.

He didn’t want to put you in danger. You worked for one of the biggest gangs in the country, hell it was a dangerous life not just a dangerous world. But with his line of work he could never guarantee things to you that he wish he could, what if one day he didn’t come home to you, next seeing him in a church in a coffin. He could not leave you like that nor ever put you through anything like that. So that is why he wanted to forget about you. Forget about, forget about the kiss.

But he couldn’t. He loved you. And you weren’t alone in thinking about the kiss. No matter how hard he tried to forget he couldn’t. So that’s why he ended up on your doorstep at three in the morning on a Sunday.

“Michael!?” You blinked a few times to make sure this wasn’t a cruel dream. You stood in only your nightdress, looking a mess from just being woken up by Michael knocking on your door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You opened the door a bit wider revealing slightly more than just your head. Your heart was beating quickly at the topic that could possibly arise, why else would he be here at 3 in the morning on a Sunday of all days, because you were sure as hell it wasn’t because Tommy had more urgent paperwork for you,

“Can I come in?” He asked rather expressionlessly. His hands were in his pockets casually and he looked at you blankly waiting for you to say yes. You nodded and stepped aside so he could enter your house. He crossed the room and stood awkwardly in front of the fireplace that you had just started up again. You shut the door before making your way over to him and standing opposite him, but not too close.

“Michael why are you here?” You spat it out. You had to. You didn’t mean to be blunt, it was just that he was giving you nothing, not even his body language expressed anything to you. Michael opened his mouth to say something before shutting it again. You stood waiting for an answer. But you knew you weren’t going to get one. It was Michael. Before this he had only spoke a total of twenty words to you.

“Michael say something,” you pleaded now, he was beginning to make you nervous in a negative way.

“I don’t know what to say.” He finally spoke. His voice was quite wavered and he sounded frustrated. How dare he get annoyed with you when he was the one who had been stood on your doorstep.

Silence fell over the room, it wasn’t awkward but it was filled with tension, of what kind you couldn’t tell. You didn’t know whether you wanted him to go or stay.

“Are you high Michael?”

“What?” His eyes became fixated on you and he sounded slightly hurt.

“Are you drunk?”

“No I’m fucking not.”

“Why are you here?” Silence. “If it’s to mock fun of me, I get it. You were drunk and I was stupid. But I don’t need it rubbed in my face, I don’t need the whole ‘I didn’t mean it’ lecture so, you’ve made it very clear already that’s the case so, if that’s all then please me alone.”

Tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. You really were stupid falling for someone you couldn’t have. Someone who didn’t want you. Turning around to walk upstairs, you expected him to show himself out but he didn’t.

“Y/N wait,” he grabbed your arms gently and pulled you back. You spum around to face him, he was much closer to you now but you shook your head.

“You. Kissed. Me.” Tears rolled down your face. You were so humiliated.

“And I’m not here to apologise for that.” His voice was sincere as he raised a hand to your face, brushing his fingers against your cheeks to wipe the tears away that he had created in the first place.

“Wait, what?” You stood in absolute confusion and astonishment waiting for him to expand on what he just said.

“I meant it Y/N, I wasn’t drunk at all, I knew what I was doing and I meant it.” Both of his hands cupped your cheeks now, his eyes looking into yours and he spoke truthfully.

“But,” you pulled his hands away from your face making him frown slightly, “why the cold exterior, ignoring me after, and before even, I just…” You trailed off, fidgeting with your fingers. You didn’t fully believe him.

“I just wanted to protect you.”

“From what?” You scoffed, folding your arms.

“I didn’t want to ever risk any harm to you, a-and what if I never came home to you one day, I would never want to put you through that.” His voice was raise slightly, pointing at things as he spoke. You had never seen Michael express this much emotion at once and you didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Michael, I was involved in this gang before you came back, you don’t think I know how dangerous this life is? I learned to use a gun at ten years old and used one at twelve, I don’t think I need protecting.”

He rolled his eyes, “if you want to be like that the—”

“No I’m sorry,” you interrupted him, “I didn’t mean it to come out like that, I know you were doing what you thought was best.”

He nodded before the room fell silent for a few second.

“Look if you don’t feel the same I can go.” He rambled, as if he had just snapped back into reality and realised what he’d just said.

“Michael, I love you, you idiot.” You searched his face for a response and you got one. He smiled. The first time you had ever seen him smile and it was beautiful, happy Michael was far better than sad Michael.

“I love you too, I always have.”

“You have a funny way of showing it you know,” you laughed and so did he, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” You raised your eyebrows at him.

He put his hand on your shoulder and gently steered you into the wall behind you until you were pressed up against it. His hands travelled across your neck and collar bone to move your hair out the way, while you blushed at the touch of his skin against yours. He placed his hands either side if you on the wall, trapping you against it and him, before he leaned in slowly, placing his lips on yours. Unlike he previous movements, his lips were not gentle, they were pressed against yours needily as if it would be your last. You kissed him back, snaking your arms around the back of his neck and looping them together to pull him closer to you. His chest pressed against yours as his hands slid down the wall to your rest on your shoulders. You felt so floaty with his lips on yours, he was better than any drug you had every tried and even more intoxicating. The way his lips moved against yours made your knees feel weak, you just couldn’t get enough.

Removing your lips sadly from his after what felt like hours, your breath was shaky and rushed, so was his. You pulled him close, going on your tiptoes to rest your head in the crook of his neck and you whispered quietly, “we’ll make ‘us’ work, Michael.” He kissed the top of your head lovingly before wrapping his arms around your waist. He was going to make you two work out, even if it was the last thing he did.