#it's one thing to know mitch's slept around

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)

ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!

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18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3

word count: 5.3k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.

You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.

Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.

You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.

You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.

“I’m not going.”

All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.

Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.

The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”

The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”

Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.

Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”

Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”

The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?

Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”

Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.

By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.

Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!

On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.

“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.” 

“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”

You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”

Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”

Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.” 

Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.

You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster. 

You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.

Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.

You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.

The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.

“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?” 

The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.” 

The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute. 

“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps. 

Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.

You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.

You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”

You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.

He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?

You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?

You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.

Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions. 

He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.

“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”

Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.

“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps. 

Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”

Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.

“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.

His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.

You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.

You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.

You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.

You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.

You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.

“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?” 

Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”

Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.

You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas. 

You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.

You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.

You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine. 

What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.

Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.

You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.

You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?” 

Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.

“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…” 

You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.

You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.

You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.

Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”

Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole.

You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”

Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.

You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.

Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.

He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.

You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.

You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.

You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”

You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.

You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.

He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.

There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.

You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.

He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.

His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.” 

Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”

You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes. 

Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”

You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.

You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.

“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?” 

Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?” 

You’re never drinking wine again.

Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”

You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.

Eddie smiles to himself.

It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?

“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids. 

Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.

At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you. 

Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.

He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you. 

You’re cute, he thinks.

He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.

He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.

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part four

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a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t

[lover-girl-estxx]

Your Here

*not my gif*

- i don't know what this is but it's been on my mind - 36 -

| Mitch's POV |

I was cleaning up the bar and Dwight and Tyson were the only one seated there, the closed sign on it was about 2am when the door opened "oh sorry he's closed" Tyson said I looked up "no i'm not" Tyson looked to me. She was in a long black sundress on her hair pulled back "Y/n" I said as she sat a couple seats down from the guys "Mitch" "who's that" Tyson whispered "boys we're close" Dwight and Tyson got up and left. "what are you doing here" I asked she shrugged "are you clean?" I ran a hand through my beard "yeah...6 years" "6 years? wow good job" I nodded "thanks" I said quietly "kinda a bitchy thing to ask but I just" "you can ask that question Y/n its okay" we didn't talk for a while she didn't look at me either I mean what do you say to your Ex-Wife you haven't seen in 12 years. "why you sittin' here like us splitin' up is your fault?" she looked up at me "part of it was" "you asked for it cause I was an ass I don't blame you for that " "thank you" "wanna sit in a booth you can ask me whatever if that's what you want cause I have questions for you" I slightly chuckled she gave a small smile "yeah".

"you been with anyone?" I asked "um yeah two boyfriends" "how long?" "one year with one at 27 and 3ish years with the other like from 30 to 34" "why'd ya leave them?" "why do ya think I left them and not the other way around" "no one would ever break up with you" I shrugged she blushed "I just did" "I guess that works" I chuckled "how bout we just do what's happened in the last 12 years" she chuckled "okay you want me to go first?," she nodded "um at 24 I got locked up for 7 years got clean in there so started this up at 33 and i'm now working with the guy that was at the bar" "why'd you go to prison" "got in a bar fight would've only got a year but had pills and shit on me," she nodded "now you" "I work for a sports company doing photos and editing and stuff dated the first broke up with him moved to Texas, got with the other guy broke up like two year ago that's it really which is kinda sad" "well I went to prison" we chuckled.

"its 4 shit" she said looking at her phone then got up, I stood up too "where are you staying?" "ahh motel little ways away" "no come stay at my place" "its okay Mitch" "come on you drank a bit i'll drive you" she smiled "okay". "you plan on sticking around? I asked "yeah....i'm looking for a place" I nodded.

Y/n fell a sleep on my couch I was making a bed on the floor "what is she doin here" my dad asked "shh she's sleepin' " I whispered "she came back looking for you again?" "Again?" "She came looking for you when you were away" "why didn't you tell me that?" "Didn't think it would be a good for you, you weren't like you are now" I sighed "tell me stuff like that" "I just didn't she only came for like an hour" .

| Y/ns POV |

I sat on the couch hitting Mitch's legs "shit I'm sorry I didn't know you were there" he groaned "it's okay" his deep southern drawl rasp out, I rubbed my eyes and grabbed my phone "what time is it?" He asked "12" "oh I gotta get ready to go to the bar" he hopped up and threw his jeans back on I reached over and grabbed my shoes putting them on "can I work at the bar today or you want me to go to a coffee shop or something?" "bars fine it doesn't start picking up till like 5 so" "that's perfect okay cool".

"oh well hello" Mitch said the two same men from last night "your like five hours late" the younger man said "yeah late night," I slapped his shoulder "what?" "sounds like we slept together" "does not" I shook my head "it does" the guy said "Y/n this is Tyson and Dwight" "hi nice to meet you" I shook they're hands "nice to meet you" the man Dwight I smiled "how do you know Mitch?" I looked over to Mitch "I think you'll just have to figure that out" "my office is just around the corner" "thanks". I changed and got ready in his office then went to work in one of the booths "shes my ex-wife if you must know ty" Mitch whispered "then what she doing here?" " i'm helping her out while she trys to find a place" "what's she do?" Dwight asked him "not that sure you'll have to ask her".

After awhile of talking with Dwight he asked "you should work for me" I laughed "you have sports photos you need edited?" "no but other stuff you'll know when stuff coming up" he said and walked away "okay". Mitch sat down next to me and handed me a plate of food "thanks" he nodded "what did he say?" "I don't know but I think am now in the mafia from what I can tell" I whispered he laughed.

the bar filled not much room to even sit but I finally found a seat next to the stage "anyone sitting here?" I asked "you" the guy said "thank you" I sat down holding a cold beer in my hand, Mitch make is way to the stage sitting on the stool he started to play a few notes and his song writing started to sing, I smiled at him before taking a sip from my beer. His third song ended and he cleared his throat before looking at me "I have a song that I think would match the night pretty while I just need some help from someone in the crowd"

| Mitchs POV |

she blushed and shook her head "this beautiful lady right here" I pointed to her the older woman behind her pushed her shoulder and smiled mouthing go, Y/n sighed and drank her beer before coming up next to me "I hate you" she smirked "I know," I smiled and handed her the mic "what song?" "ours".

You look like you love me

she looked up at me as she sang or closing her eyes not to look at the crowd of people. But when she looked at me it wasn't just cause of the people I could tell. "give it up for this lady right here," I said clapping my hands "you did great" I told her "thanks" she lighted smiled handing me the mic.

a/n : this is so bad lmk if y'all even want a part two

[lilystyles]

one of us.

part six of the no strings attached series by @lilystyles

no strings attached masterlist & main masterlist xxx

authors note part six yay...drama awaits

brief description karaoke night leads to a run in with paparazzi. y/n's face is splashed everywhere, and harry doesn't know what to do.

warnings! alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sexual themes, angst, drama. around 5.3k words angels.

inexperienced!fwb!reader x fwb!harry

* * * * *

Daisy called Y/n up Thursday morning while walking to a lecture that she was not particularly excited to attend. She always felt like she had aged ten years when she stepped out of the lecture theatre. The tune of her ringtone played in her headphones as she felt the Spring wind hit her face. The weather was getting warmer but the mornings were still very chilly in London. 

She hit answer instantly without checking who it was. It was likely either Harry, her mum, or Daisy.

“Y/n!” Chirped Daisy into the phone.

“Hi, Babe.” Said Y/n calmly into the phone, startled by Daisy’s excitement. 

Daisy was a bartender, who owned her own small business on the side, she made handmade clothes. So Y/n was surprised that Daisy was calling her at nine in the morning, she usually worked nights and slept all throughout the day and even then she was busy with sewing and screen printing when she was awake.

“I was going to wait until I see you, but I can’t!!” She sounded completely ecstatic.

Y/n pinched her brows as she grinned at her friend’s utter excitement, “What?! What?! Spit it out, Mate!”

“James!” She cried and Y/n could only assume it was one of three things. They are moving in together, she’s pregnant, or James finally popped the question. She didn’t know if it was the latter, maybe all three. James was that kind of guy, he acted quickly and on impulse but when it came to Daisy he was more calculated he cared too much to do that.

“James?” Y/n asked walking towards the small coffee stand that was in the middle of the courtyard. She needed a very large latte to get through this lecture. Maybe even a cookie, they made this really good pistachio and macadamia nut one, and she loved it so much she had to put a ban on buying one every day because it was draining her bank account.

“He wants to marry me!!” Daisy cheered, and Y/n could imagine her arms up in the air as she ran around in her pyjamas. 

Y/n made a sound of excitement and the group of people in front of her turned around and looked at her with a judging look, but Y/n did not care!

“No way!” She gasped, stopping herself from jumping up and down too. “Fucking finally!” She cheered into the phone, a big cheek-splitting grin coming across her face. They’d been together since fucking preschool.

“We are going out to a karaoke bar tonight, I’ve invited everyone to surprise them, so you don’t know act surprised. But I just had to tell you! Can you make it? 8:30 Lan Kwai Fong?”

Y/n had an assignment to do but she thought fuck it, James and Daisy were getting married! Her best friends were getting married! Finally! She was so happy for them and if she did a chunk of this essay right now it would be fine.

“I’m there. See you tonight. Congratulations, Baby!”

“Bye, love you!” Daisy chirped.

“Love you, too.” Y/n finished and hung up, she was finally at the front of the line and she ordered her latte and cookie before quickly grabbing it from the redheaded barista and rushing off to her class. 

She was five minutes late so she came in through the back looking for her only friend in the class and his long brown hair. She hoped he was here, she wanted to ask him about the exam next week and she felt like she hadn’t seen him in forever. 

She saw him instantly and sat down beside him, he looked up with a smile.

“Y/n, hey.” Said Mitch softly, his hair was tied up today and he was in a One Direction shirt which made Y/n giggle to herself, no one knew she knew Harry Styles except mega fans (she knew the boys too!). It was like her little secret.

Y/n handed him one of the two cups in her hand.

“Cinnamon soy.” She whispered as she opened her laptop eyes moving ahead to the boring professor who was sitting down at his desk speaking about god knows what. This class just gave her extra points towards her degree, which meant she finished quicker. Mitch was in an entirely different degree and was taking it as a prerequisite for another class. They met back in first year, study buddies.

Mitch patted her shoulder, a smile cracking on his normally stoic face. “You’re a gem, Mate.”

Y/n practically fell asleep during the next few hours but she managed to get her essay finished, all she had to do was edit now. She was very happy with that. At the end of the lecture, Mitch was telling her something about his girlfriend Sarah having a house party and that she was welcome to come swing by, it was next week.

She told Mitch she would text him, and they both rushed off with a hug goodbye and Y/n to the train that took her home to Harry’s. Her headphones were blaring Taylor Swift as she made a mental to make sure to get off at the shops so she could buy some lunch for Harry, he was busy as a bee with his new Album and since their weekend away their schedules had suddenly filled keeping them apart. She wanted to see him even if it was just over some sandwiches on his living room floor, his company vastly improved her days. And since her Uni work was done basically, she had time to see him now.

As her mind dazed off it was no time before she was at her stop and she snapped out of her daydreams. 

Her heavy backpack weighed on her as she walked into the supermarket. She decided on making her version of a fast food sandwich. She grabbed meats and ingredients for salads and even got Harry this box of tea that had a little bear on the front, it was strawberry flavour which she’d never tried, the bear just reminded her of Harry. He had a pink shirt with one on the front just like it.

After she got everything she needed she caught a bus to his place, which had become a bit of a routine now. It didn’t take her long to get there, the weight of all these bags had her shoulders aching but she would carry a bolder uphill to please Harry, so what was a little groceries on a five-minute walk?

She hit the security buzzer by his fence and Harry let her in instantly. The gates opened and he stepped out of his front door with a look of surprise on his face. He was in pyjama pants and a small shirt that had a bunny rabbit on it. It showed a sliver of his tummy. His hair was up in a little top knot and she could tell he was in full work mode.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” He asked with a big grin when she was close enough to hear. 

Y/n shrugged at him with a big smile on her face. “Missed you, H. I come bearing gifts.” She lifted the bags in show, “I’m gonna make us lunch.” 

He pulled her into his arms and took the heavy bags from her arms before pecking her lips in greeting. 

“You are a goddess. I’m so hungry.” He smiled as they walked inside. 

Y/n took off her layers and boots as she walked into the kitchen following after him. The living room had three of his guitars strewn out and the book he used to write, along with loose pages scattered everywhere. 

Sometimes he’d pull that little book out while they were in bed and he would try and write out how beautiful her blissed-out face was post orgasm in words, or in the morning when she met his gaze, he’d quickly grab the pink thick and full book and scribble something that he never let her read. 

He said she’d have to wait and listen until his new album was out. The fact that some of his songs might’ve been about her gave her a rush of energy and smittenness towards him. She never thought a boy would write a song about her, especially Harry!

She began to make the sandwiches so he could sit and tell her about his day so far, he watched her dreamily speaking slowly and lazily as he usually did.

He interrupted himself, “You look beautiful today, Y/n.”

She blushed, her movements stuttering as she shook her head. She had messy hair that needed a wash, smudged lipstick and a pair of loose jeans and a jumper that actually belonged to him on. Harry had a way of making her feel completely flustered, like she was in a floor length gown when she was really just in lazy sloppy stained clothes. But to him, she practically was.

“Harry, do you do that just to make me lose my mind, or what?”

He giggled. “Well, partly, but it’s like an itch I’ve got to scratch. I simply must tell you. Like when you look at a pretty sunset, you can’t help but take a photo or tell everyone to come and admire it’s beauty.”

She rolled her eyes, a warmth filling her belly. “Sap.”

“Hey!”

“I’m kidding, H. I just….feel speechless when you say things like that.”

Harry grabbed her hand from across the bench and squeezed it.

They enjoyed their sandwiches with some of the bear tea which Harry said he liked, and they watched a few episodes of Friends because that was Harry’s favourite show. It was becoming normal for them to do this sort of thing. Y/n then asked hopefully if he would come tonight.

He said he would be able to if he got back to it after the next episode. Y/n was glad to hear that. 

“Do you want to use my study it’s soundproof, you can do some Uni work or even take a nap, Petal. You look sleepy. Got much Uni to do?” He didn’t want her to go, even if he was busy. He liked knowing she was pottering about. She began treating his home much like her own and he was happy. He loved finding things of Y/n’s here and there, and her scent on his sheets. Or even a strand of her hair on his jumper.

She sighed at the thought of a nap and longed for a short one. “Oh, I’m so getting into your bed.” Wondering why she hadn’t thought of that earlier, he smiled amusedly and kissed the top of her head. 

They finished the episode and then Y/n left him to go sleep in his bed. She turned on the fancy diffuser he had in his room, putting in a lavender-scented oil. He’d told her one day it was one he used before sleep, usually when she wasn’t there to aid him with her soft scent and touch. She shut the curtains too to block out any light and stripped out of her clothes and slid inside his cool silky sheets. Her bare skin felt so cosy against the warmth of his bed.

She shut her eyes and when she woke up an hour and a half later she was surprised she had slept with such ease. She hadn’t realised how tired she was. She thought it was probably because Harry’s house and room were such a comfort to her now. The musky smell of his natural odour clung to the sheets, something that was just Harry — she loved it, and wasn’t something that was easily washed away. The fact she could hear him doing his thing downstairs and talking made the perfect white noise.

The soft pillow he slept on each night was like a cloud and the hum of the diffusor was calming to her. 

Her small rest was needed, and made her feel much perkier, she sat up groggily, still feeling slightly asleep and confused. She grabbed her phone to check the time. She rubbed her eyes softly getting up so she could go home and get ready. She told Harry she’d meet him there tonight, because she needed her clothes and makeup, and wanted to wash her hair. When she told him she’d get the train home he refused and got his driver to take her back home. He was always like that.

He gave her a kiss on her head goodbye and told her he’d see her tonight. She smiled brightly, and he gave her one back.

On the twenty-minute drive home, she felt like a politician or something. Or royalty even, like that scene in Princess Diaries when Mia’s grandma shows up. 

The driver’s name was Brad, and he was also Harry’s bodyguard. Nice, but quiet and professional. The windows were tinted so darkly, and it was such a fancy car. It had snacks, a TV, and champagne. Not that Y/n needed any of that, the drive was fairly quick and she wasn’t a rockstar on her way to perform. She was just going home. 

When the car pulled up outside her apartment building she thanked Brad kindly and told him to have a good evening, and she stepped out the air was damp and smelt of rain and walked upstairs and into her apartment. She had been here all week instead of at Harry’s, stewing in her mess rather than his luxury, because she’d been busy working on Uni assignments and exams. She decided to clean since she had a few hours to kill until tonight. The pile of dirty clothes in her laundry was starting to grow eyes and a personality now and she really did not want to clean it. She started organising into piles of whites, blacks, delicates and others.

As she waited for all her laundry to be done she contemplated finally asking Harry out for real, she was sitting on top of her dodgy washing machine that tended to shake so much it fell on its side if there wasn’t enough weight on top of it. It was annoying, but she honestly couldn’t afford a new one.

She stared off mindlessly at the tiled walls of her small laundry room, imagining him as her boyfriend, what would it be like to date him officially? Would much change? He acted pretty lovely already.

They had wonderful and passionate sex, he took her to dinners and fun places, dates, and every little thing in-between. I mean, isn’t that what a boyfriend does? She’d ask any of her friends for advice if it wasn’t Harry Styles she was with and on top of that Haz her childhood friend who she hoped would not mess up the group because of their ‘relationship’. She didn’t know what her friends would say about it, and she really didn’t want to disappoint them. At Uni she had a few mates like Sarah, Mitch and Adam, but she wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt she stopped her childhood circle of friends from being normal. It was not that she didn’t trust them either, just that she knew how important privacy was between them. Nothing was private when you were famous, or knew a famous person. Also, she didn’t want Harry to find out about how she felt, what if he really only wanted sex like they had agreed on?

She also kind of wished, even if it would hurt her feelings, that she could ask an ex-fling of his. Was he just a romantic? Or was he different with her compared to the rest?

The whole thing was a mindfuck, so she liked to pretend it wasn’t something to worry about. But the weight of it was beginning to get her down. As she made it to the final task on her list of mopping her hardwood floors and having mulled over the whole thing for about an hour, she decided that tonight she’d test the waters. Mention something about them, and bring it up. Just to see how he would react to the idea, and then reevaluate from there.

By the time she’d hung her laundry out on her balcony pegging it to a wire, she realised it was already dark and that she needed to go get ready for tonight. 

She made a light dinner for herself of a grilled cheese with tomatoes on too, and a cup of juice. She ate slowly enjoying the taste, and she heard the familiar sound of heavy downfall rain landing on her roof outside. Ah, London, always raining when Y/n felt herself overthinking! That was a lot, clearly. She hoped her laundry would dry eventually.

She finally finished and got up to wash the hair that was now greasier than ever, and clean the day off of her skin. After she got out feeling warm and clean, she was happy she could take her time styling her hair in her favourite way for going out and doing her skincare. As she applied the fancy mosturiser Harry had given her as a gift to her face and neck she basked in the floral and gentle smell. She sighed softly as she ran her fingers through her damp hair before drying and combing it.

She didn’t know what to wear now that it was raining. Lan Kwai Fong was a karaoke bar, and it was always so hot inside. But the air was chilly and damp now, so she decided to wear something with a few layers. She picked out her favourite jeans they were flared at the bottoms and rested lowly on her hips showing the top of her tattoo, a cute blouse that was red and black with floral designs on it, it was lacey. For shoes, she decided to wear black heeled boots that were leather and could handle the rain, and over the top, she wore a long black faux fur coat. It was warm, and she was happy with that. For jewellery, she wore her usual gold rings, necklace, earrings, and a few bangles. She’d found the ring that matched Harry’s necklace and slipped it on.

She applied makeup that accented her features and chose reddish lipstick to match her shirt. She felt pretty and was excited to go out and celebrate, though she had a slight pinch of anxiety in her tummy she brushed it off thinking good thoughts, and after all, it was just Harry. She knew that boy, he was just Harry from the end of the street. Not some wild sexy rockstar who was untouchable. Despite it all, Harry was still her old friend.

When her taxi arrived at the bar she was excited and could already see Daisy waiting out the front under James’ arm. Y/n rushed over sprinting into both of their arms and jumping up and down in pure childlike excitement. 

“Congratulations!” She cheered loudly with a giggle, before settling down when she saw Finnley, Olive, Penny, and Michael all in tow. She knew it was a surprised, and instantly acted as she normally would. 

She jumped at hearing the rumble of a voice behind her neck, hairs standing at the gentle vibration. 

“Hey, guys,” Said the familiar slow drawl of Harry. He rested closely behind her. He squeezed her hip in a hello before hugging everyone else and then finally her, wanting to act normal. They’d always been fairly touchy.

“Hey stranger, how you been?” She said acting as if it had been the same time away from him as everyone else. He smiled knowingly. 

“Not too bad, Pet,”

She smiled and all of them walked inside. Harry stayed close by her side and they made their way into a room that had a little stage and seats. Everyone placed their bags and coats down and left to get drinks. Harry and Y/n both decided to have some mojitos tonight and kick back a little. Harry was talking to the group about his work and his day, of songwriting and composing. Y/n acted like she hadn’t known that and asked questions, Harry appreciated her acting. He asked about Uni even though he already knew and then the conversation finally shifted to the real reason they were all here. 

James grabbed Daisy from beside Olive and they stood up before them. Daisy leaned into his side and held his hip under his shirt. “We are getting married!” She blurted out excitedly showing her hand and the ring that rested there. It was an antique snake ring made of gold with diamonds. Very Daisy.

Y/n squealed excitedly and everyone erupted with cheers. Daisy and James then began to discuss details about when and where, and the plan. Daisy was talking about the dress she wanted to the girls and the boys were discussing how James had popped the question. It was nice. The first one of them to get married, wow. They were growing up!

The night was perfect, it was just like always; fun, lighthearted, full of drinks and laughs. Memories fluttered through the voices of such familiar faces, and Y/n felt a sense of home. Harry had barely left her side all night he remained close by and they danced every few songs, goofily twirling or doing horrible moves on purpose. Her tummy hurt from laughing so hard.

When it finally came time for Y/n to sing up there like the others she wasn’t keen. So Harry put on a favourite of hers she simply couldn’t refuse. It was One Of Us by ABBA. Harry had a very specific memory of the pair of them singing it in his bedroom once. He always tied that song to her and that night in his bedroom.

Harry and Y/n were hiding up in his room from their mothers who were having one too many wines downstairs with other parents from the neighbourhood, it was Easter long weekend. The pair of them had gotten sick of socialising and talking about what their plans were after school, they were only halfway through their final year of school and had already been asked too many times to count.

Y/n flopped onto his bed with a sigh grabbing his favourite turtle pillow, Terry, and scooped the stuffed animal into her arms. They always hid up here when they were sick of the adults. Harry sat on a beanbag by his CD player watching her. He always watched her, eyes never shying away from her face which always brought a radiance of heat to her skin. 

She looked cute. She was in a pink floral dress, it was long and she had paired it with her favourite pastel yellow cardigan. Her hair was styled into two plaits with ribbons. She looked rather angelic. 

She was mumbling a complaint about how she had no bloody idea who she wanted to be when she grew up, and how she didn’t think that was such a bad thing. Harry could only nod in agreement. 

She looked at his tall shelf of CDs and sighed. “Put some ABBA on, they always make everything better.”

So he did. 

The track played as background noise for a while as they talked, Harry told her of his aspirations to sing and she told him of her aspirations to be happy and content. Eventually, it finally hit one of her favourites, One Of Us, she gasped.

“Turn it up!” 

He obeyed turning to the dial louder. She stood up on his bed still holding Terry, and began to sing and jump on the bed. For an eighteen-year-old, she felt like a kid sometimes. As she began to belt the lyrics very off-key, Harry covered his ears playfully and she stopped jumping. 

“Hey, you try jumping and singing then!” She said and Harry took that as a challenge. He toed his shoes off and joined her placing his hands in hers and began to jump with him as they belted the lyrics between laughs.

Harry’s voice was soft and nice on her ears so she shut her lips just so she could hear him louder, and she wished she could just listen to him for hours. She was almost certain he would be someone one day. 

When the song ended they flopped down on his squeaky bed with a laugh, backs pressing into the soft springy mattress. Then Gemma came in and made a complaint about Anne dancing. 

Y/n and Harry sat up and then followed her downstairs. Somehow Y/n’s mother convinced them to get into a photo. ‘All grown up! Our babies!’.

The photo was in Y/n’s childhood bedroom back home. Harry’s hand was on her waist and Y/n leaned into him smiling, Harry was laughing in the photo Y/n couldn’t remember about what.

Harry slid her under his arm and gave her her own microphone, neither needed to look at the lyrics on the screen and as she sang and acted out the scenes she imagined went with the song. She was back in Harry’s house when the chorus hit.

He seemed to have gone back to then too. They smiled at each other knowingly. He was very close to her, their noses touching as she dragged her fingers down his chest seductively. The song was slower more dramatic so they acted out as if they felt that feeling.

Neither had noticed the flash of phones or cameras until the chorus when they turned to face their friends. Unfamiliar faces stared back at them, and Harry’s brows pinched.

Fans? Drunken people? The latter it seemed.

Y/n continued to sing into the microphone but Harry slightly deterred, stepping back from her. He didn’t mind if it was fans, but it was a private room. He really didn’t want this night to become about him. That night was about Daisy and James.

Y/n was suddenly aware of the way she had been touching him and pulled her hands away from his warmth.

When the song ended they both got off stage and Harry was swarmed. People called his name, asking for pictures and Y/n was surprised when one of them asked if she was Y/n.

Y/n frowned. How did they know? She nodded. 

“Hi.” 

Someone even asked to take a picture with her and in her bewildered state she let them. Harry noticed and frowned, this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“I’m really sorry, guys, but this s’a private event. And m’ with my friends. I can’t take that many pictures, and I would appreciate it if you respected that.” He tried to explain. The fans were pushy and Harry tried again. Y/n didn’t know what to do, but he gave her a pleading look for her help. She snuck away, with ease, to the front door of the bar and told the bouncers the situation they walked to the room she pointed at and she went to the bathroom, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She leaned into the sink sighing deeply. It must be hard for Harry to live like this, they had nearly been spotted a few times and Y/n who kept little track of social media involving celebrities hadn’t noticed the few gossip pages that had photos of Harry with a mystery woman. Which was of course her. Harry hadn’t seen anyone else since Y/n had come to the forefront of his mind.

A paparazzi had taken one of them going to dinner in London to see Anne. It was just a photo of their interlocked hands. ‘Who is this mystery woman?’. Then another of the back of her body hidden in a coat getting in Harry’s car from that same night.

There was also a photo of Harry near her apartment walking titled ‘Harry seen leaving a friend’s house. A very pretty friend.’ That was on New Year’s Day.

Another photo was of the pair of them. It was that day they walked in the park hand in hand, Y/n swimming in his clothes. The title was called, ‘Harry on a Sunday stroll.’ It was the back of them. Miraculously Y/n’s identity had yet to be leaked. But Harry worried now that they would know. The fans had already taken photos and videos of them singing.

He had hidden all this drama from her. Not wanting to stress her out, and now he felt awful. He had ruined the night. For everyone, and Y/n would probably snap out of herself and realise now that he came with baggage.

When two large bouncers came in they realised the situation quickly and escorted the fans and people out from the room. Harry was grateful, that must’ve been Y/n. But where was she? When the room was quiet he apologised but his friends seemed to not mind too much but were grateful to be alone once more. Harry said he was going to the loo, but he was searching for Y/n.

When he left and walked down the hall hoping no one would recognise him, lost in thought and panic he felt a body bump into his. 

“Sorr- Oh, hey, Petal. Yeh’ okay?”

Y/n was looking up at him already. “Yeah, you?”

He nodded, pulling her into his arms and placing a kiss on top of her head. He whispered something about how he was sorry about all that, and Y/n was too focused on him to notice the photos being taken of them.

This time both their faces were visible in it. Due to their slightly intoxicated state, they were less aware of their surroundings and so Y/n pecked his jaw and red lipstick shade was left there. They went back into the booth and began to sing some more and brush off the incident trying to enjoy the rest of their night.

Daisy and Y/n sang a Fleetwood Mac song, and soon all ten of them were on the small stage shouting the words and laughing. Daisy was holding Y/n’s hand and Harry was holding Y/n’s hip and she felt so warm, safe, and comforted between them. They belted the words without microphones and giggled together. She felt so at home, they were her people.

James began to dance very badly and serenade Daisy and the stage was theirs now. Like they were actors from the actual Shakespearean time.

Romeo and Juliet by The Dire Straights played loudly over the speakers. That was their song. James fell to his knees dramatically and it reminded Y/n of that scene in Mamma Mia on the beach.

She and the others had a few more drinks and the night grew more blurry. At around one in the morning, they began to wrap up and were all on a high from the great news of their best friend’s engagement. The group walked together in each others’ warm touch and stumbled outside. A flash of blinding white lights hit their eyes startling them all. 

Y/n leaned into the nearby touch of Harry the flash burning her retinas as she tried to figure out where she was. It was disorientating. But Harry was all too familiar with it. Loud voices asked questions.

“Is that the mystery girl?!”

“Who are you dating?”

“Is it any of these women?”

“Look at that lipstick stain! Is it from Y/n?”

How did they know her name? What mystery woman? Was Harry seeing other people? 

Somehow James and Harry managed to get them out of the way so they could all get into their taxis. Harry didn’t get in beside her like she assumed he would, he just leaned into the window she rolled down handing her some money. “Get home safe, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

As he watched her car zoom off he bit his lip. Maybe it was time.

Weirdly as the car drove off Y/n felt tears prick in her eyes. What was happening?

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

6 angst pls!!!!!

OK, so there 5 more asks of this same combo so I'm just gonna count them all as this one:)

Being on Harry's management team was mostly wonderful and a very positive experience so far. He was so kind, honest, direct, hard-working, receptive, and trusting. This conglomeration of traits made him a dream to work with. He hardly ever gave you any trouble, but he was human so of course, he made mistakes and bad judgement calls, but he was never one to come up with some elaborate scheme to distract from those things. He'd fix the issue with whoever had been involved and move on, he didn't feel a need to defend himself to the press or the public when they had nothing to do with his private problems. No twitter-storms for him and that made the management team's job pretty easy.

But just because Harry was a mellow and level-headed guy it didn't make him exempt from the old rumor mill. People just found any excuse to be nasty. And like any normal person, Harry had things going on in his personal life that sometimes just made him more sensitive or susceptible to feeling low. Like now... someone he had been seeing exclusively for a few months apparently hadn't granted him the same courtesy. A friend of his in London saw her kissing someone else and well...he didn't take it too well and out of frustration, he drunkenly kissed the next willing person and well...that backfired on him. And now the person he'd been seeing was telling everyone that he had cheated on her. Harry was really angry with that.

He knew that he couldn't control other people, but he just wished that the people he let into his life would just take a moment to think. Thankfully no one was really believing that he had been seeing this clout-chasing chick, but it still hurt his feelings. He had let her in to his life. He had slept with her, he had taken her on dates, he had told her things about himself...he felt betrayed and for some reason this particular time it was just taking a lot longer for him to bounce back.

In session, his writing was reflecting his evident frustration and he was being quite petty. This was personal and he hated that he was stooping to that level. He felt immature and incapable of handling what he was feeling and it was ridiculous.

"This is so fucking stupid..." he groaned into his hands. You'd watched this chaos unfold for long enough, so you decided to step in.

"Guys, I think it's a good time to take a little break. Get some lunch...take a walk..." she said to the others in the room.

"Yeah, good call." Harry mumbled and people started getting up to leave and as Harry stood from his seat and started walking out behind Mitch you called out to him.

"Not you, Harry!" you called after him and he patted Mitch on the back and said a couple things to him before Mitch gave him a thumbs up and headed off. Harry came back over to his previous seat as you stood at the control panel, just looking around. You were the newest addition to him team, hired on just shy of a year ago. You'd mostly been handling contracts though and he'd been touring and releasing films so you hadn't really had a lot of face-time with him. And he didn't know you as well as he knew the rest of his team, they'd been friends even before they managed him. So you got that you were new and that he was a bit unsure around you, but you just wanted to make sure he was OK.

"Look, I know that we've basically wasted the morning and that we're gonna need to pay for another day-"

"Harry, I don't care about that, I'll book another day out if you want it, no problem." you assured him, "I just wanted to make sure that you're OK." you said and his expression changed to a more relaxed one.

"Oh." he said and you offered him a slight and sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. I know it's been rough and I know that we don't know each other that well, but if you're not feeling this kind of work right now you don't have to do this." you explained and he smiled a bit.

"I know I've sucked today, but to the point where my own manager would rather I not do a writing session?" he asked and you chuckled.

"Can I be candid with you?" you asked and he nodded firmly, "I really like your music. And I'm not just saying that, it's heavily featured on a few of my playlists," you explained and he smiled, "And while I realize that some of the best work can come from painful or angry places, you're currently giving... Taylor Swift circa 2008-2009." you said and he literally burst out laughing and you chuckled softly at his reaction.

"Some might argue that those were her golden years." he said after he settled down.

"I'm not saying it's bad, but what I mean to say is she was a teenager then and it...shows. And not that you can't behave like a teenager as an adult... everyone's journey is different!" you defended and he chuckled, "But I know that's not you. And I just feel like you're just really frustrated with everything you're going through and it's not coming out right because you're kind of trying to force yourself to push through your hurt with this process." you said and he bit his lip sadly for a moment before he sighed.

"Look I'm just...feeling really hopeless right now. And you're absolutely right, that's not me." he shook his head as he looked in your eyes. "I feel so foreign to my own mind....like, when did it even know how to think that way?" he said and you nodded, "I mean...I can't accept to believe that things will never work out. That I'll never get a chance at a normal relationship again. That everyone in my life has an ulterior motive...but I'm starting to, Y/N." he said with so much hurt in his eyes, they were glossy from the tears forming and you just reached out and he grabbed your hand.

You didn't have any words to say to him. You had no idea what it felt like to be him. Anyone would think he'd have it easy, but it was harder than it was easier most of the time. You just wanted him to know that you heard him and that you were there with him, that's it. Your thumb ran over his knuckles in a comforting gesture and suddenly his tears startled to fall and he inhaled sharply as he tried to hold back his sob and you frowned when he just decided to let it out. You stood immediately and hugged him against your chest. His head was resting right over your heart and you just held his head with one hand and lightly scratched his back with the other. After a few minutes he'd calmed but made no move to get out of your hold. You understood, sometimes you just needed to be held.

"I'm sorry, I didn't plan to lay all that on you." he said quietly and smiled.

"It' don't mind it. It's why I'm here." you said and he let go of you and leaned back as he looked at you looking a bit perplexed.

"What you're here for?" he asked with some hurt in his voice and then you shook your head.

"Oh, not like as part of my job, Harry!" you explained quickly, "I mean like here here. Like on planet earth. As a human being I'm here to share experiences and relate with other human beings. To learn to care for each other and help each other..." you said and he nodded and then smiled slightly.

"Right...I was about to say, after everything I've just told you?" he chuckled lightly now and you did too as you place a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, sorry for the misunderstanding." you shook your head in a little embarrassment, "So did that help? Just...letting it out?" you asked him and he nodded.

"Yeah, I feel a bit better." he said.

"A bit is more than nothing." you said with a smile, taking the win and he nodded. "So, would you like to keep trying here or would you like to call it a day?" you asked him and he sighed and looked into your eyes.

"I think we should call it a day." he concluded.

"OK, I'll let the guys know." you said with a small smile and headed out to the food lounge. After you told them the new you chit-chatted for a bit before saying goodbye. You hummed happily as you considered the possibilities for the rest of your day... grab your things, pick up a nice bottle of wine, call your nail lady and to see if she could squeeze you in for a pedi? As you came back into the studio you that Harry had his things packed on the floor beside him while he sat on the arm of the couch. He glanced up when he heard you come in and you smiled, "Hey H, sorry if I kept you waiting, I got to talking. Did you need something else from me?" you asked.

"I'm gonna ask you something and it's gonna sound awful, but I promise I mean it in the most not awful way-"

"Harry, just ask." you interrupted him with a chuckle and he nodded.

"Right. Ummm...w-would you like to spend the night at mine?" he asked you and you looked at him skeptically.

"Like....for....?"

"Not sex!" he said right away and then shook his head, "Not because you're a person I wouldn't want to have sex with. Like I would if I had to. Like...last people on earth type of thing. But well, that sounds like I'd do it with you just because I had no other choice. Which I mean, I would still probably have sex with you given a choice, you know?" he finished his ramble and you just decided to not even go there.

"OK...so not for sex. So then for what?" you asked him.

"Just to be with someone. We could play board games or watch movies or tv...ummm, I'm pretty sure I've got everything I'd need to make banana bread... we could do that. Or just talk and listen to music? We can do whatever I just don't want to be alone." he admitted softly.

"Harry...I really want to, but I also work for you and I... just don't want to blur the boundaries too much." you explained.

"You literally just told me this is why you're here." he appealed to her, "I'm friends with Jeff and Tommy...why couldn't I be friends with you?" he asked and you smiled at him.

"You're not exactly asking a crazy question..." you said and he smiled lightly at you. "Fine. But I'm gonna go home and pack a bag. When I arrive I hope to smell some banana bread in the oven." you said and he smiled.

"Deal." he said and you nodded. He reached for your bag on the coffee table and handed it over and you smiled and thanked him as you walked down the hall. "Gonna go say good bye to the lads."

"Yeah, you go ahead." you assured him and he made his way down the other hall, "H!" you called after him and he glanced back, "You're gonna be OK. I promise." you said and he smiled before you waved and headed back to your car.

READ MORE PICTURE PROMPT BLURBS HERE!

[watermelonsugacry]

Any more of building Harry’s house you have planned currently? Love those!

Building Harry's House: Boyfriends

A/N: day 1 of Since 2010 ficmas!! sorry it came out a lil late but she's here!

SUMMARY: With the world knowing of their once secret relationship, Harry and YN navigate life together as an official couple and everything that comes with it.

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn

SINCE 2010 masterlist // Building Harry's House masterlist // previous song here! 🚲

SIDE-NOTE: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl

—2019—

Anger, confusion, and frustration radiate off his hunched-over figure from his position on the floor. Harry digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and the cold tile beneath his knees digs harshly at his bones but he stays there, feeling that he deserves the pain given what just happened.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” YN says so quietly that he might have missed it if he wasn’t listening carefully.

“Yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

It takes Harry about a minute to realize the gravity of his situation and only half a second to pick himself off the ground to whip open the door. He doesn't know why he gets disappointed by the fact that her car isn't in the driveway anymore. Surely she’s already halfway home by now. 

He, YN, and his small but close production team have almost hit the two month mark during their stay in Malibu. Recording Harry’s second album here has had its ups and downs and needless to say, he doesn’t think he can go much lower than he feels now.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“Yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

How could he possibly say such a thing to her? She didn’t have to come all the way over here, ditch whatever important tasks and events she had going on for her own career to come help him make music. Her gift is wasted on him and for him to say such a nasty thing to her?  

His feelings only twist around each other in contradiction: grateful at the fact that the rest of his production crew is out for drinks but somber in having the Malibu recording house all to himself (it wasn’t like they hadn’t just made a song dedicated exactly to his desire to not be alone—yet another reminder of how much she’s continued to provide her help to him when it wasn’t deserved). 

With a final scowl out towards the driveway, he reluctantly shuts the door behind him as he makes headway into the kitchen. He feels like a hypocrite as he attempts to suppress his thoughts by reaching across the kitchen island to snatch the tall glass of alcohol. It seems that all the two have been arguing about is their lack of communication, for their constant push down of emotions to avoid what they really want to say. 

This realization only furthers his desire to shut down his thoughts and everything tied to them as he reaches for a glass. 

He somehow finds himself pushing the door to her room open with the tip of his foot. The image of her hurtful face after his words only pushes him to twist the cap off the tall bottle. 

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when the rest of the small production team comes waltzing through the front door drunkenly singing some song. He can hear his name being called from somewhere else inside the house, but it sounds muffled from his position on the carpeted ground.

“Harry!” Mitch calls. “Where are you, man? Why haven’t you picked up your phone...?” His words slowly come to a halt when he stops his friend lying on his back, mindlessly looking out sliding glass doors of the room YN slept in during her stay. “Harry?”

“I wrote a song,” Harry’s words are slurred as he continues to stare out to the floor to ceiling doors where the white foam of the gentle waves crash along the shore. 

“What kind of drugs you on, dude?” Jeff sighs out when he enters the room, putting his hands on his hips.

“M’a bad boyfriend,” Harry pouts, eyes pink from the alcohol swirling in his veins. “A real, proper shitty one.”

Mitch and the pop star’s manager share a look. Mitch is the first to speak up, “But you and YN aren’t even together.”

“See! If I were a good boyfriend, I would be her boyfriend right now. But m’not. I’m just fucking up our situation even more.”

Jeff rubs his bearded chin and lets out a knowing sigh, “You’re really no good alone, man. Come on, we need to get you off the floor.”

Harry makes no effort to move from his spot but instead takes in a deep breath. Flashes of YN’s hurt face reappear back in his mind and he pinches his eyes shut like it physically hurts him to see it again. 

“I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“Yeah. Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

Already being kicked while he’s down, he comes to realize that the purpose of his drinking is yet another aspect of this painful situation that he needs to hide from YN. Was he not the one to show her how drinking is not meant to drown one’s sorrow away, to suppress guilty feelings and/or make one forget. 

Might as well just add it to the list of many other shitty aspects of his contribution to being a bad boyfriend.

“'Boyfriends' was written right at the end of ‘Fine Line.’ We had just finished a session that was...a pretty difficult session to get through because I couldn’t seem to get anything right,” Harry’s brows pinch together at the memory of that day. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to make his music without his YN there. 

“At the end of that session everyone left, and I started writing ‘Boyfriends’ and it almost felt like ‘Ok, there’s a version where we get this ready to put on Fine Line,’ and I think there was something about that just felt like ‘It’s just gonna have its time, so like, let’s not rush to get it done.’”

—2020—

YN holds a plated sandwich and a water bottle as she walks up Harry’s pink carpeted stairs in his London home. After the back and forth traveling from La to Italy to England, the couple made the decision to stay in London for the time being before it was fit for them to travel again due to the pandemic. Not that it mattered much to them, as long as they are together then all was well. 

It should come as no surprise that while staying indoors was quite relaxing, the two had a hard time being still. As long as they were safely distanced from others, the couple went out for walks in secluded areas, visited the lake nearby, and picked fruits from the small garden their mums helped plant in the spacious backyard.

The only downside of their stay in Harry’s London home was the fact that YN didn’t have some of her basic recording equipment and she was itching to get some music ideas down. 

As the world still tries to carry on in the midst of a pandemic, the couple is still booked for the occasional zoom video or call interview. With a gentle and slow twist of the doorknob of one of the spare bedrooms, YN peaks her head inside to see her boyfriend sprawled along the green velvet couch. His back is to the armrest while he holds the speaker of his phone towards his mouth. His other hand gestures by his side as he explains the writing process for his second record.

He looks so comfy in his sweats and a loose shirt, a tiny clip holding the top of his hair back on top of his head. His words almost taper off when he looks up at his love. He continues to explain how Adore You was made, he gives her a dimpled smile and a nod. The two of them know and understand more than anyone the gravity of their careers in needing to set some time apart for things like this. A piece of knowledge that has Harry shifting his phone away as YN sets the food on the coffee table, reaching out to gently pull on her arm to meet his puckered lips.

“Thank you,” He whispers.

He receives one of her knee-buckling smiles before leaving a final kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“M’gonna be in the bedroom when yeh done.”

Harry circles his lips in a playfully suggestive way and he’s rewarded with one of her infamous eye rolls. He can’t help but give a pinch to her bum when she turns to leave before going back to answer the interviewer’s next question. She bites back a giggle to not out herself within the interview before tip-toeing her way out of the room.

If she could, she would have explained to him that she wasn’t going to wait up for him in the bedroom, not for any sexy time, but to use the big desktop computer where she’s able to use some of her recording/editing software. 

After uploading a couple of voice files from her phone to the desktop, she doesn’t pay much attention to how many files she highlights and drags into her editing program. It isn’t until she’s in a groove of picking bits and piece from her demos that she stumbles upon a file she didn’t record herself. The guitar melody is significantly different than the one she had originally uploaded and when she begins to curiously sift through the file date of when it was made, she hears Harry’s soft voice come through. 

Boyfriends

They think you're so easy

They take you for granted

They don't know they're just misunderstanding you

YN hasn’t heard this song before, not even when it was being drafted and it makes her eyebrows pinch together.

You love a fool who knows just how to get under your skin

You, you, you still open the door

Almost immediately after hearing these words, she’s transported back to the numerous amount of times where she’s taken him back into her life to hop back onto the “on” phase of their on-and-off relationship. 

This couldn’t have been recently written, surely not created during this year fresh into their official relationship.

Are they just pretending?

They don't tell you where it's heading

YN is knocked out of her thoughts when she hears her name being called from the doorway. He doesn’t say anything more but instead goes to lean his hip on the desk in front of her. 

“Why did yeh keep this from me?” YN isn’t mad or upset but rather curious—a reaction he wasn’t really expecting out of her if he was being honest. This was a song he had written when he was deeply hurt—the both of them were—and it wasn’t necessarily a happy path down memory lane whenever that section of their past is brought up. 

“I dunno really. I guess it’s just something that I wanted to put out at the time. It wasn’t the right time and I remember how much Cherry put you off so I put away this one. It never really came up again so...out of sight out of mind I suppose.”

YN hums, keeping her gaze on the screen, “S’a beautiful song.”

“Our songs always seem to end up that way, don't they?” Harry offers a soft smile when he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Our songs?”

Harry hums in response, “Hmh, of our—what did you call it once—our ‘fuck-up situation’ I think you said?” 

The two of them huff out a small laugh at the memory. It was only a year ago when their situationship finally came to an end after two years (and only seven days for it to get exposed to the public), when they were both so close yet so closed off from each other. A good chunk of the Fine Line songs have had an up-beat/pop song melody over the melancholy lyrics. 

It all seems like a lifetime ago at this point with their relationship being the strongest it's ever been. Both are undoubtedly grateful to not be in that part of their lives anymore but content that they get to look at each other now to see how far they’ve both come. What better way to capture the timeline of their emotions than through music?

"Doesn't seem that complicated anymore, does it?" She gives her love a satisfied smile.

"Thank heavens for that," He plants a kiss on her forehead. "Now, come gimme a cuddle before I die from lack of touch."

He's already pulling her up and out of her seat over the short distance to the large bed yet her mind gets stuck on the lyrics he sang merely a year ago.

“This was one of the few tracks that I didn’t help write which is a bit strange, at least on my end,” YN smirks, lifting up her index finger knowing. “But I was able to bring in a very special person to bring the song to its completion and to persuade H to finally put it on the album.”

YN and the production team are all huddled up together in her home studio in LA as they talk quietly amongst themselves. It’s been a couple of weeks since she first heard the song as they’ve been working on other tracks for the record but it was finally time to finish the song.

“I dunno, he said he still wanted to work on it,” Tyler, one of Harry’s core producers, says with a scratch of his beard.

“Well, we’re not gonna make this a Watermelon Sugar situation where he keeps putting the song off from not being able to figure out what it needed,” YN points out with her hands on her hips. “The song almost didn’t make it on the album, babe. And this song is too good to just toss aside.”

“The song is basically finished,” Kid shrugs. “And if he doesn’t like it—which I doubt—then we can always scrap the idea and have Mitch play it instead.”

“But I think he’s really gonna—”

“I’m really gonna what?” The team turns around to see the boss man come into the home studio. He looks up from the phone in his hand before rising an eyebrow. “What’s going on.”

The production team share a smile with one another before turning their attention to the man before them.

“We enlisted a very special person,” YN begins. Harry eyes the group suspiciously, especially at his love when she’s practically bouncing in her spot from excitement. 

As if it were planned, the door leading to YN’s recording room opens to reveal none other than Ben Harper.

“Hey YN, got everything set up inside whenever you’re ready—oh, hey,” Ben offers a warm smile to Harry who seems utterly star-struck. If YN had a dollar for every time Harry has brought up this man’s Spotify to show her one of his new songs and geek out about the musician’s style, her pockets would be overflowing. So it was a no-brainer that YN would pull a few strings to bring in the favored artist to be a feature musician for the track.

”I think the good part of [Boyfriends] is that it is everything. It’s both acknowledging my own behavior. It’s looking at behavior that I’ve witnessed. I grew up with a sister, so it’s watching her date people and watching friends date people, and people don’t treat each other very nicely sometimes. It was one of those really quick, just say what you think of boyfriends.”

Even now as he sits next to his love, her eyes bounce around the large computer screen in front of her, diligently working on the added guitar bits for the song, he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that she’s here. After all this time, times when any person would have turned around and walked in a different direction without a second thought, she was still by his side.

From keeping their feelings pushed aside and locked away for five years during their time in the band together, to a secret on-and-off relationship where it was a kiss and don’t tell situation, under the blinding lights of the media. To now being officially together without a doubt in either one’s mind that they’re it for one another, it all seems unreal yet painfully so at the same time. 

You feel a fool

You're back at it again

Despite the addition of Ben Harper’s playing on the official track, there was one aspect of the song Harry wanted to act. The two always find it fun and interesting when there can be hidden messages within songs: like when YN suggested Olivia Rodrigo whisper I love you quite literally in between the chorus and the verse of her song Deja Vu or how one can faintly Harry sing the words fine line in Sunflower Vol. 6. 

With this song in particular, it’s explaining how Harry isn’t the best boyfriend and in turn, YN keeps opening up her arms to let him back into her life.

Instead of the ending of the song flowing back to the beginning of the song to make it an endless loop, he’s reversing it to end the toxic cycle.

It’s here where it finally hits him. He knew this truth since forever it seems but it’s officially time. He doesn’t want to just be her boyfriend. He wants more. She’s the love of his love for crying out loud. 

Taglist:

He wants her to be his wife.

Next song here! 🌷

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @teawithcyb0rgs @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall @rosehel @sucker4angstt @isalove @diorchives @mrshiddlestyles02 @fdl305

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 35

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Masterlist

Everything I've done, I've done for you.

But look where it led you, (Y/n). Look where it led us.

It's nine am. You are sitting on the bed, your back against the headboard and your knees drawn to your chest. You are looking at me with sharp eyes, showing no particular emotion.

“Did you hear me?” I say. “I asked if you wanted breakfast.” A pause. “You have to catch your plane tonight, so. Best to start the day, now. We still have a lot to do.”

“What about you?”

I shrug.

“My plane's tomorrow.”

“We have to be out of this place today.”

“I'll figure something out.”

“Joe.”

I look at you, really look, but I can't tell what I'm seeing. I don't know what you want from me. I don't think you know, either.

I step into the room, slowly, and sit down at the end of the bed. I'm giving you your space. Last night, I even slept on the couch.

“I've been thinking,” I say.

“You've been thinking?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Are you really afraid I'll kill you, if you break up with me?”

You shrug.

“And if you knew for certain I wouldn't, what would you do?”

You shrug again, then shake your head.

“I wouldn't break up with you.”

“Why not?” I ask. “I killed your mother. I followed you around and broke into your place. You said it yourself. You compared me to Mitch.”

“You're not Mitch.”

“I'm not going to change, (Y/n).”

You fall silent.

“Here's the thing. Last night, Nadia told me some things about your grandparents. You know what my first thought was?”

“To kill them.”

At least you know me. Maybe I kind of hate that you do.

But you need to. I need to show the worst parts of me right now, because I need you to see them.

“Yes,” I agree. “And I would have. I'd have gone over there right away, only I didn't want to leave you alone.”

I look at you, waiting for you to say something. To scream at me.

You don't. You say nothing.

I understand now, (Y/n).

Our relationship will never work if I only show you the best parts of me. I want to be perfect for you, but you are too smart to fall for it. You know there's a dark side. And so long as I keep it hidden from you, you will never know exactly what you want.

If I make you think I will ever stop protecting you, you might stay with me. You might stay with me for the person you fell for - the one you thought would never - but we'll just end up in this situation again down the line. You are too smart.

If I tell you the truth, show you the truth just today, you may leave me. But at least you'll live.

This is what I thought about last night. And also:

“I love you.”

“Okay…” you say slowly.

“Everything I do, I do to protect you.”

“I know that,” you whisper, and look down at the bedspread. “I know you think that.”

“I'm not going to stop protecting you. Not as long as I'm in your life. But I want you to have a life. So if you tell me to stop, to go away, I will.”

“I don't want that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don't know!” you shout, putting your hands on your head.

I won't take it personally. You are allowed to have feelings.

“Last night, you told me you hate me,” I say. “But that's not fair. I'm telling you who I am. The way I see it, your options are to hate me and break up with me, or to love me and stay with me.”

“Joe–”

“You can't have it both ways. You can't hate me and stay with me. It's not fair on either of us.”

“And what if I call the police?” you ask. “What about that option?”

“You tried to kill yourself last night,” I say, worriedly. “You're not in your right mind. You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Fuck you,” you spit at me. “You think they won't look into it?”

“Sure they will,” I say. “But I don't think they'll find anything.”

“If I leave you,” you tell me. “I'll never know what you're up to. What if you trick the next girl into believing the average Joe act? What if you kill everyone around her and then her? What then?”

“I would never hurt someone I love.”

“You're sick, Joe,” you say. “You need help.”

“I don't think so.”

You shake your head.

“So what? If I stay with you, I can't ever be mad at you? I can't ever show a negative emotion because it's not fair to you? Is that what you're telling me?”

“Not at all. I'm sure we'll have plenty of fights about the stupidest things. That's what couples do. But you can't blame me for protecting you if you know about it. If you choose it.”

“I can't agree to that.”

“Then I guess we're breaking up.”

“I don’t want that, either.”

“Figure out what you want, then,” I say. “What's your perfect scenario?”

“You don't kill anyone.”

“I don't just kill anyone. I only kill when I need to.”

“You're deranged,” you say. There is a disbelieving look on your face. “And you think I'll just go along with that?”

“I'll make you a promise,” I say seriously. “Not your grandparents. Not your family. Not so long as you go back to New York with me and stay there, out of their reach.

You laugh, unhappily.

“Well, fuck me, then! Guess I found the perfect man! You're going to kill people, but not my family! Guess that makes it all okay!”

“If you thought it was okay,” I say. “I would be very worried.”

“But you're not worried about yourself?”

“No.”

You lean your head back, staring at the ceiling, then close your eyes.

“If I break up with you,” you say. “I will never forgive myself. But what you're asking me… The way you want me to stay with you…” You shake your head. “There's no right answer here.”

“Nothing in life is exactly right,” I say. “There's just what you want, and what you don't. And I think you know what you want. I think you're just afraid to admit it.”

You look at me.

“You know what I want?” you say. “I want to stay in love with you. I want to stay so in love with you I can't think straight. I want to have sex every day and get married in a couple of years and have some kids who look like us because I'm selfish as fuck and you make me really happy, most of the time.” You take a breath. “But when I open a newspaper and see an obituary, I don't want to wonder if you had anything to do with it.”

“Then don't,” I say. “Don't wonder. Just ask me.”

“Just ask you?”

“Or better yet, I'll just tell you. No secrets.”

“No secrets,” you say. “Just like that? You have a billion secrets, Joe.”

“Not really. Not anymore.”

You stare at me.

[lemoncrushh]

The Entertainer II - Track 05 - That Harry Styles Quality

Summary: What if it wasn’t the end? What if Sky did actually see Harry at the Forum in the early 80s, and he saw her too? What if fate took hold of them both, and they realized their journey was not over? Set in 1981, Harry and Sky’s story continues with more music, more romance, and a few more twists and turns.

STORY PAGE

Track 05 Word Count: 5.2k+

Read The Entertainer

“I have tried calling you for days!” moaned Halo, dragging out the last word.

“It couldn’t have been days,” I argued, “you were at your mom’s until Sunday. This is only Wednesday.”

“Yeah huh!” she spat back. “I called twice Monday, and the line was busy. Then again Tuesday and it just rang and rang. And then now. That’s three days!”

I had to laugh as I kicked my feet up on the sofa and laid back. “Well, I’m here now, so let’s talk. How was Thanksgiving?”

“No no no. You’re not getting off that easily. Something’s up with you. What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

“Sky, I have been your best friend since forever. If your line is busy twice in one night, and it’s not ‘cause you’re talking to me, that means you’re on the phone with a guy.”

I giggled. “Okay. You got me there.”

“Who is it? Tell me!”

“Well…it’s someone you know…but haven’t seen in a long time.”

“Oh God, not Alan!”

“No,” I sighed. “Not Alan.” Why did everyone think I’d get back with my ex?

“Who?” Halo gasped. “Is it that photographer?”

“What photographer?”

“The one we met that night at the gallery who said you had great legs.”

“Eww, no!” I cringed. “He was gross!”

“I thought he was kinda cute.”

I rolled my eyes. Halo always had a soft spot for men who gave compliments and bought drinks.

“Let’s steer away from that…further back…like five years ago.”

“Okay, okay,” said Halo. “Five years ago…oh my God, Harry?”

“Bingo.”

“Sky, are you serious? You saw Harry? Holy shit, tell me everything! Or, wait…should I come over? Does this have a sad ending?”

“It…doesn’t have an ending. Yet.”

I spent the next hour filling Halo in on my encounter with Harry, our evening out, followed by a brief synopsis of our weekend together. I finished with a simple description of the previous evening and his confession.

“Oh, Sky! He loves you! He’s loved you all along!”

“I don’t know about that.”

“But that’s what he said, pretty much.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that.”

“Okay, but he has feelings for you. He’s never let that go. And it sounds like he wants to try to make it right.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“How do you feel?” my best friend asked.

“I’m a little scared, Halo. I mean…I never stopped loving him. But…you saw me. You were here to pick up the pieces.”

“God, was I ever,” Halo mumbled.

“Please don’t let me go through that again.”

“I won’t. We’ll make sure he’s in it for real, okay? But…just from what you told me…it sounds like he is.”

“He even wants me with him if he tours again.”

“Okay…” said Halo. “There’s a good way to test him. Is he leaving soon?”

“He hasn’t said. The band broke up, but he and Mitch are working on a solo thing. He said he’s just staying in LA for a while.”

“Ah, Mitch,” mused Halo. “I miss that doofus.”

I chuckled. “Want me to see if we can double date?”

“No thanks, not my type.”

“Halo!” I guffawed. “You slept with him!”

“Yeah, five years ago! My tastes have since upgraded. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

“Oh, you know. Harry’s different. He’s already an upgrade.”

“I will accept that.”

Time had changed Halo a lot more than it had changed me. While she still enjoyed rock music and going to concerts, she was no longer interested in following bands around and being a groupie. She had been working for an art gallery the past couple years, and her new hobby was schmoozing, as she called it. She said she enjoyed meeting more interesting and intellectual men, but I took that to mean she liked men with a lot of dough who enjoyed spending it on pretty women.

We finished the call by catching up on each other’s Thanksgivings and making loose plans to get together before Christmas to do some shopping.

“Is Harry planning to be here for the holidays?” Halo asked.

“Um…I guess?” I stumbled. “We haven’t really discussed it.”

“Oh, well I’m sure he will. Start thinking about what you’ll get him.”

I groaned, not looking forward to having to pick out a gift.

Halo laughed. “Relax, you have time. Keep me posted okay?”

I didn’t see Harry again that week, though he called me every night and we’d talk for at least a couple hours, sometimes until I was nearly asleep.

“I feel like my efforts to stay away are in vain,” Harry chuckled low through the receiver as I laid on my pillow.

“What do you mean?” I yawned.

“I’m still keeping you up,” he said. “I would much prefer to be doing it in bed.”

“Harry…” I grinned.

“Yeah, babe?”

I shook my head, pulling my sheet over my shoulder. “I need sleep.”

“I know, baby. But first…let me ask you out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“An old mate of mine is in town. His band is playing. I’d like to take you, if you’re free.”

“If I’m free?” I quipped. “Who else am I talking to until one a.m.?”

“So you’ll go?” Harry asked with a smile in his voice.

“Of course, I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up, alright? Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be here,” I yawned again.

“Goodnight, angel. Sweet dreams.”

I barely got a goodnight in before I drifted off quickly into a sea of green eyes and soft kisses.

“Close your eyes

I want to ride the skies in my sweet dreams

Close your eyes

I want to feel you tonight in my sweet dreams…”

Sweet dreams, indeed.

“Those crazy nights

I do remember in my youth…”

I lightly brushed my cheeks with blush as I sang along to Steve Perry. I was excited for my date with Harry - our first evening out since the restaurant the week before. And we were going to see a band play, so I decided to put my Journey record on the turntable to get the night started.

Dancing in the bathroom, I dropped the blush into my makeup bag and chose a lipstick.

“Those summer nights are calling…”

I’d just circled my lips with crimson when I heard a knock at the door. Giving one pucker to the mirror, I dropped the lipstick and dashed to answer.

“Sounds like the concert’s already started in here,” Harry beamed at me when I opened the door.

“Come in, I’m almost ready,” I smiled, still swaying my hips to the song.

Crossing the threshold, Harry pulled me to him.

“‘In the heat with a blue jean girl’,” he sang along as he slid his hands into the back pockets of my jeans. His eyes sparkled as they gazed into mine, and I felt weak in the knees.

“Too bad I’m not going to hear you sing tonight,” I said after he kissed me.

“Aw, I can’t compete with Steve Perry,” he joked.

I playfully pinched him and shut the door. “You know what I mean.”

Turning for the bedroom, I told him I’d just be a minute.

“What’s your friend’s name?” I called as I pulled a jacket from my closet.

“Who?” I heard Harry ask from the hall.

“Your friend we’re going to see.”

When I didn’t get a reply, I wondered if he heard me. “Harry, can you turn down the stereo?”

“I just did,” he said, surprising me in the doorway.

“Oh! You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Harry stepped toward me. “What were you saying?”

“I asked who we’re going to see. Do I know this band?”

Helping me into my jacket, Harry stood behind me, then wrapped his arms around me.

“Yeah, uh…Stargazer. Hunter Howe.”

“Oh. Why does that sound familiar?”

“The band went on tour with us. Last tour.”

“Oh! Oh, damn, I should have known that. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Harry rested his cheek against the top of my head as we swayed to the next Journey song.

“I didn’t see you on that tour. Or any tour. I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” I waited for him to add something else to his word, but instead, he turned me to face him. “Let’s not feel bad about the past. Let’s just…look forward to the future. Alright?”

I smiled and nodded as he brushed the back of his hand against my cheek.

“You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I beamed at him.

Stepping back, I let him get a good look at my outfit. I had to admit I felt cute. On top of my favorite pair of jeans, I wore a red and white striped blouse, a red belt and red shoes. My black jacket and a white hair comb on one side of my head finished the look.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Harry added.

Even if he hadn’t said it, the way he looked at me was enough to make me feel like the most gorgeous woman in the world.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked softly.

Licking his lips, he stood up straight and cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

I turned off the stereo on the way out and followed him to his car where he opened the door for me. Before I slid into the passenger seat, he lifted my chin and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

The stereo blasted a guitar solo as soon as he turned the key, making us both jump.

“Sorry,” he cringed, lowering the volume. “I forgot I had it up that loud.”

“No, turn it up,” I argued. “I love Van Halen.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned as he backed out of the parking spot. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

I turned in my seat and glared at him. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

Harry chuckled, grabbing my hand. “I just thought maybe you’d turned a bit soft.”

I gasped. “I am…offended, Harry Styles.”

“Sorry.”

“I am still and will forever be a rock and roll fan.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry snickered, turning up the tune just as David Lee Roth muttered “Have you seen Junior’s grades?”

We jammed out to several rock songs on the way to the club, including one by Stargazer that I loved immediately.

“What?” I eyed Harry when I caught him looking at me at a red light.

“I just love your love for music,” he commented with a grin. “I know I said it before, but I never met anyone like you.”

“I’m just me,” I smiled, sitting back and squeezing his hand.

“I know, and it’s wonderful,” he squeezed back.

The club was surprisingly crowded when we arrived, considering it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. A long line formed at the entrance, a bouncer checking IDs and such. Grabbing my hand, Harry pulled me to the front of the line, much to the dismay of a cluster of girls who gave me the evil eye.

“Hey man, good to see ya!” exclaimed the large man with a clipboard.

“How’s it goin’, mate,” nodded Harry as he slipped him something I could only assume was cash, just as I heard someone behind me yell, “Oh my God, is that Harry Styles?”

“Have a nice evening,” said the man as he lifted the velvet rope.

Harry pulled me inside, the echo of his name being called getting further and further away. It was quickly replaced with the deafening sound of a bass drum that kicked into Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog.”

The air was thick with smoke as Harry continued to pull me through the crowd, stopping only when we reached the bar.

“Are you okay?” he finally leaned over to ask me.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “As long as you didn’t pull my arm out of its socket.”

“Sorry, babe,” he grinned. “Just didn’t wanna lose you in the crowd. It can get pretty wild in these places.”

“Harry, I have been to a club before.”

His smile widened, and I caught a slight pink on his cheeks just as a hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey man, I thought it was you!”

Harry turned to face another guy, just about Harry’s build and height. He looked like he could be a musician, but I couldn’t place him. I watched as they exchanged handshakes and small talk, then the guy nodded at me and walked away.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. A fan.”

“Oh,” I giggled. “I thought he knew you.”

“They all act like they do. It makes it easier to approach me.”

“And the bouncer at the front…?”

“Never seen him before in my life.”

“But he obviously knew who you were.”

“Sure. It’s just an unspoken understanding we have, you know?”

“Doesn’t hurt that you have a wad of cash,” I interjected.

Harry side eyed me before turning to the bar. “That, too. D’you want a drink?”

“Vodka soda.”

I watched Harry as he ordered our drinks and handed the bartender money with exquisite finesse. Before I knew it, the bar itself had filled to the rim with patrons, whether they were ordering drinks or not. A couple of the girls from outside had made it in and crowded against me just to get a closer look at Harry. I realized then that even though to me he was still the Harry Styles I’d known years ago, in here, he was Harry Styles, rockstar.

“Let’s go over there,” I heard Harry instruct in my ear. “The band should be on soon.”

Instead of grabbing my hand like before, he gently placed his hand on the small of my back and led me to a table closer to the stage.

As soon as I removed my jacket, a waitress arrived like magic, asking if we needed anything. I shook my head, having barely made a dent in my cocktail, but Harry gestured for her to bring me another one as well as whatever he was drinking. As soon as she left, Harry slid closer to me, pushing my hair off my shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he mouthed, his voice barely audible over the loud music.

“Me too,” I smiled at him.

His fingers traveled down my back and found my back pocket, wedging themselves inside again. I blushed as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine.

“Styles, you son of a bitch!”

The words made me leap off my chair, nearly knocking over my drinks.

“Hey Charlie, what’s happening?” Harry greeted, wiping my red lipstick off his lips with one hand and reaching out his other to the strange man.

“Good to see you man, it’s been a while,” said Charlie who quickly looked at me and gave me the once over. As if I hadn’t just been embarrassed enough, his gaze gave me the heebie jeebies.

“Charlie, this is Sky. Sky, Charlie Groten. He’s Stargazer’s road manager.”

“How do you do?” I nodded politely.

“I do very well, sweetheart,” Charlie wiggled his brows. I wanted to puke.

As Charlie slid into the booth and started small talk with Harry, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. The escape wasn’t much better, however, because if any girl inside wasn’t snorting cocaine, she was discussing her sexual conquests with her friend. Now I remembered what I hated about being single.

After washing my hands and fluffing up my hair, I noticed the girl at the sink next to me staring at me in the mirror.

“You’re so lucky,” she declared when our eyes met.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve been trying to land Harry Styles for years. He’s such a hard catch. And I hear a fucking righteous lay.”

Clearing my throat, I reached for a paper towel. “Yeah, well…”

“Just make sure he wears a rubber ‘cause…” the girl made a face, “that last bitch he dated was nasty.”

Dumbfounded, I watched her walk around me and leave the bathroom. Drying my hands, I dropped the paper towel in the trash and left as well.

Fortunately, Charlie Grotesque was gone from our table when I returned. I was pleasantly surprised to find Harry sitting alone, a dimpled grin on his face as he watched me slide in next to him.

“What’s that smile for?” I asked.

“I just missed you. Glad to see you back.”

“I was gone two seconds.”

“Two seconds too long,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

As if on cue, the music stopped and the stage lights began to flash. A tall, long-haired guy stepped onto the stage and sat behind the drums, the crowd erupting into a crushing cheer. As the rest of the band members took their places, Harry lifted his arms and yelled, then gave a loud wolf whistle.

I smiled as Harry sat back in the booth, his left arm around my shoulders. It was fun to see him be part of the audience rather than the center of attention as the front man. I sat back too, sipping on my second vodka soda, and I watched this new singer give it his all. I had to admit, he was really good. He was tall and lean like Harry, with strawberry blonde hair that cascaded down his shoulders. Halfway through the first song, I caught him smiling at a woman near the stage, and I suddenly felt a twinge in my stomach. Though I knew it wasn’t jealousy, I couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“What d’ya think?” Harry asked in my ear when the song was over.

“They’re fantastic,” I replied. “Hunter’s a great front man.”

“I taught him everything he knows,” Harry smirked, then gave me a wink.

Though he was joking, I could see some truth in it. Hunter Howe had that Harry Styles quality. And that’s when it hit me. As the band started their next song, I watched Hunter cross the stage and wave at another girl before singing his first line. Through the whole first verse, he continued to stare at her.

The feeling I’d gotten - that little twinge - was the same feeling I’d gotten every time I’d watched Harry on stage. Though I knew he wasn’t singing to me, it had always felt like he was. Like we’d had a connection. It was a great feeling. I hoped the girl Hunter was singing to felt just as lucky.

The waitress kept the drinks coming, and by the middle of the band’s set, I was feeling tipsy. I excused myself to the ladies again, fortunately with no strange remarks from strange girls, but on my way back, I almost lost my footing and crashed into a guy.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered.

“Hey, it was my fault, baby. Let me buy you a drink.”

“No thanks, I’ve had plenty.”

“Then come sit in my lap, pretty thing,” he insisted.

“Oh. Uh, no thanks,” I blinked, trying my best to see through the smoke and the dark club.

I was able to get around him, but he still managed to grab my arm before I could get away.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I uh…don’t think my boyfriend would like that too much,” I replied, thinking on my feet.

“Boyfriend, huh?” the guy snorted, looking around. “I don’t see any boyfriend.”

“I’m right here,” announced Harry as he stepped up behind me.

I sighed with relief, turned around and slammed into his chest. He pulled me into a bear hug and guided me back to our table. I didn’t dare look back to see if the guy was watching.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried as Harry and I slid into our booth.

“Whatever for?”

“He was coming onto me.”

“I see that,” said Harry. “But that’s not your fault.”

He lifted my chin to look at him, and I saw the sincerity in his face. Lowering his mouth to mine, he kissed me ever so gently. Then I smiled and laid my head against his chest.

Harry was sweet and made sure the waitress only brought water for the next round. I was able to relax and sober up a bit before the band made a special announcement.

“Some of you might remember last year when we went on tour with a little-known band called Wildfire,” Hunter said into his microphone.

The crowd cheered and I sat up, looking at Harry.

“We really have a lot to thank those guys for,” Hunter continued, “and one of them just happens to be here tonight.”

The audience cheered louder.

“C’mon, Styles, you knew this was comin’. Get your ass up here.”

I glared at Harry who stared back at me. Then he grinned, shrugged and stood up. As he made his way to the stage, I suddenly felt nervous and excited all at once. I hadn’t seen him perform face to face in five years.

I clapped and bounced in my seat as he took the microphone and whispered something to Hunter. Then the band started the intro to a song I immediately recognized - one of Wildfire’s hits, “Only Angel.”

The crowd lost their minds. I could only imagine I was getting a taste of what it was like at a more recent Wildfire concert. My eyes were locked on Harry the entire time, although Hunter took the lead for the second verse. While he sang, I caught Harry looking my way, and he gave me one of those smiles that made me melt, just like in the early days. Then he pointed at me and placed his hand over his heart during the line “my only angel.”

When the song ended, I stood up and screamed louder than anyone. Harry waved to the audience with his dimpled grin that we’d all come to adore. My blood rushed to my toes, and I felt like I was that young girl at the Troubadour all over again.

“Alright, let’s do one more!” yelled Hunter, and the drummer did a count-off, leading them into “Honky Tonk Women”.

“Holy shit,” I muttered to myself, covering my face.

Deja vu was not the word for it. I watched in awe with wide eyes as Harry and Hunter took turns with the verses and harmonized with each other. It was the best thing I’d ever witnessed in my entire life. I danced through the entire song, feeling nostalgia and joy.

Harry took a bow and blew kisses at the crowd before giving Hunter a hug and stepping off stage. I clapped for him until he returned, his gorgeous face grinning from ear to ear.

“That was so amazing!” I screeched as I threw my arms around him.

“Thanks, baby,” he said, hugging me back.

We slipped back into the booth, and I could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. He grabbed a glass of water and guzzled it down. Then he looked back at me and chuckled.

“I loved watching you while I was up there,” he said. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” Harry looked at me with wide eyes. “I’ve missed how into it you are. It turns me on.”

I sat up proud. “Oh! Well…that’s good to know.”

With another chuckle, Harry pulled me to him and planted a fantastic kiss on my lips. And he didn’t stop. Slipping his tongue between my teeth, he pulled me even closer, one hand behind my neck, the other on my thigh.

My entire body lit up like a Christmas tree, suddenly needing to feel his touch. It didn’t matter that there was a crowd of people around us. They might as well have been invisible. Harry was the only other person in that room.

The band continued to play, but I had no idea what song they were singing. Harry’s tongue was doing more to my senses than any music could. I felt his hand slide up higher on my thigh, reaching the tightest part of my jeans. I gasped against his mouth, suddenly needing air.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed. “Let’s get outta here.”

I grabbed my jacket faster than humanly possible and pushed my body out of the booth, my knees still shaking. Harry took my hand and pulled me through the crowd like before, though it had grown much bigger than when we’d arrived. I heard a few people tell him he was great, and he gave a few thank yous, but we managed to make it to the exit in record time.

Though there was a chill in the night air, Harry’s car seemed to be just as hot as the club, and I quickly took off my jacket.

“Jesus, Sky,” I heard him mutter low.

“What?”

I barely had the word out before his mouth crashed into mine again. I smiled against his lips and gently pushed his chest with my palms.

“Harry. I want you, too,” I moaned through heavy breaths. “But maybe we should drive home first.”

“Right. Yeah. Let’s go.”

I sucked in my lips as he revved up the engine, letting the stereo blare again. He took my hand after he turned down the street humming along to Foreigner.

“Your desire is insane

You can’t stop until you do it again…”

I was definitely as turned on as Harry, and I thought this song was particularly sexy. I took his hand and placed it on my leg, letting him slide it as high as he wanted. Harry growled as he squeezed my thigh, turning his head just enough to give me the sexiest “fuck me” look.

I was relieved when the car turned onto Harry’s street, as we hadn’t discussed who’s “home” we were driving to. He pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, swiftly making his way around to my side of the car before I had time to slip back into my jacket.

The cool evening air chilled my arms as I followed Harry up the path to his front door. I could barely hear the click of the lock and switches of lights over my own desire pounding in my ears. Before I could adjust my eyes to the lights, Harry had me pressed against the door, a moan rising from his chest. His mouth found my neck, sucking hard underneath my ear as though he were a vampire. His hands cupped my breasts before fumbling with the top buttons. His wet mouth traveled down my neck to my chest while his hands slid around my waist and traveled down my butt cheeks, lifting me up. I wound my legs around him tight as he carried me through the den and up the stairs.

“Urgent, just wait and see

How urgent my love can be…”

Laying me down on his bed, Harry finished unbuttoning my blouse and continued to kiss the tops of my breasts. The room was dark except for the sliver of moonlight shining through his curtains. I heard him kick off his boots with a thud as he breathed heavily over me. I tried to reach for him, but he sat up and tugged off his shirt, throwing it on the ground. Then he rose from the bed and I watched his silhouette relieve itself of his jeans.

When I felt the mattress move, I reached for my own jeans, but Harry stopped me.

“No,” he whispered. “Let me.”

With great precision, Harry unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. I raised my hips to help him pull them down, but he stopped at my knees. His mouth nipped at my hips, his teeth tugged at my panties. I could feel myself get wet all over again, and I wondered how much more I could stand.

“Harry…” I moaned.

I thought I heard him chuckle low, though I wasn’t sure as he ripped my jeans off my legs like a Band-Aid. Then he slithered back up my body, resting himself between my thighs. I gasped as I felt his erection pressed against me.

His fingers teased me next, playfully tracing the lace on my bra before he finally pulled it away, revealing my tender flesh. My breaths quickened as he took my breast into his mouth and let his tongue play. Throwing my head back, I raked my fingers through his long hair.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” I cried.

“Mmm, good.”

Harry looked up at me. Though it was dark, I could still tell his eyes were wild with sexual desire. Peeling off my bra, he dropped it beside us, then did the same with my panties.

“Sky,” he said, his face finally above mine. “Baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

I felt the cold metal of his rings touch my thighs as he lifted them up, entering me quickly but with ease. My entire body was on fire, and I could feel every bit of him. We rocked gently at first, then he picked up speed. My toes began to curl as he thrusted harder, and I whimpered with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy when you do that, babe,” Harry groaned in my ear.

“When…when I do what?”

“When you cry like that. And say my name.”

“Oh.”

“I fucking love it. You’re so hot.”

I giggled nervously, nearly out of breath. “So are you.”

“Yeah? Tell me what you like.”

“What d’you mean?”

“What things you like. What gets you off.”

I stared at him, biting my lip. He’d slowed his thrusts, but I could still feel him moving inside me.

“Do you like dirty talk, or no?”

“I…suppose so,” I whispered. “I like when you tell me what you like.”

“Yeah? Did you like when I said I’m gonna fuck you good?”

“Mmmhmm,” I nodded.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, shifting his hips and thrusting hard again.

I let out an expletive as Harry moved faster, pinning my hands above my head. My ankles wrapped around him, I surrendered to the high and cried out in orgasm. Harry soon followed, his hot body trembling above mine.

“Baby…” he breathed in my ear.

We laid in silence for a moment or two before I whispered, “I like that.”

“What, babe?”

“You calling me baby.”

“Mmm,” Harry sounded as he rolled off of me and faced me. “I’m glad.”

I pushed away the hair stuck to his face as he looked at me in the moonlight, his beautiful eyelashes fluttering. I could see his face better now, a gorgeous expression on it as he stared at me. Then with a sexy little smirk twitching his lips, he ran his hand down my shoulder.

“You called me your boyfriend tonight,” he declared.

“Oh,” I blushed. “That creep was hitting on me. I wanted him to think I was taken.”

“Ohh. So I’m…not your boyfriend?”

“Well…” I bit my lip and shrugged. “I dunno. Are you?”

“Am I?” Harry mocked, leaning towards me, eyes wide and a goofy grin.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you want to be?”

I felt Harry’s chest shake as he chuckled low. Then he pulled me closer and kissed me.

“Yes, baby. Sky. Mary Lou Jones. You sexy, stubborn woman. I wanna be your bloody boyfriend, alright?”

He rolled me on top of him, kissing me with determination, like ending the sentence with an exclamation point.

“Well…” I sighed, when I came up for air. “At least that’s settled.”

Songs mentioned:

Air Supply - Sweet Dreams

Journey - Stone In Love

Van Halen - And the Cradle Will Rock

Nazareth - Hair of the Dog

Harry Styles - Only Angel

The Rolling Stones - Honky Tonk Women

Foreigner - Urgent

Taglist: @fkinavocado, @daphnesutton, @freedomfireflies

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[edgessunflower]

Puff puff pass

Pairing: David Wooderson x Fem reader

Description: You and David go to the emporium with his friends leading to a moment at his house after

Warning: Minor Marijuana use, mentions of alcohol

You were on your roof when you heard a rock hit the gutter, looking down to see your best friend David below in your driveway "Hey Dave whataya doing down there?". He laughs as he looks at you "I'm waiting for my best friend to get off her roof so we can meet up with the boys and go to the emporium and have our monthly puff puff pass session" your eyes twinkle in excitement, climbing back in your window and changing, climbing down until you jumped off your car and got in david's, you both laugh and listen to music until you parked and meet up with Slater and Michelle outside the emporium, going in to see everyone sitting around each other, cheering when they see you and dave following michelle and slater "Let's get this started!". You feel your body turn limp after puffing on the joint, passing it to dave who pats your head making you giggle as time goes on and blurs until the session is done, ending with slater eating a burger from a nearby restaurant, Pink laid out around empty beer bottles, Don in the lawn chair asleep, Michelle dancing to music playing nearby, Mitch eating pepperoni pizza, david leaning back enjoying the last puff of the joint while you lay your head on his stomach, eating cheese pizza until you both get up and walk to the nearest payphone, calling and telling your parents that you were staying the night with david and they agreed saying hi to him since both yours and his parents were friends for years when they were growing up. You go to his house and share another joint, watching movies on his couch and listening to music on his record player as you feel yourself dozing off while his hand gently rubs your side with your head in his lap as you try to stay awake "Hey sleepyhead you'd be more comfortable somewhere else" you giggle quietly as he picks you up, carrying and gently tossing you in his bed then tossing your spare clothes at you as he goes in the bathroom to change, you had slept over together plenty of times, always sharing a bed without a care but this time you felt different, immediately looking away when he came out with nothing but shorts on making you hide under the covers. You pretend to be asleep as your heart races, feeling him lay next to you until you look to see him staring at you with a fond look on his face that you've never seen before "Why are you looking at me like that?" feeling very flustered as he slowly leans closer to you "Because you're so pretty" you didn't know who moved in but the two of you were in a gentle and sweet kiss, holding each other's faces until things went further, stopping and agreeing to take things slow for a bit, knowing you felt the same towards each other and smiling while you lay there until you feel his hand under your shirt "What are you doing?" you turn to see him holding one of his shirts, raising your arms and putting the shirt. You tangle each other's legs together under the covers, wrapping your arms around each other with your head in the crook of his neck, falling asleep to the warmth radiating off his body, ready for the next step of your relationship with each other as you both fall asleep, waking up to see him looking at you and rubbing his hand down your back under his shirt which made you both smile, sharing another kiss as you both laid there until you got up and ate breakfast.

[yellowsugarwords]

If Clem and the Ericson kids had access to everything from before the walkers, would would be the first thing they would do?

omg this was such a blast to write!!! I hope you like it, friend :’) 💛

Clementine: Clementine would go into a tech store, not only looking for batteries, cords, and supplies needed, but also to snag a new pair of walkie-talkies. She could decorate them with AJ and they each could have one. She missed the childlike wonder she felt whenever she had her walkie on her. If she could give a sliver of that feeling to AJ, she would in a heartbeat.

AJ: AJ immediately went for a toy store. Any stuffed animals or toys he ever got were used, dirty, and falling apart. Finally, he could get a new Disco Broccoli toy, and maybe some coloring supplies for him to share with Tenn. He finally felt like a kid wandering through the store, knowing he could take whatever he wanted.

Marlon: Marlon went straight for the hunting store. He wanted to get some more arrows, tape, gloves, and knives to prep everyone at the school, plus some. If they were well equipped, they could tackle any threat that came their way. Mitch and Marlon had a blast exploring the store and snagging whatever they deemed might be useful.

Louis: Louis went straight for a video game store. Here admired the merch, the dust-covered games, and, most importantly, he admired the comic books. He snagged a few, excited to head back and read them with the kids and Clementine. As he wandered through the store, he tried to gather supplies that they could use for building or modifying things around the school. Mainly though, he was excited to read comics alongside his friends again, especially ones they hadn’t needed to reread over and over.

Violet: Violet darted for a clothing store, beaming once she got inside. She grabbed beanies, jackets, new jeans, a new pair of boots, gloves, and socks. She wanted a whole new wardrobe, both for fashion’s sake and because she hadn’t received new clothes in around 6 years. She couldn’t wait for some fresh, non-used clothing, and she couldn’t wait to pass it down to the younger kids as they grew up.

Mitch: A hunting store alongside Marlon. All he wanted was to get a sharp, new knife, some bullets, and a new gun. Yeah, he knew he could go anywhere and snag anything, but not only did he want to be prepared and equipped, but he had a blast roaming an abandoned store all alone, snagging whatever he pleased before heading home with his new goodies.

Willy: Willy would race into a drug store or corner store, snagging all the snacks and candy he could fit into his arms. He had so deeply missed snack foods, instead of eating merely for survival. He missed late-night treats with his siblings, watching TV while their parents slept. For a moment, it was like he could go back in time.

Aasim: Aasim would head straight for a coffee shop. It was his quiet, safe haven where he used to sit with his parents and read to his siblings. He never liked coffee - only tea - and would relax to the wonderful smells all around him. After he was sent away, he never got to experience that again. He could practically feel the freshly roasted coffee and over-fresh croissants. His shoulders fell, realizing it would never become a reality again.

Ruby: Ruby went to a craft store, gathering some knitting supplies, notebooks, crayons, markers, and paint. She really just wanted more comforting supplies to pass the time, and to benefit the whole of the group when they returned home. She could spend her free time crocheting or knitting, and could provide blankets, mutts, jackets, and more to the Ericson members. She couldn’t wait to get started.

Tenn: Ten went straight for the art supplies store. He had been running out of pencils and paper for months, and tried his best to reuse and scribble on whatever scraps he could find. Being able to snag several new books and hoards of new art supplies. He would be occupied for at least the next year with everything he snagged.

Omar: Omar wandered into a massive retail store, exploring the furniture, groceries, games, toys, and more. He hadn’t been in one since he was a toddler. It was before the end of the world, and it was before his behavior caused his parents to send them away. For a brief moment, he felt free. He felt like he was a kid again: the whole world at his fingertips before it all fell apart.

Brody: Brody gleefully scurried into a library, looking for a book or two to steal to add to their library collection. At this point in the apocalypse, all the Ericson kids had read practically every book once over in the library. If she could find a few new ones, especially ones that the younger students would like, it could make life within their school’s walls a little more fun.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 💌☕️♡

[respectfulrebel]

^^ Me the entire time reading this chapter 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I can’t put into words how special this story is to me. I already can’t wait to reread it, if you ever decide to publish it I can’t wait to buy it and have it on my nightstand so I can read it over and over and I then read it to my children if I ever have any or my cats if I don’t ever have children.

It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who'd once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia's hair and smile at Noah's pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

Like this part already made me want to go back and reread from the beginning. It hasn’t even started yet and I’m already emotional.

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia's curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string.

I knew it 😭😭😭😭 Hundreds of hours of consuming fiction in all forms has conditioned me to be suspicious of seemingly unimportant details and it finally paid off 😭 Your mind is brilliant for planting a seed in literally the first chapter and seeing it through to have such a massive payoff 😭😭😭

"What?" she uttered before shaking her head. "How could that-? I don't own red socks."

"You did," Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, "when you were six."

CHILLS! LITERAL CHILLS!

"I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn't have any more socks or that those would fray."

He worried 😭 that she wouldn’t have😭 any more 😭 socks 😭 or that those 😭would fray 😭😭😭 at 7 years of age? 😭😭😭 oh sweet boy 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"There was something..." Grandma went on. "It was't just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I'm convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike... it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn't want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things... so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost-that something would come between you and your relationship would strain." She looked intently at them for a while. "I've never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other," she looked directly at Noah, "but you, my dear child, you never left her side." Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them-every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins.

I’m crying, literally 😭😭😭 He never left her side 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 my heart

And in that moment, her life changed.

Noah saved her.

Stooooooooooop 😭😭😭���😭😭😭😭😭😭

"We've been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please."

Literally me though, I needed to know 🫠🫠🫠

"I'm so scared of losing you one day," she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

FELT THAT 😭😭😭

"I told you. You've always been mine, Lia."

Still crying. Forever crying for those two 😭😭😭

This was an emotional one for me. The amount of love, work, research and planning you’ve put into this story really shows and I can’t tell you how appreciative I am and how lucky I feel to be able to read this and talk to you about it 🥺🥺

I love you and your brilliant mind so much 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

zutto — chapter eleven | wc: 5.9k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah and Lia get answers from Noah's Grandma to all the questions they've had since Koi No Yokan.

Reading time: 25mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, slight angst, japanese folklore*, chinese folklore*, magical realism, fluff, a few tears, therapy, mentions/allusions to everything that has happened until now, including lia and noah's troubled childhood, lia's abusive relationship with mitch, and the time noah and lia slept together when they were drunk. Answers to all the mysteries that happened in Koi No Yokan.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

The house welcomed them with the earthy, lingering fragrance of incense. It was a scent neither Lia nor Noah could identify yet, for it was unfamiliar—perhaps it was woven from cedarwood. Perhaps sandalwood. Nevertheless, the scent and warmth of the house wrapped them in a sense of home despite knowing they were far from their own. It was an odd mix of comfort and respectful distance; they knew they were guests in a house where every detail was arranged with thoughtful care by someone else, and yet, it felt like being home in a way. But it wasn’t the place which gave them that feeling, no. 

It was Grandma. 

They slipped off their shoes at the entrance, following tradition, and as Lia wiped her eyes, Noah leaned into a hug to envelop his grandmother, a gentle but steady wrapping of arms that worked as a reminder of everything she had quietly done for him. As a boy, he had been unaware of it all, but now, as a grown man, he was aware and full of gratitude and admiration. 

“Why don’t you let Emi take your things upstairs?” Hana suggested, a familiar sparkle in her eye that meant she felt very joyful at having them home, finally. “I’ll prepare some tea, and we can sit in the tea room.”

At that, they both turned to see Emi, who had appeared with graceful timing at the entrance. She was a woman with short black hair in her late forties who had been assisting Hana for years. Noah and Lia knew her from their previous visits, and once again, as she stood with her hands neatly clasped and she nodded politely in their direction, her expression remained the same as always: serene and carrying a formality that made her seem both close and reserved at once. Though Hana managed the house alone, Emi’s help had become essential as of lately. The house was spacious and slightly too big for a woman alone. There were countless small details to tend to, and Hana, with her body aging with every passing day—that pain in her right leg, the backache—found herself struggling with certain tasks. Emi was there to lend her hands, as she had likely done for others throughout her life.

Emi’s presence had taken on a near-reverent quality since the moment she was hired, and that attitude applied not only to Hana but also to any guests arriving at the house. Her English was very poor, and that had led to some awkward exchanges between her and Noah and Lia in the past. Once, Lia had tried to bridge the gap and she’d asked Emi to sit with them at the tea table. But Emi, polite and respectful as ever, had simply smiled, bowed, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Lia feeling guilty at the thought that, while they were indulging in pastries and warm teas, the woman was cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps it was a cultural legacy of deep-seated respect, rooted in the tradition of servitude where service was considered a quiet honor, but it still didn’t sit too well with neither Lia and Noah. Hana told them, after a few times, there was nothing they could do and they had to accept the way she was, and so they never really said much else, not even when they felt a tinge of guilt.  

Noah thanked Emi gently, shaking his head when she made to lift one of their heavy suitcases. There was no way he was going to let that woman carry those heavy bags upstairs. But as expected, Emi insisted, saying something in Japanese and bending down. Noah exchanged a look with Lia, as if asking for a help she couldn’t provide. Emi attempted again to lift one of the bags, her intent clear even without words and ignoring Noah’s hands. 

“Can you tell her I’ll take care of it?” Noah asked Hana. “They’re too heavy. She’ll hurt her back. I can manage.” 

Hana nodded, understanding, and with a sweet voice but reverence in her tone, indicated to Emi—in Japanese, of course—to leave the task to Noah. Emi listened to Hana with more will than she had listened to Noah, for she nodded in understanding immediately and retreated after offering Noah another nodding and a smile that he tried to weirdly reciprocate. 

Lia trailed behind Noah as he took both suitcases upstairs at once, her carrying their backpacks, and once they reached the top of the stairs, she paused in front of the guest room door where she had always stayed. 

Noah kept walking towards his room until he noticed Lia standing far from him.

“You don’t think we’re sleeping in separate beds, let alone in separate rooms, do you?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, but her voice softened as she glanced toward the stairs. “I just don’t want to be inconsiderate. Maybe we should talk to Grandma about it first.”

After a brief pause, Noah nodded.

“Yeah. Sure. We’ll talk to her.” He extended a hand to her, and he waited until Lia took it to lead her into his room, sliding the doors open. 

The room was bigger than the guest room, square in shape, with a big futon laying on a wooden tatami, clean soft bedding drapped over it and an array of pillows. There was a small desk next to the door, facing the bed, and two more sliding doors on one side that led to a cozy balcony overlooking the distant mountains. Noah had never really stopped to appreciate how cozy the room was, but now he imagined how much warmer it would feel, having Lia lying in his bed. 

Noah set the suitcases in one side and Lia placed their backpacks on the desk. 

After spending a few minutes sorting through her toiletries and hanging up some clothes in the wardrobe, Lia slipped away to the bathroom for a quick break. Just then, a knock on the door startled Noah, causing him to turn around. He found Emi by the threshold, carrying more pillows in her arms and two colorful blankets. A sigh escaped him; he couldn’t find a way to explain they didn’t need so many, and he didn’t want to discharge her and offend her, so he simply stowed the extras in the wardrobe, thanking her.

Lia came back from the bathroom with her hair gathered in a comfy bun, and both headed downstairs. 

Grandma was in the kitchen, a space that carried the comforting smell of teas being prepared and food being cooked. Hana was placing an iron kettle on a tray and arranging three delicate porcelain cups beside a plate of traditional sweets when both stepped into the room. 

As Hana looked up, her eyes softened, the faint creases at their edges deepening. She paused, noticing the way Noah and Lia lingered at the door as if feeling shy about something. 

Before she focused on that, a surge of disbelief spread through her. It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who’d once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia’s hair and smile at Noah’s pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

“Is everything to your liking?” Hana asked, her gaze soft but searching.

“Yes,” Lia replied quickly. Noah nodded in agreement, but then Lia glanced at him before adding, a hint of hesitation in her voice, “We were wondering if… if Noah and I could… share a room?”

Hana’s attention drifted downward, catching the subtle movement between their bodies. Noah’s fingers reached for Lia’s, and she quietly laced hers with his. Hana’s eyes lingered on their joined hands for a moment, before her lips curved into an understanding smile.

With a quiet satisfaction that neither Noah nor Lia fully comprehended, Hana lifted the tea tray and moved gracefully around the kitchen island, gesturing for them to follow without saying a word. Despite her petite frame, there was an elegance and authority in her movements.

Noah and Lia exchanged a look, then followed her into the tea room.

Hana’s tea room was minimal yet spacious, containing a square wooden table in the center surrounded by floor cushions. A single cabinet along the wall held a modest assortment of teacups and plates and a bouquet of dry flowers that had been there since she moved into the house, crafted by Lia, of course. On the left, the panneled windows made of washi paper let in the soft, diffused light from the garden at the back of the house. The room had always felt like a sacred space. 

Noah and Lia sat side by side, waiting in a reverent silence as Hana kneeled down in front of them across the table and poured the tea, the steam unfurling in delicate wisps that mingled with the scent of sencha. Lia wrapped her hands around the warm mug only to be warned by Hana. 

“It’s hot, dear. Be careful.”

It was always the same warning, and yet, Lia never seemed to care about it. Hana would always say the same, and Lia would always keep her hands around the mug because instead of burning her hands, the heat brought a sense of grounding to her that spread from her hands to the rest of her body. 

Next to her, Noah, normally patient, was growing a bit restless. He was expecting an answer. Yes. No. It had been a simple question, right? Can we share a room? Can Lia sleep in my bed?  He just needed a simple “yes” or “no” —a “yes” better than the other option because truth was, he didn’t know what he would do if Hana said he wanted them to keep distance while in the house. But Hana had to be so cryptic. She had to draw things out and keep him on this toes. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hana’s old but wise eyes met his just as she finished pouring herself tea. Her expression was one almost… mischievous. There was softness in it, but she had a knowing smile on her lips that hinted at secrets only she knew. 

Just as Noah opened his mouth to speak, she said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She started to rise, and instinctively, Noah made a move to help, but she waved him off. 

“No need, my dear. Just give me a moment.”

She dissappeared down the hall, her footsteps a soft patter that didn’t quite fade entirely as she retrieved what she went looking for in a nearby room. She returned moments later. In her wrinkled hands, she held a small, dark wooden box. She settled back onto the cushions. 

“Is that where you’ve been keeping my old baby teeth?” Noah joked, gesturing to the box with a smirk. Beside him, Lia chuckled, but Hana’s silence—her smile still serene—quickly quieted them. 

“Not quite,” was her reply. 

Hana placed the box on the table, facing her. Her own cup of tea steamed right next to it. She slowly opened it, but the attached lid created a barrier that made it impossible for Lia and Noah to see what was inside. Lia shifted, hands on her knees, lifting herself slightly and stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of whatever that was. 

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia’s curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string. 

The string lay delicate and faded in Hana’s palm. It was fraying slightly at the edges where time had worn it thin. Once bright red, it had softened to a muted, dusty crimson. Unbeknownst to the young couple in the room, it had stubbornly survived, first wash after wash, and then travel after travel until it was kept safe in the box that now lay on the table. 

“What’s that?” Lia asked, her eyes jumping to Hana’s, for she couldn’t make sense of the mystery that a tiny worn string could hold. 

She hadn’t noticed Noah going stiff, his eyes frozen over the piece of red laying in Hana’s hand. 

“That’s…” Noah began. He blinked, frowning a little as if he was trying to put the pieces together. He extended an arm and as gently as Hana had done, he took the string in his palm. “That’s a lose string from one of Lia’s socks,” he responded, more to himself than to Lia or Hana. 

Lia’s confusion only deepened at Noah’s words and at his reaction. He kept staring at the string in his palm as if it was made of gold. 

“What?” she uttered before shaking her head. “How could that—? I don’t own red socks.”

“You did,” Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, “when you were six.”

Lia wasn’t following. Noah continued.

“It got stuck on the pedal of my bike the first day we met, when I let you ride it. I gave it to Grandma right after I went back home. I thought…” The memories hit him, one after another. He nearly chuckled at his innocence back then. “I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn’t have any more socks or that those would fray.”

Lia’s gaze flickered between the delicate string and the grandmother’s wise, knowing expression. She understood why little Noah, with his big heart and innocent worries, would have been anxious over the lost string. But Grandma? Why had she kept it for so many years? Why had she held on to it so reverently?

Unsure of what to say or feel, Lia found herself at a loss for words. She glanced at Noah, who was just as silent, both of them looking to Grandma.

“Have you heard about the red string of fate?” Hana asked then. 

Noah’s brow furrowed, and he nodded slowly. “I think I might’ve heard something about it… Isn’t that Chinese folklore?”

Grandma gave a gentle nod with an understanding smile. “Yes, it is. But that doesn’t mean it applies only to that region.”

Lia held her tea cup close, her fingers tracing the warmth that seeped into her palms. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Grandma’s face as she waited.

“According to the myth,” Grandma continued, “the string of fate is an invisible red thread tied around the fingers of those destined to meet, especially soulmates or true loves. The ones connected by this thread are bound to find each other, no matter the distance, time, or obstacles. Though the cord may stretch or become tangled, it is said to never break, symbolizing a bond that is unbreakable and meant to be.”

“Folklore,” Lia concluded, a tinge of dubiety in her tone.

“Folklore, indeed,” Grandma agreed with a tilt of her head. “Life is not that simple, or beautiful. Some people are meant to be, but they never find their way to each other. However, sometimes they do. Sometimes they find each other at the strangest of times; sometimes when they are old, carrying the weight of their lives with them, and sometimes… when they are merely kids, with everything still ahead of them.”

“This is a broken string, Grandma,” Noah pointed out, extending his open palm as if trying to prove a point.

“And I said the red thread is invisible,” she replied with a soft smile touching her lips. “When you came home with that string in your hand, I kept it in a drawer for days, just because you were so concerned about Lia’s socks. But weeks later, when I found it again, I remembered the old myth, the one that had traveled from family to family, village to village, weaving its way across countries. By then, you and Lia were already inseparable, and I couldn’t help but wonder…” She trailed off, tilting her head as she looked at the thread as though it might reveal a hidden truth, as if it held the memories of years gone by. “I wondered if there was something to it. So, I kept it, out of curiosity. And as I watched you both grow—the more time you spent with each other, the more obvious it became.”

“What was obvious?” Lia asked, quietly. 

Hana’s smile deepened.

“That you were soulmates.”

Noah and Lia didn’t say a thing as they absorbed her words in quiet wonder and daze.

“When you moved in with Noah on your eighteenth birthday, I remember Noah calling to let me know that you’d settled in. There was something different in his voice—a blend of joy, contentment, and peace I’d never heard from him before. And then, the day you graduated, the look on his face when you came down the stairs in that beautiful dress, with those shoes you didn’t want to wear… Do you remember that, Lia?”

“I remember,” she replied as the memories flooded back. 

She recalled dancing with a classmate whose name had long since slipped her mind. She recalled Jolly telling her he was suspicious that Noah liked a girl. She remembered sneaking vodka shots with her friends in the restroom, and later that night, Noah giving her a piggyback ride to her room. And yes, she remembered the way he looked at her before any of that—a look she had assumed was the fond gaze of a best friend to whom you mean the world. Nothing more.

She turned her head to look at Noah. He was focused on Grandma, though there was a faint blush coloring his cheeks.  

“There was something…” Grandma went on. “It was’t just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I’m convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike… it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn’t want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things… so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost—that something would come between you and your relationship would strain.” She looked intently at them for a while. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other,” she looked directly at Noah, “but you, my dear child, you never left her side.” Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them—every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins. 

Be that as it may, Noah had always remained close to her. She had, too, in her own way and despite trying to push him away.  

“So,” Noah ventured, “you’re saying that we’ve always been meant to be together?”

“Yes. Lia has always been meant for you, and you for her. That’s what I believe, even if it sounds unreasonable, fantastical—you have every right to feel that way,” her voice flattered as her gaze drifted to a spot on the floor, unfocused. Lost in thought, her expression softened, and tears welled in her eyes. “But you’re here now. You’ve come back to me, together,” she continued, a smile breaking through the weight of years past, “after everything you’ve been through, all the struggles my children have faced so far away from me… I can only imagine how difficult it’s been, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything for you. But now, you’re finally here, as you were always meant to be.”

Seeing Grandma’s silent tears trail down her cheeks was almost too much for them to bear. Even with the joy in this moment, the pain she’d carried across the years was evident, stretching from L.A. to this quiet town in Japan. She had watched, powerless, from afar as Noah and Lia overcame struggle after struggle—every little and not so little thing that threated to keep them apart. She’d been alone, helpless against the silent ache that crossed oceans—the butterfly effect.  

Lia resisted the impulse to react to Hana’s tears, instead setting her cup of tea down quietly on the table. Without a word, she reached over and took the string from Noah’s hands, holding it with a calm resolve.

The moment the fabric touched her skin, she was pulled back to that morning, twenty-one years ago. 

She remembered waking up alone in a crumbling house, piecing together a small breakfast from what she could find in the kitchen. She’d dressed in clothes that had piled up at the foot of her bed, unsure of how to wash them or make the machine downstairs work. Hoping to give them a different smell, she’d played in the garden among the flowers until her clothes smelled of lavender and thyme. Inside, she’d lost herself in her sketching and coloring, hours slipping by in a quiet solitude she barely noticed anymore. When hunger crept in, she’d scavenged an apple from the fridge, slicing away the bruised parts and eating what was left. Eventually, she’d perched by the window, watching the world pass outside, dogs barking in the distance, occasional cars rumbling by. Finally, she climbed the stairs back to her room to put on some red socks and boots. She’d opened the house door, stepped outside, and settled herself on the concrete. A while later, Noah had appeared.

And in that moment, her life changed. 

Noah saved her. 

With the back of her hand, Lia wiped a stray tear as she blinked. She rubbed the string between her fingers, its fibers stiff but delicate, like a fragile relic of the past that carried the memory of those early days—painful and sweet at the same time. 

Both Hana and Noah waited for her to speak. It took a moment, but finally, she opened her mouth, her voice quivering as she looked at Hana, eyes glassy. 

“Can I keep it?”

Noah half-expected Hana to hesitate. After guarding this small piece of their past—of their beginning— for so many years, he thought she might be reluctant to let go, fearing that releasing it might somehow weaken the bond between them. But Hana’s response was instant. Her smile brightened as she nodded.

“You can keep it, darling.”

Maybe, Noah thought, seeing them together after all these years had finally soothed Hana’s fears, rather than fueling them. He was still taking it all in, not so much the fact that she’d kept this string for over two decades, but the meaning behind it. 

But it made sense.

Every little thing made sense. 

And if he was honest, it was exactly how he wanted it. 

He’d wanted Lia since that Saturday morning when she was six and he was seven, in one way or another. 

He watched her fingers play with the red string, as if she were trying to understand if it was just a scrap of her old sock or a sign of something greater. It might have been nothing more than a forgotten string. Or perhaps it was indeed the physical proof of a bond that had been with them since childhood.

His tea sat untouched, forgotten as he focused solely on Lia, watching the worry etched into her expression. He couldn’t look away. He whispered her name, hoping to see if she was all right or if all of this was becoming too much. Her big brown eyes met his, unguarded and glassy with emotion. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just looked at him, and then, her concern shifted toward him. Just as he was about to tell her he was fine, she turned to Hana.

“What happened to Noah?” Lia’s voice was steady but edged with urgency. “The coughing. The fever. All those flowers.”

Hana’s gaze softened, though her expression remained unreadable. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” she replied, sensing Lia’s growing distress.

But Lia shook her head. “No. Now. We need to know.”

Hana hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“Lia, my darling,” she began gently, “you just got here. Maybe one story is enough for today.”

“We’re fine,” Noah interjected, his tone resolute. He rested a hand on Lia’s knee, squeezing it lightly. “We’ve been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please.”

For a moment, Hana’s shoulders slumped as though she were carrying the weight of something long-buried. She took a slow breath, then nodded, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the walls of the room, as if she were looking back into a distant memory.

“When you were little, Noah,” she began, “I used to tell you folklore stories… so many you probably couldn’t keep track of them all.” She offered a bittersweet smile, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Do you remember any those?”

“Some. You even got me a compillation book one Christmas.”

Hana nodded. “Yes, I did. And you’d beg me to read them, even when you should’ve been fast asleep.” She paused, eyes unfocused as if seeing the past replay in her mind. “There was one story—the tale of a boy and a girl. This girl loved the boy, loved him so much that it seemed to consume her. But the boy…” Her voice trailed off. “He didn’t feel the same way. It was a one-sided love, and because of that… she fell ill.”

Lia’s brow furrowed. “Ill?”

“Yes. In our culture, we call it Hanahaki disease. It begins with a feeling, a weight in the chest, but then it grows. Flowers begin to bloom inside you, filling your lungs with every unreturned feeling. And the more the love festers, the worse it gets.”

Noah frowned, his mind racing. The name felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing the full story. 

“That’s not exactly what happened to me,” Noah intervened, lowering his voice. “I got sick every time Lia was physically away. But got better when she was around. And then one day, all of a sudden, the entire thing disappeared. On top of that, it was never a non-reciprocal feeling, so it cannot be the reason why I was coughing up flowers.”

“Not everything happens as its written in the books, my dear. As for the cough stopping one day and never coming back, maybe Lia can tell you more about that.”

Noah turned to Lia, surprised to see something in her expression he hadn’t expected—a trace of guilt, a hint of something she’d held back. She had listened intently, but now it was as if Hana’s words had pulled a thread that led to a long-kept secret. Her gaze met his, a small crease forming between her brows, her face shadowed by a reluctant admission.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Hana said, her voice gentle but decisive.

Both Noah and Lia looked up, startled.

“But we just sat down,” Lia protested. “The tea…”

“Don’t worry about the tea,” Hana replied, already rising with her cup in hand. She smiled warmly at them both before turning, and with a gentle slide of the door, left them in the quiet intimacy of the tearoom.

Noah turned back to Lia with a deeper frown, a look of weariness in his eyes that said he was done with so much overwhelming. There were still questions in the air and he wanted answer for all of them. Now.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration. 

Lia took a steadying breath, sipped her tea, and set the cup down beside the string as she searched for the right words. 

“I think she’s right,” she started. “I know I brushed off all those times you mentioned Grandma’s theories—that being close to you somehow made you feel better. But after hearing about this string, that story, how long she’s held onto it… maybe there really are things beyond what we can explain and understand. Maybe this strange flower-coughing disease is one of them.” 

“I’m with you on that,” Noah replied, his gaze holding hers. “But it wasn’t one-sided when I fell head over heels for you, Lia.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But it took me months to realize it myself and then, accept it.”

Noah’s eyes���and mind—were clouded with confusion. Sensing his need for clarity, Lia took a deep breath and tried to lay it all out, piece by piece. 

She’d been in love with him for longer she could admit. Deep inside, her heart had always belonged to him, but over and over, she had refused to believe it, to accept such a thing. She couldn’t jeopardize this near-perfect friendship they shared—that meant everything to her. And they had made a promise. So, she buried those feelings, ignored her heart, told herself over and over that whatever she felt was just a passing infatuation and that it would go away in time. She lied to herself because she hadn’t been willing to admit to herself, let alone to Noah, that she was in love with him. 

In the end, it was her denial that made him sick. It wasn’t that his love for her wasn’t reciprocated; it was that she couldn’t bring herself to believe in her own love for him as more than just a friend. Yet, despite her efforts to bury it, her love always found a way to surface—whenever she made him laugh, whenever she comforted him, whenever she showed up at his door just to be with him. Somehow, Noah’s heart had always known that hers belonged to him, and that was why, whenever she pulled away or tried to distance herself, his sickness would worsen. 

Only after countless hours spent in therapy did Lia finally begin to admit the truth that her own heart, her own body, had been trying to show her all along. She remembered that session vividly: 

“No.”

“Lia—” Dr. Reynolds insisted. 

“That’s not how it is,” she assured nearly through gritted teeth. Her voice was tight with resistance.

“It is, and you know it. You’ve known it for a long time, but you refuse to accept it. For me to help you, you must acknowledge it. You have to say it out loud and accept it. I know you’re scared, but you have to admit what you feel.”

Lia felt the words crawling up her throat, her heart racing, her palms damp as she gripped the arms of the chair. Her breathing grew shallow, and she looked at the doctor with wide, glassy eyes, the truth trembling on her lips. 

“Lia,” Dr. Reynolds pressed, “you are in love with your best friend, Noah. Say it.”

Her heartbeat was rapid and erratic, each beat hammering against her ribcage. She was terrified—terrified of what admitting it would mean, what it would change. But perhaps the only way to stop the ache was to finally speak the words aloud.

“I’m…” Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath, her nails digging into the armrests of the chair as she steadied herself. “I’m in love with Noah.”

Back in the tearoom, Lia took a deep breath, her gaze landing on the steaming cup of tea. Noah's hand was no longer on her knee, and she missed the warmth it’d provided.  

“The day after meeting her,” Lia continued, “Jesse called me. He said you were worried something had happened to me.”

“That was the day the coughing stopped,” Noah acknowledged. “The day before had been Hell. I’d been so fucking sick, and then… from night to morning, I woke up and felt fine.”

“It was because I admitted to myself what I’d been refusing for so long—that I loved you. You were sick all those times because of me.” 

Noah hesitated, his lips parting slightly as he processed the rising panic in Lia’s voice. He shifted to face her, still seated in a lotus position on the cushions 

“That’s—” After a moment’s deliberation, he shook his head and squared his shoulders, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on them. They could continue down this path, but it would only lead them to the painful memories of the past, and that was no longer what mattered. “It doesn’t matter now. That’s all in the past, Lia,” he concluded, his voice steady yet tender. They had endured so much together. Neither had been at their best; they had made mistakes and harbored regrets. How could they have paid heed to some whimsical folklore tale—much less the reality of it manifesting in their lives? Considering everything, there was no sense in revisiting those moments or blaming each other for every obstacle they had placed in one another’s way. “We got the answers we wanted, and what matters is that we’re here, and we’re real, right now.”

Lia blinked back tears, but a few slipped free despite her efforts. She brushed them away. When another tear fell, Noah reached over and caught it with his thumb. Before she could think, she climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him, clutching him tightly. He quickly wrapped her in his arms and held her close, resting his cheek against her hair, and she felt his steady breath as he nuzzled into her neck. The weight of her in his lap felt so nice and natural, and the way his arms encircled her made her feel safe, almost fragile but in a good way, because she knew she was out of danger with him. Would always be. 

“I’m so scared of losing you one day,” she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at her. Glancing at the small, coiled red string on the table beside them, he reached for it and held out his hand to Lia. 

“Give me your pinky finger,” he ordered. 

She looked at him questioningly but placed her hand in his. He laid his own pinky alongside hers and began to wind the red string around them. 

“Help me with this?” he asked, giving her a soft smile.

She did. When they finished the knot, their pinkies were tied together with the thin red thread. He tugged gently to make sure it held, then grinned. 

“Now we’re really tied together. See? Problem solved.”

Lia’s laugh came out, light and clear, the tension in her shoulders easing as she looked down at their fingers entwined by the string. The sound was so full of life, of relief, that Noah couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her chin with two fingers, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, savoring the way her smile lingered against his own.

When he finally pulled back, he whispered, 

“I told you. You’ve always been mine, Lia.”

— prev. chapter | chapter twelve 🌶️

Author's note: 100 points for those who guessed it was the red string 🤭 You can reread about that moment in Chapter 1 of Ikigai (literally the beginning of the story). It's no more than a couple of paragraphs, if I don't recall wrong, right at the end, but it was a very important detail for the future. Thank you once again for reading and being with me in this journey :)

*I've done some changes to the original folklore stories mentioned in this chapter to adapt it to Noah and Lia's romance story. I hope everything was more or less clear regarding all those weird things happening in Koi No Yokan. I never had this story planned in detail before I started writing, so it got tricky at some points, but I think I managed to make everything fit reasonably within its flow.

🔖 Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini

[sidneycrosbyisawitch]

Omg Auston getting a little possessive every time Mitch sees one of the guys from the OHL that might have slept with Mitchy

auston denies his baser instincts and doesn’t demand brownie give him a list of the guys from juniors. but it’s a real struggle and auston still thinks that would have been the better (albeit way fucking weirder) call. 

it would be way better than second-guessing every guy mitchy hangs out with. and he doesn’t have any claim to mitch (not yet, the extremely primal part of his brain growls), but it fucking sucks. auston’s not the most laid back guy, though he tries to be, and he finds himself making a mental list anyways, scrolling through mitch’s finsta at weird hours of the night. definitely cliff pu. definitely lawson crouse. 

it’s definitely not healthy, but auston can’t stop himself. he looks over at mitch, sleeping soundly in the bed by the door in their shared hotel room, and keeps scrolling. maybe victor mete, he mentally adds to the list.

when stromer visits, auston thinks he’s going to have an aneurysm before the weekend’s over. 

strome was on auston’s definitely list, and yeah, they are all over each other. 

well, they’re not like making out on every available surface or anything. but they laugh way too hard together, and strome keeps an arm around mitch’s shoulders practically the entire time. 

auston walks in on them in freddie’s kitchen during the team get together. it’s nothing really, but it’s also the end of the fucking world. auston’s heart slams to a stop as if an asteroid careened into the ocean and the tidal wave is about to engulf him. 

dylan’s leaning against the counter, legs spread wide but he still towers over mitch. mitch has his hands resting lightly on dylan’s chest, and dylan’s hands are around his waist where mitch stands in between his legs. he has a teasing look on his face, fingers gripping mitch’s skin, mitch curled into him. 

they’re so close and auston barely makes it out of there alive.

dylan nods at him in acknowledgment when he notices auston. mitch doesn’t have time to turn around to see him and auston makes sure it stays that way. he feels his face shutter like it does during media scrums. blank, hard, and unimpressed. he nods back, grabs a bottled water off the counter.

he doesn’t say bye to anyone, beelines for the door, and gets out of there before he breaks. 

the punch he lands on the side of his car door isn’t as hard as he wishes it was. he still has to play hockey. 

he gets inside, slamming the door. “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he yells at the top of his lungs, violent, his insides rioting and chest aching. he turns the key in the ignition and hits the highway before the tears get a chance to fall. 

[pinkydude]

Valentin & Mitch | 459/??

[ohwowimlonley]

DAY SIXTEEN

Mitch Rapp + exhibitionism kink

[warnings - husband!dom!mitch, sub!fem!reader, smut, oral (f rec), exhibitionism]

[word count - 970]

[kinktober list]

Honeymooning with Mitch in Australia. Honeymooning with Mitch in a five star honeymoon suite in Sydney, Australia. Honeymooning with Mitch in a five star hotel with floor to ceiling windows in the main bedroom of your honeymoon suite in Sydney, Australia.

All this can only mean one thing. He knows it. You know it. It’s only a matter of time before it happens. 

“Good morning,” you turn to face your new husband, blinking away the grogginess from your tired eyes - you still don't understand how Mitch can go through an almost thirty hour flight and not have jet lag.

“Hello there, Mrs Rapp,” he leans forward and pushes his lips against your own, not caring a lick for either of your morning breaths. 

“Hello there, Mr Rapp,” you pause, raise your eyebrow, then let out a short giggle, “your name hasn’t changed,”

“No,” he agrees with a chuckle, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before throwing the quilt from his body and getting out of bed, naked as the day he was born. 

You sit up with a blush, nearly choking on your spit as he shoots you a cheeky wink before disappearing into the bathroom. 

By the time he emerges, you’ve finally managed to haul yourself from the comfort of the bed and shuck your now crumpled pyjamas, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lace panties.

“Whoa,” he comes up to you from behind, wraps his arms around your waist and presses himself against your ass. His growing cock bumps against the intricate pattern, staining it with a thick glob of his precum, “I haven’t seen these before,”

He snaps the elasticated material against your skin, chuckling at your surprised squeal. Mitch spins you around, one hand coming up to tip your chin up, leaning down and almost kissing your lips - you duck your head to the side at the last second, letting his lips hit your cheek.

“Calm down, muchacho. I need to brush my teeth before you get all… freaky with me,” you sass, brushing past him with a bump of your hip on his. He catches you before you can dart behind the door, pulling you in for a rough kiss, licking filthily into your mouth and pulling back with a bite to your bottom lip.

“Hurry up in there,” he releases you with a swift slap to your behind, watching as your breasts bounce softly in the air as you walk. The door clicks softly behind you, and you set about your morning routine (maybe slightly rushing through it with your excitement).

He’s waiting for you when you come out, sitting with his legs spread on the loveseat just in front of the california king bed you’d both slept in last night. He shakes his knee - an invitation, you realise. In seconds, you're sitting sideways over his thighs, leaning into his broad chest. Butterfly kisses are muttered over the side of your neck, and you loll your head to the side, exposing more of your sensitive skin to his hungry lips.

“I think we need to talk about the windows,” you blurt, turning to face your new spouse with slightly widened eyes. Neither of you had said it out loud yet.

“Whatever do you mean, princess?” He pouts innocently. Oh, so he’s playing that game. The ‘see how long I can provoke my wife before she bursts into a flaming pile of embarrassment so I can take pity on her’ game. 

“Mitch,” you pester, hiding your face away in the crook of his neck, “you know what I want, just- just-”

“Just give it to you?” He supplies, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively and nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck, “Right in front of that big fuckin’ window? Where everyone can see you?”

A pathetic, whimpery sort of sound tumbles past your kiss-swollen lips. Mitch seems to sympathise for you, hooking his arms around your waist and carrying you like a ragdoll towards the colossal windows. He sets you down with a kiss to your head.

“Face it,” he gives you a gentle push to your shoulder, encouraging you to push yourself against the pristine glass. You comply easily, gasping at the frozen touch of the glass against your pert nipples. Mitch grasps at your hips, pulling and pushing until he deems your position good enough. 

“Mmm- Mitch-” you gasp as he all but tears the flimsy material from your shaking body with his hurry to get his hands all over you. As soon as your body is wholly naked for him, Mitch can’t help but let his fingers dive into the warm folds of your excited cunt, slipping up to the hood of your clit and giving it a harsh pinch.

“I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy, ‘nd you’re gonna look out the pretty window and wave to all the people lookin’ at you whinin’ like a bitch for me,” he mutters into the shell of your ear, pressing himself against your ass for a few long moments, savouring the delicious pressure of his cock against the small of your back before forcing himself to pull back and drop down to his knees.

“Give em a smile for me, babygirl,”

Taglist - @jexnrey @samiam0907 @jessmooneya @tiredmf @baddiewivdafattie @art3mas @bella-738 @aphrodites-flowers @alexloveskili @downbadforvecna @dcwrites1 @masterofmunsonspuppets @youreyesaretherealtruthtellers @m-rae23 @rubesred @visionsgoodgirl @loudwombatmugkid @garfieldsladybird @rubes2323 @maddy-potter @trixcate @depressedjoey @sunnysolsstuf @clover723 @anamariel2301 @01-angela @kozumewhore @britlord @zemossugarbaby @bunnyweasley23 @slashersluttt @ilovejimhopper [+ @ahsstilinski bc it’s DOB]

[hurryupharry]

renewed

hello my lovies! THANK YOU for all the love on promises (which is part one to this story). i'm so happy you love it as much as i do - it is all for you to enjoy. here is the highly, highly requested part two. highly recommend listening to sweet creature while you read. enjoy x

pairing: harry x reader word count: ~2,200 warnings: all fluff... + some mention of sex ps. sorry in advance to all of you named emily, it's not personal ;)

Groggy and blinking away the sleep from your eyes, your arm instinctively pats the area to your right in search of his warmth - hoping to feel his firm chest, or if you missed it, his face, mouth agape in a state of slumber. You got neither of it though. The sheets were awfully cold, not even a dip in the bed to tell you he’d just gotten up ahead of you. That’s when you recalled the events that transpired last night, eyes squeezing shut in agony as they replayed in your head.

You hadn’t slept well, of course. What you said last night wasn’t just in the heat of the moment - the last time he released an album, you hadn’t settled down in your work and weren’t tied down to anything. Wherever he went, you followed. This time was different though, you had your own dreams to chase. Unlike what most of the media thinks, your goal in life isn’t just to watch him succeed. You wanted to, too.

Reaching over to pick your phone up, your heart sunk a little seeing a message from Harry. He wasn’t much of a texting guy, he much preferred short phone calls where he’d get to hear your voice loving on him and tell you just how much he loved you straight from his mouth. Your finger hovered over the play button. The message could’ve been anything, you thought. He could’ve broken up with you right there in that message, and you grappled with the idea of that being a possibility. But he’d never do that to you – and if there was one thing you were confident about, it was that Harry Styles would never break up with you over text.

H ♥ 🎵 Audio message

“I say we just go with what we have right now, H - it sounds good,” you heard Mitch’s voice speak softly in the background. “No, has to be perfect, Mitch… S’ just missing something,” there he was, and you could just imagine him shaking his head, the almost inaudible sound of his pen tapping against his notebook a telling sign that they were in the studio.

“… You bring me home. Wherever I go – and I want the next one t’ be something like,” he hums to the chorus of Sweet Creature - one of your favourite songs. “When I– when I run out of road…” he croons quietly, as if slowly putting the pieces together. “You bring me home.”

“Fuck, man – that’s the one,” he breathes out, and you can picture him smiling, dimple on full display, quickly scribbling the lyrics down. “She’ll love it H, don’t you worry. Y/N adores anything you make, even if you write about anything or anyone else.”

“No, I know. Just want it t’ be good, you know how much she means to me… Never been able to put it into words before this.”

Tears pooled in your eyes, threatening to spill as you reached the end of the recording. You never assumed the song was about you, and strangely enough, you’d never asked. He thought you did, considering how much you loved it, and you just never discussed it. Putting your phone down, you made your way to your shared bedroom, the door slightly ajar so you could peek in. He wasn’t there.

The lack of any music in the home reaffirmed that it was just you around. Walking over to the living room, you almost burst into tears seeing an all-too-familiar banana walnut muffin on the coffee table, sat perfectly next to a bright pink sticky note. It was your favourite from the little coffee shop down the road where the old ladies loved greeting Harry and yourself by mimicking the sound of wedding bells.

‘Put on a warm coat. You know where to find me. x H’

You used to do this all the time on lazy Saturday mornings together. Pop by that coffee shop, buy banana walnut muffins and your morning coffee - a little sweeter on the weekends, just because. He’d already have his juice in hand, made fresh himself. You’d then sit on your beloved park bench, the one with flowers growing out the cracks in the stone, and watch the world go by for an hour or two. Of course you knew where to find him. It was the place where you talked about falling in love, dreamt of the future and pondered over what names your kids would have. He hoped meeting you there would remind you of everything you’d envisioned together.

Bundled up in a blue coat and that mohair sweater he loved to death, you spotted him instantly. He looked tense, fingers grabbing onto the seat of the bench, eyes scanning the entrances of the park to make sure he didn’t miss you. You could see him relax a little once he saw you, his right hand lifting into the air to wave you over. He even offered you a small, timid smile. Didn’t seem like he got much sleep either, his eyes a little droopy and tired, skin looking more dull than usual.

“Hi, my love,” he greeted you, getting up to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. You gave him a small hello, cheeks rosy from his kiss. For once, you were grateful that the cold nipped at your skin and concealed the fact that you blushed at the contact. “Sit, please.”

“So, let me start – questions at the end, okay?” he took your hands in his once you were both sat down, his left leg bent so he could sit facing you. You were cross-legged, like you always were. “I disappointed you, and I know that’s one of the worst feelings in the world. Thought ‘bout what you said last night a whole lot… It’s been hard on you and I can’t change what’s happened. In a couple months I’ll be away again and it’s different now - you love what you do, and I can’t just have you up and leave for me.”

“As much as we’re in this together, you have your own life that I won’t ask you to put on hold for me. It really all boils down to me, my love… I have to do better. Like you said, promises aren’t any good if I can’t keep them, but I’m not promising this time. M’ swearing on my life, this is all I’ve ever wanted. No matter what I do, as long as I come home to you - so I swear, m’ love, whatever it takes. I know it’s hard to trust me, and I don’t deserve it, but I will do everything in my power to make this work.”

“I– I don’t know what to say, H… I see all of it with you too, everything we’ve spoken about. It’s just so much harder when I have to keep reminding myself that you’re in this with me when you’re never around. This morning, that recording… You never told me about that,” you began, looking down at your hands wrapped perfectly in his. He wore none of his rings, his fingers bare and warming up your own. “It was awfully sweet, H… I just wish you felt like that every single day.”

His eyebrows furrowed upon hearing that and he felt like he could throw up from how terrible that made him feel, almost like his insides were being stirred and knotted up. He’d made you question if he even loved you in the first place, and he couldn’t believe it.

“My love, y’ know, that song… Spent so many nights trying to figure it out. I’d decided that run in the studio would be the last time I tried to work that one out because I loved the melody so much, but it was just so hard to get it just how I wanted it. And I knew you’d love it too – you’re always listening to these mellow types of tunes at home,” he explained, his thumbs rubbing little circles on the back of your hands. “Don’t know if you remember this, but we were in Malibu and we’d decided to take a leisurely drive to nowhere the day before this studio session. Drove down to a random spot along the beach and jus’ sat there talking about anything and everything for a good three hours.”

“Remember m’ friend from home called to tell me ‘bout one of my favourite teachers growing up who’d gotten sick that morning? I was jus’ a proper mess… Felt so disconnected from everything then, and so afraid that people back home would think I’d forgotten about them. You jus’ sat there and listened t’ me talk about all of my worries, held my hand and all that… Reminded me I can’t boil the ocean, or one of those quotes you always like to use on doing stuff within your limits. And we got to talking ‘bout the future, what that looked like for us – never felt more sure that I wanted to make all of that come true with anyone else.”

“You always have this way of breaking things down and making everything so much clearer, even when it comes to the big, scary things… Like reconciling with the past, stressing about the future, or thinking about what comes after. You keep my feet on the ground through it all, m’ love. When we went into the studio the next day, it just fell into place. I’d always wanted the song to be ‘bout you and I could never put everything I wanted to say to you in just a couple of lines. Just thinking about what you said, how you broke it all apart so easily – you said something about not having t’ do everything all at once, and I realised I didn’t have to do that with this song. It was still, of course, for you, but I didn’t have to say everything just then, just what I wanted to in that moment. I think about you every moment of each day, my love… I don’t think I could ever love someone more. M’ sorry I’ve ever made you think otherwise, I really am, and I’ll spend my whole life making up for it.”

You felt your nose get runny and it was suddenly a little hard to breathe. He’d always been such a sweet man, you had a hard time believing it was difficult for him to pen down love songs when he expressed his admiration for you so eloquently. “You don’t have to, H. Trust me, I believe you,” you sighed, feeling his hands cup your face to wipe at the tears brimming in your eyes. “We just need to work on this together, okay? You have to make an effort to call, or just send a text, no matter how busy you are. Just let me know you’re okay, and that we can talk later. That’s all I ask, especially when you’re away. I can’t have you disappear on me, when a text or call is all I have. Not to mention you're awful at video calls, I always feel like I'm talking to a grandpa.”

He nods, stretching his arms out and pulling you in gently. Adjusting yourself, you let your back rest against him, almost lying in his lap. “If you vanish, what’s gonna happen to our kids?”

He lets out a little chuckle at your stupid joke. Only you could say something like this in a moment of vulnerability to make it go over easier. “I know, baby. Emmie and Ezzie can’t grow up without a dad.”

“Emily is a terrible name, babe,” you spat back, rolling your eyes at the thought of the last conversation you had on this bench when he’d decided that Emily was definitely going in his top five favourite baby names. “It’s beautiful, Y/N – I can’t believe we disagree on this.”

“Beautifully boring, you mean,” you couldn’t help but smile at this stupid conversation as his fingers combed through your hair. “Can you please not forget how much you hated Emily in Paris?” All the nights you spent together watching that trashy Netflix series made you grow disdainful towards Lily Collins’ character, though you both loved just how much you hated that show. It was terrible in all the best ways.

“Well, I want it to have a nice ring to it, my love… Has to sound good.”

“Well then, I want to have a nice ring,” you raised your left hand, wiggling your fingers in his face. “Don’t forget who decides whether your kids are eaten or given the chance to live.”

He almost chokes hearing you speak, his mind slowly slipping away to relive moments where you sat in front of him with a little of his load dribbling down your chin… You had him wrapped tightly around your finger, and you didn’t even know it.

“I’ll take my chances,” He shrugs, looking down at you with the goofiest grin you’d ever seen on his face. “Something tells me make-up sex is on the cards.”

You hit his face playfully - and gently, lest there were cameras lurking - feeling unbelievably blissful in that moment with a renewed sense of determination to make things work out between the two of you. You couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else, either.

[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. 

[wwalkingdread]

hiii !! i’m so glad there is another writer for twdg !! i was wondering if u could write abt marlon/mitch with an s/o who’s love language is physical touch? like how would the character react to it?? u could add any other characters u want to also !!! tysm have a good day/night :)

❥ Marlon and Mitch’s S/O Whose Love Language Is Touch

Characters: Marlon, Mitch

Description: Mitch and Marlon with an S/O who’s very touchy.

Warning: Like one swear.

Notes: Hope this is alright!! The whole love-language thing isn’t super familiar to me, so I hope I can portray it right. Still trying to figure out how to write Mitch.

Marlon

♥︎ He remembers the first time when Louis had held up his deck of cards and announced it was time to play War. You sat right next to him, your leg intertwining with his, your thighs pressed tightly together.

♥︎ Holy fuck.

♥︎ He liked it. How you were clearly his, how you two were obviously together. You didn’t sit like this with everybody else. He smiled snuggly the whole time.

♥︎ But his ears would burn bright red

♥︎ Having you on his arm makes him feel strong. He likes showing you off to everybody as if they don’t know you’ve been dating for months.

♥︎ Everybody is sick of his grin, how it tugs up sharply when somebody comes near. He feels so proud and accomplished.

♥︎ It makes this boy feel like a man.

♥︎ But in private he doesn’t just want these touches to just be proof of your relationship. He struggles to sleep, sitting in his office chair being eaten away by stress and worries.

♥︎ This is where your love becomes most effective. You help him sleep, you help him feel he has room to breathe.

♥︎ He melts into your touches, his shoulders losing their tension, being able to sleep without waking up paranoid.

♥︎ Marlon heavily relies on you, more than he ever could’ve imagined. He always thought he’d have to pull himself out of every rut he found himself in, but you’d always be there to wash away his doubts.

♥︎ Marlon was a touchy person too and always reciprocated, he liked to feel in charge and felt he should be the one initiating everything, being the leader and all he grew accustomed to it and felt it was expected. I mean, isn’t that what you wanted…?

♥︎ But it felt nice to have your arms wrapped around him when you two slept, your face tucked in between his shoulder blades as you left little to no room between you. It was on the rare occasions where he’d want to cry from anger, where the stress was keeping him up and pacing around the room, but he adored those times when they came. He adored you.

Mitch

♥︎ When you first tried to hold his hand, Mitch shook your hand off of his, his entire face red.

♥︎ It really embarrassed him, but he made sure to apologise in his own time to make sure the gesture didn’t hurt your feelings. He understood that you loved him and wanted to be near him and touch him, but it made him very… Flustered.

♥︎ Mitch likes you, but he wasn’t the kind of person to be touchy. He’d make a point in sitting closer to you during meals, to hunt just a few feet away from you, but apart from that you two didn’t touch one another.

♥︎ He remembers being in his dorm one day, you coming in behind him. You snaked your arms around his waist and he went stiff.

♥︎ But he didn’t resist from you, even when you pressed a kiss on the nape of his neck. His face burned, and he didn’t know if he could stay in that position for much longer. He was conflicted.

♥︎ At times it became too much, but he accepted it when you two were alone. It made him feel safe and protected like he could lower his guard.

♥︎ You slept in his bed, your arm under his head and your hand on his waist. You tended to be facing him.

♥︎ “I love you.” You’d say, and his eyes would bat open. He’d clear his throat, his hand shakily making its way to your hip,

♥︎ “Yeah…” He found the courage to look at you, “You too…”

♥︎ The space that was between you two as you slept didn’t seem so shallow, Mitch found himself being more comfortable with your private touches. Your legs entangled, your fingers laced with his. He struggled to verbally communicate his love, to accept affection, but he held your hand like you’d sink away into the mattress and he’d wake up with you gone. Mitch didn’t want to let go, so he never did.