#sometimes i just feel like this is another point on the laundry list of reasons to kill myself

[mainfaggot]

sometimes I forget how homophobic like 95% of pakistanis are

[slut4daviii]

character(s): i.hashibira

pt: 01/01

cw: phone sex, masturbating, voice kink, toys, overstimulation

summary: sleep, sometimes it was just so overrated.

a/n: fem-aligning | minors DO NOT INTERACT also, if anyone wants to request, imma make a masterlist inna a few hours.

title: a thump in the night

wc: 1200+

────────────────────────

────────────────────────

“oh shit!” your voice trailed off, casually descending Inosuke’s walls, the mumbling of his own voice practically desensitized next to your hoarse, unwaveringly powerful tone.

he hissed out a groan, similar to you but much more needy. his fingers; index and thumb, came up to his pink nipples, rolling the bud between themselves. he let out an uncharacteristically soft moan, using his right hand to edge himself— stemming closer to his imminent orgasm

within his room, there was a soft humming noise, muted by the sound of your consciousness game noises, none of them being unfamiliarized to him. he heard the rapid gunfall, followed by hushed footsteps, then an unexpected burst of sound.

but what stuck out to Inosuke Hashibira was the sound of his own boyfriend. the way he would groan at each death, or suck in a quick breath to prepare himself to go around a corner, or even curse under each unprovoked breath.

another muffled moan left Inosuke, this time to the sound of you stretching. your voice was deep, almost lucrative in tone. and as each one of your joints popped, you would usher out a deeper more firm groan.

of course, in your case this wasn’t sexual by any measure. but Inosuke was a spectacle not too many people got to know. and for this reason.

you two had been dating for two years, and in that timespan, Inosuke had asked you to fulfill a few of his… fantasies.

the first being “[name]! oh [name]! I got an idea!” you should’ve left right there, but you didn’t, feeling obligated to listen to another one of your boyfriends dumb ideas. “you should fuck me!” was all he said. cut clean and dry, right? wrong. “you should handcuff my hands behind my back and wrap a collar around my neck!”

ok, not too unusual for him. it could be worse right?

“and do it while I’m hanging out of a window!”

you stopped, looking at him like he’d grown a second head. “what?”

expecting him to back down was the first of your mistakes, thinking that the muscular broad was going to back away from you. no, instead, he repeated his order request.

“you should handcuff me and fuck me while I’m hanging out that —he motioned to the window perched right in front of your door— “window with a collar around my neck, choking me and threaten to drop me!”

the word butchered into your mind, imagining what that would look like. it was pretty. but you shook your head. “Inosuke.” you started softly, “we live on the tenth floor.”

“I know! I know! it’ll make it more fun! and then people can see how good your dic—“ you placed your hand over his mouth.

“no.”

Inosuke whined against your hand, his eyes looking up at you full of lust and desire. “Inosuke, I’m not fucking you in a window.”

that was your second mistake. thinking that Inosuke would just take that. so, from that moment on, Inosuke would come up with a new idea everyday. each one more chaotic than the last.

and you would know, you kept a list in your phone. for education purposes obviously

WAYS AND PLACES TO FUCK INO-CHAN

hanging outside a window

in the middle of a mall

in front of his parents

(with tanjiro)

(with mr.tomioka)

(with mr.tengen)

(with mr.rengoku)

until he blacks-out (then keep going until he wakes back up)

when he’s doing laundry (specifically, he wants to get ‘stuck’ in the dryer and have me pound him until he’s came enough time to fill up a cup)

children’s playground

against a tree

on a train (let anyone join)

on a priest alter (on a sunday)

the produce aisle (so he can snack)

while playing the game

with a gun pointed at his head (NOT doing that)

gangbang with at least 10 people present, but only 5 have to join.

view 264+

Inosuke was a wild card, but who could blame him, whenever the two of you do fuck, he cums at least four times, making sure you do the same.

but right now, the —in his mind— greatest idea in the world had been bestowed upon him. phone sex

you were still playing your game, giving it your full attention, believing that Inosuke had fallen asleep several hours ago.

Inosuke on the other hand, pulled the vibrator from his hole, leaving it slightly agape, rapidly clenching around his any movement.

“[name]…” he called to you, the sound suppressed by a moan. “nhgm… [name]! I—I need you!”

your ear twitched, not knowing if you were a) hearing things, b) hearing your boyfriend, or c) hearing something from the game.

you took your headset off, it falling to your neck in one swift motion. you strained to hear the sound again, also looking for your phone. “where did I—“

“[name]! mgh!” slick sounds rang from the corner of your bed, followed by another row of heavy pants. “[name]… I wan’to see you!”

you finally found your phone, pulling it from under your blanket and stared at the sight blaring from your dimly-lit screen.

Inosuke, with his legs parted and fingers crossed into himself. he was blushing madly, sweat falling from every inch of his skin. “mghm! [name]! [name]! lemme— your cock! I wan’tsee your cock!”

you felt your pants swell at the intonation and words, he was panting heavily, lust practically dripping from every word that left his mouth. “In—“ you gulped back your words, fumbling to find the right ones. “I—Inosuke..”

the boy tilted his head back, the raspiness of your worn out voice hitting him like a truck “fughk! [n—name]! say again! talk t’me, please!”

again your cock grew, impatiently throbbing against the silk lining of your boxers. you didn’t know what to say, it was a bit of anomaly, usually Inosuke was the one speechless, bound and hanging by your every word, but now it was you.

“w—what do I say?”

Inosuke increased the speed of his hand, moving it along his length like the bullet of a shotgun. “an’thing! call m’slut! tell m’what yer gon’ do t’me!”

a flash of heat hit you, making you sharply inhale. you brought your hand behind you, finding your chair and sitting down. you pulled at the waist of your sweatpants, yanking your boxers off.

like a reanimated corpse, your dick sprang upwards, bobbing against your abdomen. by this point, Inosuke had noticed your quiet nature, thinking you went back to your game and tilted his head to look at his phone. it was perched up against something you couldn’t see, but when the two of you made eye contact, he came. his hole rapidly clenching then unclenching.

you propped your phone against your controller, moving quickly back to your painfully hard erection. you curled your fingers around your throbbing length and began tugging, feeling. like you could cum at any moment. “Ino, I need your voice. c’mon, talk to me.”

Inosuke shuddered, never moving from his revealing position. he looked at you through lidded eyes, watching as your hand traveled teasingly slow up and down your thick shaft, muzzling the tip in a full 360 spin before repeating.

“mgh! I want that! want daddy to fill m’up! wanna—“ he fell back panting, this stimulation from his screen too much. “want you in m’stomach. playing w’my organs. wanna clench around your big fat cock.”

Inosuke’s were only jumbled mumbles now, barely audible. but from what you could hear, you loved it, moving you hand faster, adding spin occasionally. it felt like your tip was on fire, begging to be released.

“c’mon babyboy, what’s my name?” you asked, your cum tickling up the middle of your shaft.

“d—daddy.” he mumbled, cock twitching with rigor. “you—you’re ngh! daddy!”

“oh yeah.” you croaked, your cock teetering on Inosuke’s every word. “say it again, cum for me, please.”

the word please made Inosuke weak in the knees, moving his three unused fingers to his empty hole and plunging them deep. he let out a string of moans, the sound instantly going to your cock.

“fu—“ you bit the insides of your cheek to suppress your moan, but the pleasure was too much— overpowering your body. “fughk! fuck! Ino-chan! haah! hah…” your orgasm maneuvered through your every vein, stars dancing within your blood vessels.

Inosuke was close, relentlessly thrusting his fingers into his hole “close! clo—“ his orgasm spoke faster, ripping forth from his slit, spraying thick, milky white ropes of semen all over himself. “ngkh! mgumh! fuhgck!” he seethed, the feeling too much.

another round of semen shot from him, this one not as powerful but just as plentiful, coating his chiseled abdomen and pubic hair, slowly trailing to his hole, outlining it in a temptation too strong to resist.

you picked up your phone and spoke with haste, “I’m coming over.”

assembling your things, you went straight to your bedroom door, hearing the click of a knob before a voice brought you to a screeching halt.

“[name], what the fuck was that?!”

your online friends, all clamoring over the sounds they’d just heard.

“fuck, you don’t know what you do to me, Inosuke.”

without another glance, you left your friends, blushing and talking amongst themselves about how you were masturbating.

“but… why was it hot—“ one said, earning a loud disturbance from the other two.

“SHUT UP!!”

[drabbles-mc]

Tailed

Happy Lowman x F!Reader

For Day 3 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: rope burns/knife to throat/"hold still"

Warnings: 18+, angst, injury, murder, language

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: It's been a minute since I've written for Happy, I feel like. I love this dude. I think he deserves a woman who is willing to kill for him idk.

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @anditsmywholeheart @i-just-read-stuff @justreblogginfics @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @nessamc @garbinge @passionatewrites @camelia35 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The bag that had been over his head for a while now didn’t bode well for him. The ropes that were binding and ripping the skin of his wrists and ankles didn’t exactly spell out good news for him either. He wasn’t too worried, though. It was concerning, sure, but it was far from the first time he’d found himself in circumstances like this. Knowing him, it probably wouldn’t be the last either.

He had a gut feeling that whoever it was that had snagged him, and whatever their issues were with him, weren’t exactly related to the club. It was no secret that the MC had its fair share of enemies, and that particular laundry list of people would’ve been a good place to start, but as far as Happy knew he was alone. And none of the people who had captured him had called anyone. If it was something to do with the MC, someone would’ve asked him about it or made some sort of phone call by this point, but there was nothing. He wondered if the club even realized yet that he had been snatched up.

Whoever these people were, they definitely wanted him for personal reasons. Happy didn’t find that to be surprising in the slightest either. With all the people he knew and the things he’d done, he’d built up quite the roster of people who would like to see him dead or dying.

No one had said anything to him since he got thrown into what he was assuming was a van of some kind. He was sitting upright so he knew that they hadn’t tossed him in the trunk of some car, and the fact that there was a cushion underneath him let him know that he wasn’t just getting tossed into the back of some U-Haul. None of those details helped him figure out who had him and why.

Since no one said anything to him, he didn’t say anything to them. He wasn’t like Tig—he wasn’t in the habit of being chatty and making things worse. Sometimes his dedication to silence also made things worse, but it wasn’t quite the same.

Happy had no concept of time as they continued to drive to wherever their mystery destination was. He could hear the murmurs of the people in the car but they weren’t talking loud enough for him to make anything out. He listened for a GPS, or even to try and catch one of them giving directions to the other, but there was nothing. The entire time he was waiting and listening, he was trying to work at the ropes around his wrists. He could feel it ripping at his skin, but he still kept at it. Again, it wasn’t the worst pain he had ever endured. It surely wouldn’t be as bad as whatever was going to ensue once he actually got his hands free.

He just started feeling like he was making a little bit of progress with it when the van made a sharp right turn with no warning at all. Happy grunted as he tipped over in the seat, quickly scrambling to try and get himself upright again. He got an assist that was more hurtful than it was helpful, feeling someone ball their fist into the back of his shirt and push him upright and directly against the side of the van with more roughness than necessary.

“What the fuck was that?!” the man next to him yelled to the driver. It was the most Happy had heard out of anyone aside from their grunts and curses since they captured him.

“Got a tail,” another man, one Happy assumed was the driver, said back to them. “Trying to lose them.”

“By turning and almost going through a fucking building?!”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

The man next to him huffed. “Who’s tailing us anyway?”

“White Chevy. Two cars back.”

Happy started laughing at that—he couldn’t help himself. The club might not have known that he was MIA yet, but of course you did. He should’ve seen that coming.

The man balled his fist into Happy’s shirt, yanking him so that he was face-to-face with him. Even though Happy couldn’t see him through the dark fabric of the hood covering his head, he could still feel the man’s nose pressing against his own.

“Who the fuck is following us?”

“I don’t know,” Happy replied, “I can’t see them.”

He felt the pressure of a knife being pressed against his throat. “Who the fuck is it?!”

Happy remained silent, and the man pressed the blade a little harder into the column of his throat. Happy felt the slight pull and the residual sting of the knife breaking the skin on his neck. It wasn’t a bad cut, not deep enough to be an imminent issue, but it was a promising threat that things were going to get worse if these guys didn’t get answers.

“Someone who is gonna be a real fucking problem for you guys if they get you.”

“Fuck me,” the man next to him grumbled.

The answer must’ve been satisfactory enough, because he pulled the blade away from Happy’s throat. It was a relief, but most because Happy didn’t trust the guy next to him to have a steady hand and if the driver made another sharp turn it was going to be game over very quickly.

“What do you wanna do?” the third guy finally spoke up loud enough for Happy to be able to hear him.

There was something familiar about the guy’s voice. Happy couldn’t quite place it, but he definitely knew it. Whoever the man riding shotgun was, he was the one who must’ve had the vendetta against Happy. He didn’t know who he was or what the vendetta was, and honestly he didn’t particularly care. Happy just wanted all of this to be over with. He was much more certain that things would go his way and that he would live to fight another day now that he knew that you were tailing them.

“I don’t know,” the driver said as he made another turn. “We just, we gotta lose ‘em.”

Happy laughed. “Good luck.”

The remark was met with the guy next to him slamming the side of his head into the side of the van. It was worth it. For a moment Happy understood why Tig was the way he was.

Happy was still working against the binds on his wrists but at this point it felt like it was no use. He was better off waiting for you to sink your teeth into these guys and free him rather than trying to wriggle out himself. It clearly wasn’t working anyway.

A few more minutes ticked by, filled with chaotic turns and the driver slamming on the gas. Finally, though, he said, “I think we’re in the clear.”

All three of the men let out sighs of relief, but Happy knew that they were speaking too soon. Anyone else in his position might’ve been disheartened, but he knew that they weren’t going to get rid of you that easily. You might not have been right behind them anymore, but you definitely weren’t gone.

As if you had been reading his thoughts, the van came to a screeching halt. Happy and the other man in the seat row with him toppled forward, smacking against the seats in front of them. He heard the thudding of the man riding shotgun slamming his hands against the dash to brace themselves. All four of them were cursing as they tried to get themselves right again. Happy didn’t know if being completely in the dark made it harder or easier to do that.

“Son of a bitch!” the man riding shotgun yelled out.

Happy heard the guy next to him take a deep breath, most likely gearing up for some snide comment or more cursing, but he never got the chance as someone started shooting. Happy heard the first two hit the glass of the windshield and he immediately sunk down in his seat. It had to be you. He heard the guys firing back from inside the van, and he did what little he could do given his current circumstances and he threw his body against that of the man sitting next to him. He was rewarded with the sound of the man’s gun clattering to the floor and the guy cursing as he set himself loose on Happy, grabbing him and landing whatever blows he could as the gunfire continued.

Happy was as defenseless as he’d ever been with his hands bound behind his back and his head still covered with the hood. He was trying to kick but his ankles being tied made that difficult too. He tried to squirm and keep moving, anything to keep the hits from landing directly.

Even with all the chaos, it was impossible to miss the sound of a bullet burying itself into someone’s skull. When it happened, the entire van was still and silent for all of a couple seconds before the chaos picked back up and was even more intense.

A few moments after that, there was the sound of the vehicle doors being ripped open. There was screaming and grunting and gunshots, and Happy was just hoping that you were coming out on the winning end of it all.

“Get on the fucking ground!” you yelled as you put a bullet into the kneecap of the man that you’d forcefully pulled out of the passenger seat.

Happy had never been so relieved to hear your rage. He was so distracted by the sound of you that when he heard the back door of the van open and someone grab onto him, he automatically assumed it was another threat. If it wasn’t you that was getting him out, he couldn’t help but to think that it was someone else who had the intention of hurting him.

He thrashed as much as he could until the person spoke up. “Hap, shit, stop, it’s me,” Juice was trying to cut the ropes on Happy’s wrists, or at least pull the hood off his head, but the constant movement made both of those things difficult.

Juice’s voice wasn’t the one that Happy was expecting to hear, but it still got him to stop fighting against the assistance. There was the sound of another gunshot and then Juice finally pulled the hood off so that Happy could see. The sun was blinding, a jarring shift from the hours of darkness he’d just endured, but he wasn’t upset about it. The first thing he saw was the man that Juice had shot and killed slumped in the back seat. Once he realized that he wasn’t going to be an immediate threat, he turned his head, looking around for you as he squinted against the harsh light.

That’s when he saw you, leaning over the man who had been sitting in the passenger seat. You’d shot out both of the guy’s legs. You had your knee pinned to his chest as you leaned over him, the mouth of your gun pressed harshly beneath the man’s chin. Even though there was distance between you, Happy could see the way you were breathing heavily, he could feel the rage coming off of you.

Even though he knew that Juice was trying to free him, Happy was still having a hard time sitting still to let it happen when he knew that you were so close. Juice huffed in annoyance behind him as he tried to do his job without slicing open one of Happy’s wrists in the process. “Hold still for five seconds, Happy. Seriously.”

None of Happy’s attention was focused on himself or Juice anymore though, not when he could hear the conversation happening a few feet away.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man spat out.

You wanted to make a comment to the effect of, “I should be the one asking you that,” but then you realized that you didn’t particularly care who this guy was. You didn’t really care why he wanted Happy. You knew perfectly well that the man you were with had more enemies than smiley face tattoos. It wasn’t surprising that he had landed himself in hot water.

Juice had cut the ties around Happy’s wrists and was just about to be done with the ones around his ankles when you pulled the trigger on your gun one more time, causing the man’s head to snap back as the bullet went clean through it from bottom to top.

“Fuck,” Juice said with a shake of his head as he finally cut through the last of the rope.

The second Happy was free, he was up on his feet and making his way over to you. He wasn’t running, but you could see the determination in his stride and the set of his shoulders. When he got over to you, he held out his hand to help you up from your position of kneeling on the man’s dead body. You tucked your gun back into its holster before slapping your hand into his, both of you tightening your grips as he helped pull you back up onto your feet.

The second you were completely upright, Happy stepped in like he was going to kiss you, but you stopped him as you pressed your palm against your chest. He opened his mouth to ask you what was going on, but you quickly moved your hand up and cupped his chin in your hand before tilting his head up slightly. You saw the cut running along the side of his throat and you frowned.

Once Happy realized what you were doing and looking at, his body relaxed a little bit. He almost started laughing. All the things that had happened in the last few hours and this was what you were getting hung up on. “I’m fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you let go of his chin. “Of course you’re going to say that.”

The two of you were about to start getting into it in the middle of all the carnage you’d caused when Juice interjected himself into your conversation. “Hey, guys, we gotta…we gotta go.”

Just as he said that, you heard the sirens in the distance. That was fair, and expected after all the gunshots. You pointed at Happy accusingly. “This conversation isn’t over.”

Happy knew better than to argue with you. “Alright.”

It was a quiet drive home. You dropped Juice back off at his place with a quick thank you and a promise to reach out to him later. As the two of you drove back to Happy’s you could feel him looking at you from the passenger seat but you didn’t say anything about it. You knew that he probably had his fair share of questions, and you certainly had your own, but right now all you wanted to do was get back home. All of the questions and the conversations could wait until later, preferably until tomorrow. You didn’t say anything as you drove, but it didn’t stop you from reaching over and resting your hand on top of his on the console, careful not to touch the scraped and bloodied parts of his wrists where the rope had been digging into him only a little while before.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Happy (AO3) Anniversary to Another Level! 🎉 (and a long-ass Kiko rant bc who would I be without those?)

If you haven't already, you can read Another Level on AO3. I'm slowly posting the installments here on Tumblr as well 💕

I posted Make A God Bleed exactly a year ago and I never imagined that it would become what it has. Honestly, I created Rinko on a whim and she took on a life of her own that I’m so grateful for. I love our lil corner. I’ve loved pretty much every moment we’ve had here.

I wouldn’t have survived 236 without Rinko and our corner. I wouldn’t have gotten through it without all of you here, sharing my rage and my anger. And I wouldn’t have gotten through all the shit going down now, either.

But I told my best friend a few months ago that I truly never would have found the courage to finally get out of my toxic, loveless marriage if I hadn’t realized that I was writing a lot of Rinko and Satoru’s relationship the way that I so desperately wished my marriage was: one filled with mutual respect and love. Two people who love each other despite the hardships, through the hardships, and facing everything that comes at them together. Loving each other even when it’s hard. Working to be better for themselves and for each other. That’s love. Sometimes it’s easy and sometimes it’s hard, but at the end of the day, it should never feel lonely. It should never leave you feeling unwanted or unlovable or like a burden. It should never leave you feeling hopeless. It should never make you feel like you’re on an island all alone while you’re sitting right next to someone who claims to love you.

*tw for trauma dump, discussion of emotional abuse

When I finally told my ex-husband that I wanted a divorce, it was in response to his threat with it. Since we got married, in almost any disagreement or argument we had, he would attempt to end it by threatening me with, “Do you want to end up divorced? Because this is how we end up divorced." When I finally told him that yes, I did want to get divorced, he listed all the reasons he believed we couldn't. After he'd given a laundry list of reasons, all of which included what others would say or think, I realized and pointed out that he hadn't once said he wanted to stay married because he loved me and wanted to be with me.

He didn't want to stay married to me. He just didn't want to be divorced. To him, marriage was a status symbol, not love. To him, divorce was a threat and a weapon to keep me in line - to keep me from disagreeing with him. As if living life married to someone who threatened divorce instead of being willing to discuss and resolve our problems, someone who didn't want to go to marriage counseling because he didn't want 'homework' and didn't want to 'listen to a stranger tell him what to do,' someone who swore at me and called me names and treated me like a child when he was upset, someone who threw things at me and waved objects in my face and broke things when he was angry, someone who said that I never took responsibility for my actions but always blamed his own on me, was somehow better than being alone for the rest of my life.

I'm not perfect. I'll never claim to be perfect or blameless. There are absolutely ways I could have been better in my marriage and in life. But I finally realized that no matter my flaws, nothing excuses the way he treated me. Nothing excuses the number of times he purposefully made me wish I was dead; the number of times he glared at me with something so close to hatred while I had a panic attack and accused me of faking it to make him feel sorry for me; the number of times he stormed out and left me wondering if my existence in his life was truly so awful that it would be better if I was gone forever; the number of times that I had to sit alone in a room, sobbing as I tried to convince myself that dying wasn't the solution while my husband told me he wouldn't comfort me because I didn't deserve it. He told me that my years of therapy had done nothing for my mental health, but the fact that I'm still breathing proves him wrong.

I didn't do it alone. I had so much help. I had my therapist, my best friend, my family, my friends, and Rinko and all of you in our lil corner. So, thank you all again from the bottom of my heart.

Our Goinko has become so much more than I ever imagined. From Another Level to Physical Paradox to Gokudō, I genuinely love that so many people adore these two idiots as much as I do. It makes my heart jump every time someone tells me they’re rereading Another Level or that it’s their comfort because, in all honesty, it’s mine, too. It's incredible to see that people are still finding it and reading it for the first time. Seeing comments from people who binged it all in one night makes my entire day.

I’ve been so busy lately with my new job and trying to navigate what my life is now that I’m divorced that I really don’t have that much time to write, but I promise I’m still here. I will finish Physical Paradox, and I will finish Gokudō. And then I just might pick up my original work again and maybe get it published someday.

Hopefully, I’ll have an update of some kind for something soon, but we’ll see. I’ve decided to try to quit pressuring myself so much.

Thank you all again for being part of our lil corner and this incredible journey over the past year. I couldn’t have made it this far without you, and I’m so excited to see what this next year brings!

Also, a side note: my birthday is next week, and I’m going to have dinner and cake with my parents tonight to celebrate a bit early. I’m excited about my birthday for the first time since before I got married. I’m happy with where I am and with my life. My mother pointed out that she hadn’t heard me say that I was happy in years.

Sorry for this hella long rant, but I appreciate you reading it.

Much love to you all, and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!!

💕 Kiko

[may-bonne]

letty/mia fic recs!

this post only covers ao3, and it's an abbreviated list! the extended list, with additional recs, fic hosted on livejournal and old femslash archives, meta, art, and vids, is on my dreamwidth.

Red Sky at Night by dirty_diana. <2000, E. I think this is my favorite of the Letty-comes-back-after-the-first-movie fics. They both feel very true to character, and the way Letty takes care of Mia is just the right mix of sweet and rough around the edges.

Letty feels hot, fire beneath her skin. It's weird, Brian was always cool, like sunsets and lemonade, like nothing could touch him.

Such a Pretty Girl So Tired and Waiting Down Below by sinuous_curve. <4000, E. These are the most-kudosed fics in the tag for a reason. They're both set during the fourth movie - in the first, Mia ties Letty's wrists to the rear-view mirror and fucks her with a screwdriver and the whole thing is just delicious and they feel absolutely real. The second has scorching hot strap-on sex, crossdressing, perfect Mia, and perfect Letty. It's also very sweet and fun in a way that a lot of fourth-movie fic isn't, since so much of it is colored by the knowledge of what's about to happen to Letty. sinuous_curve's Mia also accepts Letty for who she is completely without being passive, which is a fine line to tread.

Mia laughs. “You got something you want to do with that, boy?” She turns her head and manages an awkward kiss on corner of Letty’s mouth. “I like you like this.”

Damage Done and Goddamn Golden Boy by escritoireazul. <1000, T. These are sort of two sides of the same coin, set before and during the first movie. escritoireazul does both one-sided attraction and smouldering jealousy really, really well. Damage Done has a really good, plausible Mia, and I think you understand exactly what she wants from Letty. Goddamn Golden Boy is from Letty's POV - knowing Mia's with Brian, knowing that maybe part of Dom wants to be. Completely note-perfect Letty.

“You’re better than them,” Mia hears herself say. She takes another gulp, and it’s so sweet and cold it burns her throat.

like a star across the sky by escritoireazul. <3000, T. This is the middle fic in a series of three, and the most Letty/Mia-centric. It's another Letty-comes-home fourth-movie fic. For its length, there's a lot of complicated history packed into this, and it's really wonderful.

She blinks hard. She’s not going to cry. Letty doesn’t. She just gets things done.

Something Quite Like Home by escritoireazul. <2000, G. Pre-slash - Mia and Letty leave the state together after the first movie, and go to the library. This one has an interesting take on Letty, kind of different from anything else on this list. It's very domestic without being cloying.

She's got her sunglasses and Mia's walking next to her and the soft thwap of her sandals is almost music, almost the rhythm of Letty's pulse.

Laundry Day (Extended Version) by escritoireazul. <2000, T. Short, sweet, hot, and I think about Mia sitting on the washing machine in her black bra with a rip in the back all the time.

"You gotta relax sometimes." Letty's voice goes rougher, and she pushes away from the edge of the wall, saunters up to Mia.

Adrenaline Junkies by rsadelle. <1000, T. This isn't really femslash, but I think it's a really lovely, subtle look at the ways in which Mia and Letty understand each other. It's set post-Fast Five, but it was written before the sixth movie came out, so there's no amnesia.

Mia thinks about all the things she knows have happened to Letty, and all the things she doesn't.

Something of Her Own by Ceares. <1000, T. This one has teeth; it's sort of hopeless in a nice way.

Letty is hers for six weeks and then Dom comes home off the circuit.

...i feel weird about recommending my own stuff because i obviously can't be objective, but the tag is like 50% me at this point, and it's hard to sort through. personally, i like are you with me now?, a&w, star witness, rapt, serene queen, and me, i disconnect from you.

[skadren]

2, 3, 6, and 8 for Tseeve~

send me a ship and a number and i'll tell you:

2. what their love letters look like

i don't think tseng has ever written a love letter before in his life. that is both way too easily perceived and way too impermanent at the same time. what if someone else finds it? what if it gets lost or thrown away or burned before reeve reads it?? what if reeve reads it??? his love letters are grocery store shopping lists stuck to the fridge and reminders for reeve to take his medications and protein bars and hot coffee "coincidentally" left on reeve's desk

reeve has diary entries. sometimes they are addressed to tseng: small jokes, the highlights and low points of his day, his current projects, proposal plans. wedding plans. reeve is a planning kind of guy, for everything. and before they got together, definitely pining. all the pining. he also has at least five separate entries wondering about tseng's hair care routine. his meetings notes may or may not be found with their initials doodled all around the borders (with ample questioning over what tseng's last name is. is tseng even his real name? is reeve a bad boyfriend for not knowing?? but wouldn't asking be an invasion of boundaries???)

3. which one outlives the other, and how they cope

both of them expect to die before the other. reeve because of how many goddamn medications he has to take and that must be terrible for his liver, and also he's older so that's how it works, right? tseng because of his line of work, and later on after he retires, because of the lingering issues from his past injuries. and the real reason is that neither of them want to think too hard on what it might actually be like to go on alone.

unfortunately tseng dies first. you can blame @takenbynumbers for that one. you know what you did

reeve puts on a pretty good attempt at going on outwardly unaffected, although he finally retires and passes on the seat of commissioner to someone else, like he'd been saying he would do for ages now. but he's never been very good at remembering to take care of himself; tseng is always the one who bossed him into doing it. so he sort of just... gives up on it?

(vincent accuses him of just giving up and waiting to die. reeve doesn't think he's wrong.)

6. how they decorate their bedroom

neither of them are big on excess so i guess it would be a pretty... normal? bedroom? there is a bed. big enough to fit both of them but not too big, because what if one of them gets lonely at night? the bed itself isn't anything fancy; sturdy and comfortable with enough support for reeve's back. plain sheets. they have two sets of blankets that are horribly mismatched because one reminds reeve of the quilts his ma liked to make and the other is a gift from yuffie that tseng will never admit is the exact same pattern of blanket he remembers his mom using when he was a child.

they both have a nightstand but desks are banned from the bedroom. deskwork is also banned from the bedroom. not that it keeps reeve from trying to sneak paperwork once in a while.

cait also has a cat bed in one corner (even though he really does not need a bed on account of the whole robot thing). he gets exiled regularly but it works out because he does not want to see his dads getting it on, thank you very much.

8. what they argue about

reeve always tosses his clothes in the general direction of the laundry hamper and misses. tseng's hair clogs the shower and gets all over the floor all the time. tseng hates taking out the trash and reeve never remembers to do it.

more seriously, even if their dedication to their work is something they have in common, neither of them like how little free time it gives them to spend together. it can lead to arguments over exactly how much the other person prioritizes their relationship at all, especially since the way they express their feelings and validation for one another is very different-- reeve's love language is physical affection and verbal affirmation, while tseng's is acts of service. coupled with how reticent tseng is about talking about feelings at all, it can lead to reeve feel like he's lovebombing tseng to little response, while tseng feels like he's never good enough at reciprocating properly.

but their biggest argument of all time is still the one that takes place directly after the turks drop the plate. there is a lot of broken trust between them regarding whether their relationship was as meaningful as reeve really thought it was, how much tseng has been hiding all this time, whether reeve wanted to be with tseng at all or just an idealized version of him. i fondly refer to the entire time they spend separated until they get back together postcanon as their divorce arc.

[robo-cryptid]

What are some common writing mistakes you see in fic that are easily remediable? (also, i love your writing a lot & it has inspired me to start writing as well, sending much love!)

Starting from the bottom because THANK YOU. Inspiring other people to start creating too is probably the best compliment a writer can get. ;o;

As for "mistakes," I don't know if I'm qualified to answer, lol, but I guess one thing I see a lot (and deal with when I'm writing too!) would be using more words than you need. I talk about this a lot, but I don't think I've ever gotten specific about what I mean, so here we go. This answer got pretty long!

The first way I see this is in the "turned and went" category. I was betaing for someone who wanted me to help with pacing specifically, and we figured out together that what made it feel slow and stilted was that every few sentences, they'd use "he turned and went..." or "she stood and walked..." or something like that. You just don't need both verbs. Your readers will know that if the character was sitting and now they're walking, at some point they also stood up.

I also see a lot of overuse of modifying words. "Really," "somewhat," "a bit," etc. The banes of my personal existence are "just" and "a little." I have the words "just" and "a little" in my editing list so that I do a search and delete most instances of them before I post a fic, lol. It's a writing tic that I can't get rid of. A lot of these modifiers are unnecessary 99% of the time, and they clog up sentences so they take longer to read for no good reason.

Next would be over-describing. Sometimes you get into a fic, and the first thing you get is an immediate description of what a character looks like. Because it's fanfic, it's probably a character we've met before, so it's not strictly necessary to include at all. But sure, maybe your POV character is cataloging some details when they first meet. That happens, and it can be an easy way to imply some attraction if this is a romance. Still, they're probably not going to make a laundry list, like, "his hair was black and pulled back with one strand that hung in his face, and he had big brown eyes and a bold nose and great cheekbones, and he had a goatee, and now here's the full detailed list of everything he was wearing too." We also don't need to know every single object that's in a room, or what the journey from one place to another looks like, or the "hello, how are you?" parts of a conversation before they get to the meat of it, or where every person is standing if it's a whole group, etc. You only need enough details to ground your readers, and the details your POV character is most likely to notice. For example, I remain obsessed with Hanzo's huge, expressive eyes in the "Dragons" short, and also I'm just partial to brown eyes, lol, so I often have Cassidy notice their color and maybe that Hanzo's really muscular or something. But I don't give you a rundown of every detail of his face all at once, and you probably only get a quick sense of what he's wearing. Obviously, this is not a hard and fast rule. If your character is especially observant or obsessively detailed or something, having them do this can be a way of showing that. For some people, maybe they want the setting to feel like a character itself, so you'll get a lot more description to get people to really know the place. But in general, most of the time, you only need a quick handful of descriptors and you're good to go.

The other type of over-describing would be microinteractions. Fandom lives and breathes these things. This is probably the one I struggle with the most, too, lol. Fanfic writers give us every minor piece of body language in a conversation, and honestly, that can be fun to read and fun to write, but it can also get tedious fast. Do readers really need to know every time someone sighs? Probably not! In fact, a lot of them are skimming past those details altogether, lol.

I'm of the opinion generally that a desire to over-describe everything from characters' interactions to setting to clothing, and using a ton of words in the prose, is actually us as writers trying to control the readers' experience. Like we don't trust them to "get it" or have imaginations of their own, so we're micromanaging every detail. Not only does this not work (I have had readers who did not understand something I took pains to make extremely clear, and readers who picked up on subtle stuff I barely hinted at), but it's also a pain for you and the reader.

You have to know readers' experiences of your writing are going to be different than you intend. It doesn't make you a bad writer or communicator; it means readers aren't passive sponges, but actively bring their own interpretations, backgrounds, and baggage to what they read. You have to trust that most of the time most of your readers will get it and even enjoy filling in some details themselves, and you have to let go of that desire for control.

Anyway, my final piece of advice on this is that if you're worried about any of these issues, challenge yourself to trim as many words as possible from your fic. (You can paste it to a new document so you don't have to lose the old one!) Seriously, delete things until you're afraid the structural integrity is about to crumble. Then see how much of your fic still makes sense, and which parts might need some description put back in either for further clarity or simply for flavor. Learning to write to word maximums is, imo, as important as, if not more important than, learning to write lots of words.

[lesbianrobin]

Would you be willing to share any tropes or pet peeves you have with the fandoms intepretation of HOH! Steve? No pressure at all but I know it’s gaining popularity and that fandoms historically have a shit record with disability and you’ve spoken about your frustrations with that tag. Also thank you for sharing the link to the movie!! I’ve been wanting to watch more historical films especially ones that push back against assumptions of what the past was capable of!

omg YES thank you for asking!!! so to preface for anybody who doesn't know: i myself am hard of hearing and i used to post about steve being hard of hearing sometimes prior to s4, but i haven't posted about it much since it became a Thing in the fandom because i don't trust other people on my posts lmao.

so honestly this is gonna be less about specific tropes and more of a broad ideological discussion bc i don't usually read the hoh steve fics i scroll past and i don't want to act like i Know exactly what all of them are like based off just the few i have read. however, i Have seen the tags and summaries and read the first few paragraphs of a lot of them, and i feel like that's enough for me to have like. an opinion. so ANYWAY.

my first issue is just that pretty much everyone i've seen writing hoh steve is hearing themselves. there's nothing inherently wrong with that, but the thing is that hoh steve is like. entirely a creation of fandom, yknow? there's not rly anything in canon that indicates steve has poor hearing--honestly, if anything, he seems to have rather keen ears (picking up on the background music in the russian code in s3, being the first one to hear dustin in the upside down in s4). you can certainly reverse-engineer it and argue that poor school performance can be an indicator of poor hearing, that his head injuries could potentially cause hearing loss, but neither of those are things where hearing loss naturally comes to mind without somebody looking for it, so this begs the question of why. what exactly is motivating these hearing people to write this character as hoh?

i've noticed some things that tend to go along with hoh steve. one is steddie, which is kind of a given in the st fandom at this point, but it's the things that go along with that which concern me. the "babygirl steve" thing where steve is woobified and feminized to the point of being nigh-unrecognizable seems quite common among these fics. steve often has other medical problems as well--he needs glasses, he gets migraines, he has memory loss, he's depressed, he's got chronic pain, etc, etc, and my disability is just another thing on a laundry list of issues that is seemingly employed for the sole purpose of making steve sad and hurt and pitiable so that (usually) eddie can come along and save him/baby him. i'm not gonna act like i've never tossed some shit at steve to make him suffer in a fic, but it's always for like. a Reason. and that reason has never once been just so i could ship him with somebody and make them into his savior.

i think a lot of people writing hoh steve just don't necessarily have great intentions with it, yknow? they see it as a way for steve to suffer nobly in silence and be self-sacrificial, or they think it's cute to make steve deaf since eddie plays loud music (???).

there are a lot of things i love about being hard of hearing. i love that i get to have a unique appreciation of sound that not everybody has. i love that i can take out my hearing aids when the world is too much. i love that i still discover new sounds at the age of twenty-two. did you guys know that dishwashers make noise? i didn't until today! my house was quiet and i kept hearing something strange until i tracked it down and realized! i love that i have a sense of wonder about every noise i hear! and while i don't begrudge anybody their enjoyment of hoh steve content, i have yet to see any that comes remotely close to capturing these feelings, so it's just not for me.

also this is a silly pet peeve but why is it that in these fics steve almost always learns asl and like rarely has hearing aids? like sorry but unless he's completely deaf that's out of character. steve harrington is not learning a whole new language unless he absolutely has to and has literally no other options. they had hearing aids in the eighties. c'mon people.

anyway. sorry that was so long lmao and thank you for asking!! also thank you for actually reading and caring about my within our gates post!! i highly recommend looking up some 1920s music to listen along with the film, though you can honestly listen to whatever you want--at the time, films didn't typically have dedicated scores, and individual theaters would provide their own musical accompaniment however they saw fit. oftentimes this meant a live musician would play piano during the film, and improvise to suit the mood/plot! happy viewing 💕

[kael-writ]

TW Child Abuse & not believing victims

A Child Called It by Dave Pelzer meant a lot to me as a kid. While my abuse was not as extreme, the psychology of the abuser and the abused was so intimately familiar. I saw my Mom in that woman. Im not saying my Mom was that bad, or was exactly the same, Im saying I saw the same psychological state of being emotionally out of control and twisting it into sadism against a child.

It disturbs me revisiting this book that the author is accused of fraud. And the accusations aren't based on solid evidence, not any that I can find.

The article that started these accusations of lying, in 2002 in the NYT, is behind a paywall and Im honestly not going to the effort of going around it, I am sure the kids today know how to go around paywalls but I don't want to read it and get all upset that badly tbqh. It's by a sportswriter, Pat Jordan, who dabbled in true crime who somehow got to say that for the New York Times but the secondhand sources citing it dont show that Jordan actually provided evidence. They also claim Jordan had a hostility towards therapy. Jordan has his own memoir out where he accuses his own father of being a con artist. So it kinda seems like he is someone who would be hypervigilant to thinking someone is grifting.

The reasons people give for not believing him just read like a laundry list of all the reasons people call all abuse victims liars. Some of his relatives say they think he exaggerated, but still say there was abuse, like a 90 year old grandma who lived in another state and some - not all - of his brothers. The other scapegoated brother confirms the abuse in his own book. Well, that's typical. The other kids were both privileged by the abuser and separated from the rituals of abuse and Dave's life in general, young, brainwashed. Lots of times the "golden child(ren)" deny abuse. They're meant to. The abuser has arranged it that way. They're kids, they're warped by an abuser, they are in denial and feeling guilty. The majority of the abuse of the scapegoat will be entirely in private, as Dave's was.

People point out that the memoir of his childhood going only up to age 12 reads.... like a memoir of childhood memories does... as the.. memories of a child. Like, yea some stuff might have seemed "exaggerated" to him. The amount of time something took, for example, would be really common for a child to misremember. He says in the forward it is meant to capture his childhood memories!

Dave also says openly he changed names. The book is - a book. It's carefully written and edited. It's presented to the reader. It's... a book.

To get attention? Yes! You grew up abused and that was hidden and you want the world to see it! You want to save other kids! That is understandable and not a bad thing. Yes, he is bringing attention to child abuse and to his life. And yes, he's making money from it. He wants to make money from telling his story, it's hard, time and energy consuming work and in this society it's really hard to do anything you can't monetize, frankly, we should all know that by now. The man has a child, a child he devotes himself to giving a completely different life from his, one of love and safety and peace, - god forbid he makes any money from writing a book.

As Dave DETAILS in his book not just very openly but clearly to educate us on how abuse works, abused kids have to learn how to deceive and appease to survive the abuser. To tense part of your body before a punch, to cry when that will help or show no emotion if that will help, to steal food, to lie about injuries.

So could Dave's adult work as a motivational speaker, could his story telling, come off as someone with some skill in some manner of audience manipulation? Sure dude. Everyone does that sometimes, every writer and actor does that when performing. That doesn't mean someone just made up their whole life story.

People say he couldnt have survived all that. Unfortunately, and fortunately, people have survived worse. And again, yea sure, maybe the week he remembers eating nothing he did actually eat a bite somewhere. Maybe the time he got stabbed it wasnt as deep as the book makes it sound, it seemed deeper to a kid. Sure, maybe a couple little details are off.

eta: another claim is that he "doesn't have PTSD" and functions well in life. If you read his follow up work, he does struggle with PTSD, and even if he didn't, not everyone who, say, comes back from war has it, it clearly depends. And the idea that survivors will never function and thrive is false and insulting. Look at Oprah, Maya Angelou, Elie Wiesel ffs. People CAN survive! /eta

The other main claim is "how did she get away with it? Her kid coming to school every day with bruises and dirty clothes and no one did anything?" Yea dude. Especially in the 70s. Yes. Children get murdered by abusers to this day after a CPS failure. And that's when it gets reported at all. The teacher in the afterward who was one of Pelzer's saviors said he didn't even have any understanding of child abuse back then. It hasnt even always been illegal to abuse a kid. To this day, hitting and verbally abusing your kids is largely legal. There's a line, there's been progress (BECAUSE of people like Dave) but a lot of abuse is still legal.

People say he didnt provide enough proof to them of this hidden child abuse from when he was under 12 in the 70s. I dont even know what they expect. The only external proof I have of my own abuse are the times someone else witnessed something, most of the physical stuff was only seen by a fellow sibling occasionally, neighbors heard some yelling, that's about it. but it's not like we had phones and filmed it even in the 90s, it's not like my parents signed a form when they lost their temper. Its not like abusers take the kid to the doctor. The couple times someone called cops or DCFS they didnt do their jobs. There isn't just - collected evidence of all this stuff. That's- beyond unreasonable. At most there might have been some documentation of the child custody proceedings, in the 70s I really don't know if that would be available now.

And something that is striking about these allegations is that on EVERY forum alleging them you start to see abuse victims saying "that's very realistic actually. That's what it's like".

You also don't see the actual proof of fraud. Proof the teacher who wrote the afterward doesnt exist, for example, something like that. That is what you see with actual fraud cases. The person was actually not in the USA on 9/11. Stuff like that. That's proof of fraud.

Does it sound like that's a high bar to clear to call him a fraud? I don't think so, I think an abuse victim (or a person with cancer, or whatever thing that very rarely people lie about but most people arent lying about) should be believed or at the very least not persecuted like this unless you have extremely good evidence. I particularly think a journalist shouldn't make those allegations without doing actual journalism.

When 9/11 survivors and journalists started suspecting fraudulent "victim" Tania Head, they DID RESEARCH. They FOUND PROOF. Hard evidence. She was in Barcelona on 9/11. They didn't just start accusing her without proof. Because that would have been awful. And unlike Dave, she was being a jerk to other survivors, she was not showing mutual support, I dont see anyone so much as claiming Dave didnt support other survivors. Survivors seem to appreciate him, in fact.

Is it possible it's fake? I guess. Is it likely? No, it's not. Is there reasonable evidence of fraud? Not to my knowledge. Im obviously incredibly biased here, and yes I will be so crushed if it turned out to be a fraud, but I would want to see that evidence, Id want to know - if it is actually solid, compelling evidence, not just some redditor's misunderstanding of how abuse works.

In over 20 years, no one has gone and found actual proof that Dave lied. It's still just rumors and speculation burned onto his wikipedia and his legacy. A message to him as a survivor and every survivor watching, that we STILL are not to be believed.

Abuse survivors shouldn't have to live with the stigma of presumed guilt, of never feeling like we can ever just be believed. Coming forward about abuse should not mean you are indefinitely publicly on trial in a state of presumed guilt. You don't have to 100% believe every story you hear. But abusers thrive on the silencing of victims. At some point, if we want abuse to stop being a driving force in society causing so many problems and so much pain, we're gonna have to start believing victims.

[thelittlestspider]

eric and jackie: 23, 33, 34

23. What are the defining characteristics of their relationship?

i think they make up for each other's weaknesses, while also complimenting each other's strengths. (some of this is headcanon backed up by stuff in the show, and some is just me making things up for landslide lol.)

- ex: jackie is good at working on cars, is handy at fixing things around the house, and kills the bugs eric is too scared to kill. eric is good at cooking and housework (inside stuff like dishes, sweeping, stuff like that). they both do laundry, they're both good at decorating, and they call people the other doesn't want to talk to.

(the reason i say eric is good at cooking and housework is bc 1. kitty would not allow her children to be bad at cooking. it would be like sacrilege to her. 2. i feel like she would at least make sure they knew how to do laundry and stuff bc both parents work. plus i feel like he has a particular hatred of yard work bc of red always forcing him to do it. and i feel like red looked down on eric doing housework bc he'd consider it too feminine, which was a point of contention in their household.)

- i think one of the reasons they rag on each other so much (aside from jackie's selfishness) is that they see themselves in each other and they don't like what they see. they also envy each other. let me explain:

a) eric is close to the poverty line. jackie is rich (or her father is anyway). eric envies her wealth and the doors it opens for her. jackie envies eric for his seemingly close knit family, his position as the center of the gang, and his longterm friendship/social standing in the gang (jackie being the only other girl in the gang besides donna, who also sort of suffers her own girl torments despite being part of the group.)

b) i think jackie ribs eric so bad bc she thinks she wants a big, tough masculine guy (hyde, kelso), because that's what she's socialized to want, but that's not really true. because every time jackie gets with a guy, she tries to change them to be more feminine (ex: her makeover of kelso with makeup and a dress, her makeover of hyde's room, or if they are (fez, eric) she mocks them for it because she's insecure about her own femininity and the fact she likes that about them.

i can't remember what episode it is, but there's a scene where donna asks jackie what she wants in a man and i can't remember *exactly* what she says but it was something like

1. buys her presents

2. compliments her

3. goes shoe shopping with her

and i can't remember the rest. but her list basically describes eric. which is why i think donna looks so surprised during that scene. because she sees it but jackie doesn't.

c) i think eric sometimes feels outside of the group because he's closeted, and not very masculine. things the gang ribs him about A Lot. plus being a nerd. and i think it's one of the reasons why he 'hates' jackie, is because she's another person trying desperately to fit in who doesn't really. it's sort of like tyler going after marla in fight club for being another faker in the groups he frequents. she disrupts everything. her very existence messes up the status quo. but she's sort of free in her untetheredness.

- they're also bisexual. this isn't canon. it should be though.

33. How do they flirt? Who’s the worse flirt?

jackie tries to go the coy route at first because that's how she thinks it's supposed to go, and eric Doesn't Get It. so she goes fuck it and goes the bold route, and at first eric is freaked out because it's jackie and they have a complicated friendship, but then once he gets used to the idea he's into it.

eric is the worse flirt because he tries to be joe cool about it and jackie thinks it's lame. then he tries to just be sincere instead, and while he's still uncool, jackie likes him anyway.

34. Do they have any inside jokes?

i don't know if they do or not. i feel like they have inside jokes about silly stuff the gang has done over the years.

[awaningwit]

I guess it's been a short while, although I've no reason to believe anyone has read or will read any of this. We're almost halfway through 2024, and I've been reflecting on my "progress" towards moving in the general direction of wellness, prompted by a few things but honestly it's rarely far from my mind.

In some ways it's been quite a good year, I've been enjoying hobbies I'd not engaged with in a while, continued painting mini's, branched out from making regular/tiger bread to making and maintaining a sourdough starter, which has, entirely to my surprise, yielded some reasonably successful loaves, I've even managed to get a handful of CBT sessions from a referral my GP made a long time ago. I've managed to find the motivation and energy to, in general, get more control over my life, the space I live in and try to establish good habits. It still feels very much like a chore, like something I do because I must and not something I get any pride or satisfaction from, but while it doesn't fill me with positive feedback, it does alleviate a small portion of the generalised shame, guilt and malaise I felt for years up until this point, and despite my nascent cynicism I know I have to accept that as a good change, that there's no switch to flick that will miraculously cast light on all the shadows and that this *is* what progress is.

I've played guitar, and found the money and energy to repair a couple of my first guitars which had fallen into disrepair, a hobby I'd really not engaged with properly in years, I'm still mostly revisiting things I could play before but I definitely feel more confident playing them, and I've picked up a few new things along the way that clearly represent growth within the space which is good.

I've been walking regularly up the hill to my parents' house and back to let the animals out, to drop bread and other stuff I've made off (it's the only way to ensure I stay in my dad's will, I joke, although as with a lot of comedy there's a nugget of truth at the core of it) and although it's only maybe 4000 steps, half of them are uphill which for some reason has always caused me undue discomfort, so again, that represents some progress, and being relied on by my parents is a welcome change, even if the tasks are typically incredibly minor, the feeling of uselessness they once instilled in me is being eroded slowly.

I've made a to-do list with repeating tasks to keep on top of stuff like regularly showering, taking the bins out, doing laundry, cleaning towels and bedsheets, hoovering and mopping the floors etc, and for the most part I've done a good job of sticking to it, there's occasional procrastination (sometimes for good reason, sometimes for no reason), which again, despite a lack of positive feedback, all represents reasonable forward progress.

The CBT was...not particularly helpful, within a few sessions the therapist was clearly just frustrated with me, which I understand, for a lot of people I'm sure it's revolutionary but I'm already well aware of the theory, so while I genuinely tried to engage with it and practice it, it just never really did much to help, she would seem aggrieved whenever she asked how my mood had been that week and I gave the same answer, and by session 5 she would largely just insist that I get diagnosed with autism in the hopes that the Integrated Autism Services could help me. That's fine, I'd like them to too, I suspect I'm on the spectrum (and every single medical professional I've ever met has suggested the same) but they're overstretched beyond belief and clearly my case doesn't warrant urgent attention, so that'll be another years long waiting room it seems.

In general, despite the progress, I mostly just ache, physically and mentally, every day I just ache deeply. My bones are tired, my mind is tired, it's better to feel this way and do the things I'm doing than it was to feel this way and not do the things, but it feels like a technical success, there's just no joy or pride or feeling of achievement. I know I'm harsh on myself, these things feel simple, they feel like the bare bare minimum, I don't feel comfortable celebrating them, but for me they should be worthy of celebrating because clearly they aren't the default for me for whatever reason...but the reality is I just feel like I'm awarding myself a participation medal for barely participating.

I can't find ways to meet people, I can't afford a car and I'm stuck where I am, I'm hoping the summer helps change that as maybe more stuff happens in the immediate locality, but at least for now that's definitely one of the biggest disappointments, I really try to find things to do, places to go, but I'm so astonishingly smothered by circumstance.

This has been far more rambling than I intended, but I guess the precis is; I'm doing some of the things I should've been doing the whole time because I know should be doing them, I'm trying, I'm not abjectly failing, but it doesn't feel like much of a success. It just...is. And that's both a good and a bad thing.

[emeraldbabygirl]

Excuse me! Excuse me! I have something to say right fucking now. I know what I say and I know how I feel about certain people being accused of certain things and I know what I say about people I clearly don’t like but what the fuck happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty?’ When the fuck did this ‘guilty til proven innocent’ bullshit become a thing that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. That’s not how it works. I don’t give a shit that’s literally not the law?? It’s innocent until proven guilty that’s what it is and that’s what it should always be. I what the fuck is with this new mentality that people have where they think everyone is guilty even if there was never any concrete evidence?

Like I am fully aware of people who just believe whatever they want and sometimes I do the same thing but if there’s evidence that someone did something and it’s actually real evidence then I believe it even if I don’t want to but how can some people really just believe made up shit?

I’m not even going to say what the reason for this post is, it’s not one specific person it’s a lot of things. AND THATS ANOTHER THING! People I’ve noticed on here, the only place I’ve seen it, they go out of their way to list groups of people or specific interests that someone might have and they say they don’t want those people to interact with them. Like does that mean they can’t like a post of yours or reblog a post of yours if they like it? I think that’s so stupid honestly. Like if someone likes the same things you like why are you trying to tell them what they can and can’t do. You know how many people like my posts that I may not like? I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA. You know why?? CAUSE I DONT CARE. Why should I get mad and want to block someone just cause they are a certain way or cause they like a certain thing or they don’t like a certain thing. I’ve blocked people in the past but that’s only cause of arguments that got nasty and being harassed and bullied from them but I’ve since unblocked them cause there’s no need to keep them blocked. They don’t bother me and I don’t bother them.

I’ve said this countless times I literally don’t care who you are cause you are liking the same things I do. You’re following me cause of what I post my content my likes and interests, not who I am as a person. The only time I will block someone or not interact with someone is if they’re being a genuine asswipe to me. Maybe this sounds wrong to some people or insensitive and like I’ve said many times if I post stuff of say stuff that you don’t like you can feel free to unfollow me or even block me if you feel it’s necessary. It’s mine blog and I’ll post what I want and if you don’t like it fine. It’s not my job to make everyone happy and agree with everyone. I have friends who disagree on things with me and that’s completely fine. People aren’t supposed to agree on everything sometimes I feel like I can’t even speak my mind on things especially kpop which that in itself 🙄 without someone getting mad at me like I’m so afraid of mutuals or friends getting mad at me and wanting to argue or whatever just cause I think different from them or I disagree on something or support something they don’t and if that’s the way it is then so be it. If I lose followers or someone doesn’t want to speak to me anymore so be it. Not the end of the world, people constantly come and go in ours lives you can’t keep everyone.

Anyway ending the rant cause I’ve derailed and I’m just tired I guess of things being flipped and just dumb shit being thrown around. And like yes it’s your own blog you can run it however you want which includes wanting to have a laundry list of people you don’t want to speak with that’s fine you do you I just personally don’t get it and don’t see the point and I def judge everyone who does that

[nohoney]

FEELING GUD

note: i have an issue and my issue is that i literally have a list of wips for dabi, shouto, and hawks and instead i keep spontaneously making stories for fucking bakugou cuz i have no control and for some reason his story ideas are just easier to push out than the rest lol. so here’s a raver! Bakugou doing his first roll. based on my experience when i went to an event and literally ran into 3 different friend groups not knowing they were attending too lol

title song: feeling gud

warnings: 18+, drug use (rolling -> taking ecstasy), sexual activity while on drugs (stay safe kiddos!), more sensual than it is dirty tbh

summary:

“You... I’m glad you’re my roommate... m’pretty roommate tha’ always washes her dishes.”

He doesn’t recognize the tenderness that’s pouring out of him and he knows that he doesn’t spout stupid shit like that but he feels fuzzy and warm and comfortable. It feels right to hold you and want to kiss you even though it’s not within his nature to kiss strangers on a whim. Though technically you’re not a stranger, you’re just his roommate that he hasn’t bothered to get to know despite living together for the past few months.

Katsuki doesn’t think anything of you, his quiet little roommate that barely makes a peep whenever he’s around.

He saw your roommate ad posted online and it was honestly his third choice for finding a room, a little apprehensive about living with a girl but where the apartment was located and the pricing you listed for the room was too good of an offer to pass up. Meeting with the first two choices went very well but when he dropped by your apartment for you to interview him as a candidate, he realized how much he preferred your apartment so much more compared to the other ones. Katsuki didn’t do anything to kiss your ass into choosing him, didn’t schmooze up on you or ask what your story was aside from how long you’d been a tenant, he was just simply himself and you didn’t seem to put up a front either.

“What do you do for work?” you asked Katsuki as you pulled on the sleeves of your sweater when you had first met him.

“I work in data annotations, just basically tagging shit in a computer to identify data in software.” Katsuki answered straight to the point and not bothering to hide his gruff language despite meeting you for the first time. His eyes wander a little around the spacious loft apartment and he took a liking for how simple the layout was. “You been here long?”

“I’ve been apart of the building for three years now, so just for a while. The bedroom I posted is downstairs and you’ve got your own bathroom. My bedroom is upstairs and past where the loft is. The loft is communal space too like the living room and kitchen so you’re more than welcome to use a portion of that space for your work desk if you’d like.” you answered and gave a basic rundown of how splitting amenities works, what your schedule was like usually, if he ever wanted to have guests over and all that. “Is there um, anything I should know about you?”

“Nah, I got a small group of friends but I don’t want them around where I live ‘cause I don’t wanna clean up after their visits. I go to bed early most nights, not really a party guy unless my dumbass friends drag me somewhere so you don’t gotta worry about me stumblin’ in here drunk or whatever. And that’s about it for me, just wanna live somewhere quiet up until I can afford my own place.”

Katsuki heard back from you two days later saying that you’d like him as a roommate.

You have your own routine, running into him sometimes to ask how his day was but for the most part you keep to yourself. Everything in the fridge is evenly split down the middle for food and it’s easy to tell when one of you is taking up the washer and dryer for laundry. Chores are easy too since the living room, kitchen and loft are the only spaces you share with one another. Katsuki doesn’t have to worry about your shedding hair in his own bathroom or cleaning the tub after you use it, he only cleans up after himself in the spaces that are all his own. He does appreciate how when he gets one portion of the chores, you’ll get it the next time.

“Hey (Name), I’m running the dishwasher tonight.”

“‘Kay, sounds good. I’ll run it next time when it’s due for a rinse.”

Sometimes you and him will be in the living room together, you’re sitting with a cup of tea watching a movie on the television or have your feet propped up on the coffee table while you scroll through your phone. He thinks you’re pretty unassuming and introverted, hell he even notices that most of the time you’re wearing simple dresses and very rarely has he seen you in pants or shorts that weren’t the sleeping kind. You’ve got the wardrobe of a very quiet girl and you speak like one too. Katsuki assumes that you’re one of those mousey types seeing as you keep to yourself and seem to never go anywhere, which is fine with him.

To him, you were just a quiet roommate that didn’t have anything going on.

Or so he thought.

Katsuki is not a party guy but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t go out ever.

He and his friends got tickets to an EDM festival and for the past three years they’ve always gone together at the end of summer which is usually when the festival is scheduled. They all have delegated tasks for when they come together to ensure that they have everything prepared and that there’s little to no contingencies. Making sure enough water is brought, the tickets or wristbands and passes are all accounted for, what the bathroom plans are for the inevitably that someone has to piss even if they think their body doesn’t need to. His friends roll while at these festivals while Katsuki is the designated trip sitter, he doesn’t really care how much they rave about how much more fun it is on a little pill because someone has to watch out for their dumb asses. For Katsuki, he enjoys the festival as it is sober instead of the mostly fucked up crowd around him.

So he’s no stranger to annoying extras doped up on ecstasy trying to touch on him or his friends wandering a little too far when they’re high off their asses.

The crowd around him is hyped for the upcoming set and Katsuki wipes the sweat off his brow, mostly the crowd of people and their body heat around him from jumping or moshing that are making him sweat. He sips on the straw of the hydration pack, taps each of his friends to make sure that they stay hydrated. Kirishima asks for his phone so that he can record the set, Sero who’s more of sound mind walked together with Kaminari to the restroom, and Ashido is being set down by Katsuki who wanted to be on his shoulders for the last set because she wanted a better look at the visuals edited on screen.

All around him are shirtless guys with headbands or beads on their wrists and most of the girls wear teeny rave outfits with fishnets or lots of belts looped around their bodies, nothing that he hadn’t seen before.

Somehow with all the people around Katsuki sees you, recognizes you but also not at the same time.

He’s never seen you outside of the apartment, outside of the simple dresses you wear and how you sit quietly with your favorite mug nearby, never seen you speaking any louder than your inside voice, never seen you act like anything else aside from a homebody.

He never would have thought you were a raver.

Your hair is styled and you’ve got glitter around your eyes, wearing one of those cutout crop tops where he can see your tits peaking out at the bottom and the design of the top matches the mesh skirt you wear and he can see your fucking thong through the flimsy material. It’s the type of outfit that Katsuki has seen before, hell he’s surrounded by hundreds of variations of your outfit right now, but he never would have guessed he would be seeing it on you…

You’re with your own group and head banging with your friends, unnoticed by Katsuki at first. He’s mesmerized watching you and barely flinches when the people around him bump into him, he just manages to catch himself when he sees Ashido excitedly talking to the group of people behind them but then she bounds herself towards your friend group. Ashido is always the most friendliest when she’s rolling, getting random social media accounts from the people she meets at the festivals and forgetting who she followed in the morning.

And she happens to tug your arm and you follow her, smiling excitedly at her first before Ashido stops right in front of Katsuki and says, “Look it’s my new friend, say hi! Bakugou say hi to um…”

Katsuki sees how your eyes land right on his body at first, hard abdominals that he’s worked hard for along with a firm chest and big arms. He’s had dozens of girls ogle him before at these festivals, sometimes damn near sexually harassing him while they’re on a roll because he fucking knows he’s attractive but he’s more concentrated on keeping watching on his friends. And it’s a little uncomfortable because well… he’s unprepared for the two of you to meet up this way at a rave of all places. The most he knew about you was the job you worked, the tupperware you used to store your food, and that you always were the one to refill the dish soap dispenser.

Your eyes are drawn up to his face and unlike his own friends and the people around him, your pupils aren’t dilated.

You’re sober so Katsuki assumes that you’re probably the trip sitter and rave parent for your own group.

“Ah, we uh kinda already know each other.” you say to Ashido over the music the best you can, leaning in towards her ear so that she can hear you over the music. “He’s my roommate.”

And Ashido gasps and squeals at the information, jumping in place while still holding onto you before she looks over at Katsuki. “Oh my god, you didn’t tell me that your roommate raves! We could have combined our groups and came together!”

Katsuki scratches the back of his neck and is unsure what to say in the moment, still trying to register that his quiet roommate is at the exact same rave as him. And you don’t look like a newbie either, you look quite comfortable in this loud environment with booming music and bass and laser lights with visuals on the screen. “Ashido, let her go back to her own group alright? Ya always fuckin’ do this.”

“Wha?! No, this is totally meant to be, this was unplanned so like, the universe brought us together like this!” Ashido swears and she’s already making her way towards your friend group and pulling them to combine the party.

So you stand in front of him with a smile on your face and taking this moment in stride, leaning towards him to ask, “So uh… I never would have guessed you liked raves. You don’t really look the type seeing as you said you don’t like going out.”

“Same here.” Katsuki says back, looking down at your outfit and appreciating your exposed skin and your curves. “You’re not rolling?”

“I don’t pop before, I like to do it more towards the peak of the sets and then continue the roll at the after party!” you tell him and he watches you unzip the fanny pack you have around your waist and pull out a little baggy with two blue pills inside. How you managed to hide the pills past security is beyond him, they’re usually too thorough when they make people drop everything out their bags and pat them down but you must have your methods. You drop them both in the palm of your hand and offer one to him but Katsuki shakes his head and declines them. “It’s fine I won’t charge you for it! Go ahead, take it and enjoy yourself too!”

“I… I don’t think I should, I’m supposed to watch over my idiot friends.” Katsuki looks apprehensively at the pills in your hand. He had never rolled before ever, didn’t have an interest before and yet something about how you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours makes him reconsider. He still can’t believe that you’re his roommate and he’s meeting you at a rave of all places. “Gotta keep an eye out on them.”

But you deflect his excuse, gesturing to your friend group that merged with his own, Sero and Kaminari having finally returned from the bathrooms and getting acquainted with the people from your group. “Trust me, my group has three trip sitters so you’ll be fine!” you reassure Katsuki still but when you actually catch how he gazes at the pills in your hand, you understand almost immediately. So you draw yourself close to him, put a hand on the back of his neck to make him lean down towards you so that he can hear you clearly as you speak into his ear. “You never rolled before?”

“Have you?”

“Yeah, a bunch of times! Sometimes I’d do a house roll on my days off and just listen to music in my room the entire day!” you say it with a shrug and Katsuki is even more baffled upon learning this about you. The image of his quiet roommate differs so very much from this version of you that he is now meeting for the first time and he is still unsure how to digest it. “I mean like, no pressure or anything like that! Try things at your own pace ya know!”

He thinks of how his friends are when they roll, the most comprehensive when rolling was Sero while the least comprehensive one was Kaminari, he’s seen them get too tense to the point where they ache while Mina is in charge of making sure everyone is chewing gum to prevent them clenching their own teeth and Kirishima is giving massages. They each experience their own come down from the E and it always left them too lethargic for a good while which made Katsuki disgusted while he had to nurse them.

Katsuki had never been interested before, never, but when he looks between you and the pills in your hand…

“They any good?”

A smile forms on your face.

“The best from my plug!”

You put one pill back inside the little baggy and tell him that you’ll split one pill, promise that you’ll be the one to watch over him for his first roll and you’ll take responsibility for him. “There’s nothing like your first roll, it’s pure fuckin’ magic!” So you put the pill in between your teeth, not biting down and looking up at Katsuki expectantly. To you it doesn’t seem like big deal but for him, it’s all happening so fast as he leans down to bite half the pill and he swallows it quick before he can taste it on his tongue. He offers the straw of his hydration pack to you first before he takes his own sip. “Lemme know how you feel okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Katsuki tries to anticipate the come up, wonders a little too hard on when he thinks it will kick in but you keep him in the moment to let the pill hit when it hits. And it’s during a set with his favorite EDM artist that the euphoria creeps up on him, the heavy bass of the music was always good but holy shit it was so much better than before. His heart is racing and when your hand touches the back of his neck and applies just the right amount of pressure, Katsuki groans and looks down at you. The pill has hit you too but you’re a veteran at this so you are much more aware than he is in this moment, his hand reaching out and touching your cheek, now in awe of the glitter that is decorated around your eyes and how it reflects pretty colors when the lights flash over it.

“Fuckin’ hell… you’re fucking pretty…” he tells you, barely recognizing his own voice when he compliments you. He doesn’t realize how he reaches for you and pulls you close, looks down so openly at your top and plays with the strap of it. “You’re my roommate? Never thought I’d see you like this…”

You laugh, it’s tinkling and it makes electricity shoot up his spine and he holds you closer. “You know when I first saw you, you always looked grumpy even though you have such a pretty face.” you confess this to him as the music shifts to a bit of a slower song that makes everyone put their hands up and sing out heartfelt lyrics. “Kinda wanted to talk you a little bit more often but you always do everything with such purpose that I never wanted to disrupt your routine.”

Katsuki hears you, he definitely understood the words coming out of his mouth and yet at the same time he feels unable to continue the conversation. All that he say is, “You... I’m glad you’re my roommate... m’pretty roommate tha’ always washes her dishes.”

He doesn’t recognize the tenderness that’s pouring out of him and he knows that he doesn’t spout stupid shit like that but he feels fuzzy and warm and comfortable. It feels right to hold you and want to kiss you even though it’s not within his nature to kiss strangers on a whim. Though technically you’re not a stranger, you’re just his roommate that he hasn’t bothered to get to know despite living together for the past few months.

Large hands wander your body a little and he can hear your own little sighs when the pads of his fingers press into the flesh of your waist. They drop down to your hips, over the mesh skirt you wear and he likes how pleasant the material feels. Your own hands cover his, linking your fingers in between the spaces and you keep them close to your body. Your body leans against Katsuki, he presses back and he groans into your ear because fuck it feels so damn good.

This is rolling, holy shit...

“Feel good?” You ask, checking in as he noses at your neck and his lips press a kiss into your skin.

“Feels good, s’fucking good...” he mumbles.

“Here, open for me...” you tell Katsuki and he mouth drops open, tastes something minty on his tongue and he automatically chomps on it.

It’s gum.

You’re patting his cheek, letting him know that the gum helps with the teeth clenching which he hasn’t realized he was doing in the first place.

Katsuki keeps close to you the entire time and it goes noticed by his friends, pointing the camera in his direction to capture his first roll. He head bangs hard to his favorite songs, watches your friends and his friends shuffle and dance together, and goddamn he can’t keep his hands to himself. Even as the festival begins to draw to a close for the night and the final artist is finishing up their last encore, for once he wants the party to continue.

So your friends offer for them to come back to the Airbnb you guys were staying at, that it’s no big deal since you and Katsuki know each other and therefore everything is cool!

“We don’t got any of our stuff.” Sero tells your friend group to which they all wave their hands in dismissal. Usually the plan is always to head back in an Uber or Lyft and go straight back to the hotel so Katsuki is unprepared to get into a spare change of clothes after finishing up at a rave. “We’ll just head back to hotel and-”

“Dude, it’s not a big deal. We bring spare clothes all the time ‘cause we lose our shit sometimes when we roll.” One of your guy friends reassures Sero, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “C’mon you guys are cool!”

Kirishima looks over to Katsuki, who’s still very much attached to you, shouldering your weight as you lean on him. “Bakubro, it’s your call man. We going or nah?”

The question does cut through his mind and he does take a few seconds to think over the question. He knows the E is still in his system but he can already feel it easing off just a little. You have your arms looped around his neck in a hug, just comfortably resting against him and rubbing your cheek against his chest. No doubt some of your glitter is now stuck to his pecs now and he doesn’t want to let you out of his arms. He can still see you back at the apartment, ask how your after party was and you guys can blossom a relationship together after recuperating from the festival.

Your hand cups his cheek and you make him lean down towards you, he meets you in a kiss as you stand on your toes to reach him.

A few whoops from the extras around that are watching.

You pull back with a smile on your face and your pupils still as wide as a dinner plate.

“Let’s go.”

━━━━✧

Katsuki splits the last pill with you to continue the roll, at least freshened up from a shower and wearing clean sweats courtesy of the guys inside your friend group. His friend group mingles with yours, some of them deciding to ease off to get to sleep earlier and the other half continuing the roll just like you and him. Your hands are on him, openly touching him by smoothing your hands up his arms and squeezing the muscle or walking two dainty fingers on the ridges of his abs. In turn Katsuki massages your lower back and gives you head massages that make your eyes shut and you hum in pleasure. He’s reminded to take sips of water with liquid IV splashed in to replenish electrolytes, snacks a little on the provided food by you and your friends despite having no appetite whatsoever.

“You always seem so busy, what do you do in your free time?” you ask him while the two of you are sitting on the couch together, your legs thrown over his lap as he runs one hand up and down your shins and he lets you play with his other hand, your fingers tapping his knuckles and massaging his palm to keep you busy. “You’re so fit, I gotta figure you work out on the regular but like... what do you do for fun?”

“Just do a lotta reading, I like to stay current with what’s going... sometimes I think about playing the drums again.” Katuski answers you, entranced by how soft your skin feels and staring at the logo of the big t-shirt you wear. His eyes drift down to the hem of the shirt and wonders what color panties you’re wearing. “Don’t wanna bug you though with a huge drum set.”

But you’re in awe and telling him that it’d be so cool to hear him practice on the drums and start spouting off how maybe it would incentivize you to learn how to play an instrument so that you can play with him. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play bass! Oh you and I... we could, like, jam together!” you giggle and lean towards him with a big smile, so happy and doped up and focused on just him. “Don’t you think it’d be so fun? I never would have pictured you as a drummer, y’know?”

Katsuki chuckles and grasps your hand in his, deciding to pull you into sitting on his lap. He wants you closer to him, holds your against his body and smells the sweet smelling lotion you massaged into your skin after you showered. You were happy to peel off your rave outfit and sighed in relief when you kicked off your shoes, even the most comfy pair would still make your feet tired after wearing them for too long. “And I never pictured you a rave girl, you don’t look the part.”

You scoff and raise an eyebrow in question. “What is that supposed to mean? Looks have nothing to do with what music I listen to.”

“Not always, no. But you were quiet this entire time we’ve been living together, never heard you play the television too loud when you watch a movie. You fuckin’ wear these dresses and sweaters all the damn time, keeping your nose to the ground, makes you look like one of those quiet bookworm girls from my old high school.” Katsuki explains this to you and thinks over how he’s always perceived you in the months he’s lived with you. You always looked soft and shy, definitely not the head banging type upon first impression. “Never thought I’d see ya half naked at a rave.”

“You’ve never seen me half naked, period.” you laugh and run a hand through Katsuki’s hair, oohing over how soft it feels and then leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’ve seen you in your workout clothes though, with the big cut out holes for your arms and I see your obliques sometimes... it’s sexy.”

“Tch, you sexualizing me?”

You shrug your shoulders and give him a cheeky grin. “Maybe just a little... hope you don’t mind but I may have rubbed one out thinking about you a few times.”

Such a blatant confession would have disgusted Katuski but instead he’s intrigued, keeping a firm grip on your body to keep you in place and he leans forward to kiss your neck. He inhales deeply and exhales as he says, “Is that fucking so...”

It’s all happening so fast, no lazy build up of sexual tension.

Just an instant attraction that zaps like lightning.

Two nights before you were walking up the stairs in your pajamas with a plate of cookies for a late night snack, telling him good night and he didn’t think any more of you as soon as you were out of sight. And now here you are on his lap with a big smile on your face and eyes that keep on looking him up and down, your hands on his shoulders that press just in that right fucking spot that feels so damn good...

“You wear gray sweatpants too so I have a pretty good idea what it looks like...”

God if that wasn’t a signal for Katsuki to instigate something...

“Well baby, you don’t gotta have a pretty good idea of what it looks like. Could fuckin’ show you if you just say the word.”

This isn’t like Katsuki, not like him to just want to fuck someone on a whim, not like him to take a pill for a rave, not like him to be so openly flirtatious. But in the moment, he can’t say that he doesn’t hate it. He hasn’t hated how open he’s been with you, hasn’t hated touching you and you touching him back, and he certainly doesn’t hate the implication that he could be getting laid.

Your eyes glance over to your combined friend group, they’re all getting along well and seem to be having their fun with one another with games or just talking and getting to know one another. So you get off Katsuki’s lap and pull him by his hand, not bothering to say goodnight to the group and going up the stairs and down the hallway to the room you’re staying in.

The door is shut closed with the light switch turned on and you’re already pulling him down to kiss you, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed and sitting on his lap. You’re grinding against him, hands in his hair and lightly tugging at his roots that make Katsuki’s eyes roll back a little and he groans out a curse. Big hands cup your ass, squeezing the flesh and going underneath the shirt you wear. And just right when the tips of his fingers skim the lace edge of your panties...

“Wait wait... I feel bad.” you pull back to tell him, panting to catch your breath and stop grinding in his lap. “I don’t wanna take advantage of you while you’re rolling.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen in surprise. “The fuck you mean? I want this!”

“But it’s your first time and fucking while you’re on is cool and all, trust me I’ve done it, I just really wanna make sure that you want this. I mean, this is the most we’ve interacted since we’ve met.” you tell him, trying to be rational about this situation even though you so desperately want to sleep with your roommate. “What if you’re one of those guys that likes to get to know their partners first before doing anything?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face first before he looks you in the eye. “Listen if there’s anything you need to know about me, it’s that I say the shit that’s on my mind if I don’t like something. I’m not fuckin’ helpless and so damn lost that I’m not capable of making my own decisions.”

You still look a little apprehensive before asking him, “You really mean that? It’s not the E talking?”

“I swear to you (Name), alright?”

You lift up your pinky in front of him. “You pinky swear to me? I take this really seriously, I want you to know that.”

He honors the pinky swear and says once more, “I want this.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you immediately take the shirt you were wearing and pull it off your body to toss it somewhere in the room. “Okay, I just wanted to be sure. You know what they say, consent is sexy.”

“You’re sexy.”

“And you’re just now realizing it. Now I believe that you got a little something to show me, yeah?”

Katsuki chuckles and sets you on the edge of the bed, standing in front of you and grasping his hard bulge through the sweats. He sees how your eyes stare just a little too long and he tuts to get your attention. “Ain’t nothing little about it sweetheart.” The sweatpants drop to the floor and an excited smile comes onto your face watching Katsuki’s cock slap up against his stomach, thick and long and grasped in his hand as he jerks himself in front of you.

He steps towards you and lets your hand replace his, your dainty fingers wrap around his thick flesh as you stroke up and down. Your other hand is gently stroking the defined v on his hips and the sensation makes the hairs on his arms stand up, gets him riled up but not in an aggressive way. It feels intimate the way you’re petting him, it’s gentle and more sensual than just horny. Leaning just a bit closer towards his cock, Katsuki watches as you lick a stripe up from his balls to the tip before taking him in your mouth.

Normally he likes his blowjobs rough and sloppy, loves to face fuck girls until they’re a drooling mess all over his cock. But you’re sucking his cock so smoothly and slow, almost too intimate for two people who are just getting to know one another. Your eyes are kept on him, maintaining eye contact as you take him down to the base and he curses as your throat convulses around him and wet his cock with your spit. Your pupils are still so wide, the ecstasy still running through your system and his, and he groans out “Goddamn... got such pretty eyes, y’er pretty with cock in your mouth.”

Pulling off his cock, strings of drool connect from your lips to his tip and a cute little ‘ah’ is sighed out from you. “You got pretty eyes too... like rubies.”

God for some reason your little compliment makes his heart flutter, Katsuki is partly aware that it’s the pill that’s making him kind of mushy but he doesn’t mind right now. This moment is just between you and him after all. He reaches for you and shifts you to lie back on the bed and pulls off the lacey panties you were wearing, securing your legs over his shoulders before he dips his head down to eat you out. Katsuki hears you curse up at the ceiling, smirks to himself when your legs try to close around his head before he pushes them back open. “Keep your legs open baby, wanna get this pussy nice and wet for my cock. Want that yeah? Don’t gotta use your imagination or nothin’ right now.” Katsuki tells you in between licks before licking at your clit.

“F-fuck...! Please, can I see your face?” You ask with a quivering breath and already moving to sit up.

Katsuki gives in to your request, leans in toward you and let’s your hands hold the side of his face. You look so in awe as you stare into his eyes, thumbs brushing against his cheekbone. Once more he finds himself telling you how pretty you are before leaning in to kiss you, slotting his lips against yours and pushing you to lie back on the bed. “Fuck I don’t know why I’m so damn mushy... s’weird.”

You giggle comb a hand through his hair. “Hehe that’s what ecstasy does to ya. Makes you all lovey even if you’re not a lovey person, you’ve trip sit for your friends before so you should know.”

“Didn’t think it’d make me act this way...” his eyes shut as you massage his head.

“Don’t think you’re so special that you’re immune from being all soft and mushy gushy when you take ecstasy.” You laugh a little and go in for just one more kiss before adjusting yourself underneath him, spreading your legs and wrapping them around his hips. “Go slow, okay?”

Katsuki wouldn’t be able to just ram it in you even if he wanted to right now so it’s easy to give you exactly what you ask. Something about this moment just makes him want to take it slow too and he has to figure it’s because of what you said, that all this sentimental shit is all because of a pill he took. And Katsuki likes it rough and impersonal, it gets him off more than being all emotionally connected to whoever he’s fucking, mostly because he has a difficult time connecting emotionally to any person he thinks he has an interest in but he might as well get a good fuck anyway. But this feel different with you as he rolls his hips into you in a more sensual manner than he’s used to, not unfamiliar with being gentle but just not a regular thing he ever indulges in.

It’s different on ecstasy.

And it feels good with you who promised that you would take care of him during his first roll.

His eyes are zeroed in on you, how your head lolls to the side with the softest sighs leaving your lips, your hands fisting the sheets, and the bounce of your tits when he pushes himself forward into you. But fuck when you pull him into you and hold him close, Katsuki feels a warm fuzziness that he’s just not used to but won’t say that he’s not uncomfortable with it. Turning his head to the side to kiss you, he feels more connected in this moment through this very specific kiss than all the other ones you were sharing before.

He pulls back from the kiss and stares into your eyes, a dreamy smile on your face as your nails lightly scratch down his back that makes his eyes rolls to the back of his head once more. “I never... never fucked like this before, goddamn!” Katsuki hisses as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts. “What the fuck do you call this?”

Another sigh leaves your lips and you push his bangs back from his forehead and you tell him, “It’s ‘cause you don’t fuck when you’re on ecstasy. You make love...”

“Tch, never done that before.”

“Until now.” you giggle and scrunch your hand through his hair, pulling on the roots and enjoying how Katsuki’s composure is crumbling every time you play with his hair or touch on his back. “I uh... ah, wanted to know if—fuck— you wanted to get to know each other after this?”

What a question to ask in that moment.

You loop your arms around his neck to bring him down for another kiss, the soft smack of your lips against one another that makes Katsuki’s guard go down even further. So much so that you manage to catch him by surprise by rolling over so that you got on top of him, this time taking control as you roll your hips against his pelvis and a particularly loud moan lets him know that you’re enjoying yourself even more. You get even wetter in this position, circling your hips and grinding back into his cock. And he’s mesmerized even further by you, enjoys your blissed out face and how you cum on his cock and can feel it dripping down his balls. His hands hold your hips first, the pads of his thumbs press into your hips and your body shudders from the sensation, his hands sliding up past your rib cage before cupping your breasts in his hands and making them bounce in his palms. One hand gropes at a tit while the other is captured by you, linking your fingers through the spaces and holding it close over your heart.

“Wanna get to know you, get to know more of this pussy…” Katsuki groans, this time it’s his turn for the back of his head to dig into the mattress. “Fuck, you’re so different than what I thought you were.”

“And you’re much more sensitive than you seem.” you giggle and he thinks it’s supposed to be a little teasing jab but he can’t quite bring himself to respond to it. He can only mutter how good you feel, beg you to keep on moving your hips just like that and fuck—he wants you to come down here so that he can kiss you again. “C’mon baby, want you to cum in me. S’okay with you, yeah? Wan’ my pussy drippin’ with your cum.”

“Fuck yeah! Wanna cum in you, lemme cum in your fucking pussy.” Katsuki huffs and reaches for you, pressing you back down to him and using his strength to keep you pinned against his body. He fixes his legs for leverage and begins to fuck up into you, working for his climax and cursing as you gush for him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders and you moan directly right into his ear, little breaths and pleas of ‘please cum in me’ and ‘you’re so good’ shoot right down to his groin. And Katsuki can’t stop cursing as he snaps his hips into you one last time, groaning out loud as he unloads himself into you and you cum together with him.

He cums hard.

This orgasm is so much different than others he’s had before, it’s strong and leaves him feeling blissed out in a manner he’s never felt before. Like the gentlest wave just washed over him and now he’s swimming in warm waters that feels like a hug, calming and something he could never forget.

Katsuki lays where he is with his eyes shut, trying to catch his breath and gather his wits after such a strong orgasm. He feels you lift off his lap, groans out your name and wonders what you’re doing when he hears some shuffling and the sound of a faucet running. His body twitches when he feels a wet cloth wipe down his body, cool and pleasant when he realizes how hot he is. Your hands slip under his back and you’re telling him to sit up for just a bit and when he leans back, you’ve propped a pillow behind him for comfort. In the back of his mind he knows it should be him giving you after care but he can’t bring himself to do it and return the favor. “I said I’d take care of you for your first roll, didn’t I?”

That you did.

There’s a gentle pat to his cheek and his eyes open, admiring your naked body as you give him a water bottle. Little sips only and he’s grateful to be hydrated, his eyes fluttering a little as he looks at you. “Hey, no falling asleep just yet. We’re past our peak but we’re not eased off yet, gotta stay awake for the rest of the roll.”

“‘M tired…” he mumbles.

“I know, but trust me when I say that your come down will be worse if you try to sleep it off right now.” you inform him as you settle yourself comfortably next to him and massage his bicep gently and lovingly. “Now c’mon, we said we’d get to know each other so let’s do it. You got any siblings at all?”

“Nah… only kid. You?”

The next few hours are spent talking about the small and little things until you deem it safe for the both of you to sleep.

━━━━✧

Katsuki takes two days off to recover from the festival weekend and from his first roll.

You’re busy at the kitchen stirring a soup in a pot that he recognizes the scent of, back into the dresses that he always sees you wear while he’s slumped on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table and the tv playing some cartoon kid’s movie. He can see the tiredness in your eyes too but you’re definitely more active than he is in that moment. Never before had he felt so lethargic and out of his body before until he experienced his first come down. His phone has unopened text messages from his friends telling him that they glad that he enjoyed his first roll and that the next time there’s a festival, they want to combine their group with your friends since it was so much fun.

And he looks at you, looks at you differently than he had done before, knowing that part of his feelings are because of the ecstasy and how you took care of him during his roll.

Katsuki wonders if this is normal… to sort of catch feelings when someone takes care of you during a roll and come down. A small part of him is in denial while the other half knows that the two of you have now established a connection since the festival.

“Alrighty here ya go! I always make this soup when I’m on a come down, it helps so much even if your appetite still isn’t back yet.” you say as you hand Katsuki a bowl and sit down next to him on the couch, more chipper than he is in that moment though there is also no mistaking your own sluggishness.

He takes a small sip from the spoon you already provided him and is pleasantly surprised at the rich taste of the broth that hits his tongue. His appetite may not be back and yet somehow he knows this soup is going to hit the spot. His eyes glance to his duffel bag and your backpack sitting by the stairs, the steps leading up to the loft and the hallway where your room is. Your little rave outfit was stuffed into the pack without a care and he’s still surprised to have bumped into you at a rave.

To be honest Katsuki’s not completely sure if he would roll again, he’s not sure if he’s willing to deal with the come down despite how good the roll felt at its peak. He always took care of his friends when they were sobering up from the ecstasy so it was different for him to be the one taken care of for once. So maybe next time if you were to suggest it to him again… he might consider it.

You look towards Katsuki only to see him with his gaze on you, setting your bowl down on the coffee table before smoothing down your hair. He guessed that his staring must have embarrassed you a little because you look away with a shy smile and ask him what’s on his mind. You and him have lived together this entire time and even though he utilized part of the loft space for himself, he’d never once bothered to approach your door and introduce himself into your space.

And hell, the two of you have already zoomed right past awkward roommate sexual tension so he might as well dive right in.

“So (Name)… can I see your room?”

[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. 

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 9.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost. 

but there’s only so much you can resist park jimin, especially once he gets that peach involved.

warnings: sexually explicit content, Jimin being completely shameless/a lowkey ho, messy peach eating, mentions of masturbation, oral sex (m + f receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, multiple orgasms (f), dirty talk and some cursing, hmm I think that’s it?

a/n: I was so close to calling this ‘jimin and the f*cking peach’ as some terrible homage to ‘james and the giant peach’ 😂🤧 as always I would like to thank @hobi-gif for beta reading this, putting up with me having a meltdown at her, and encouraging me to write smut at work rather than doing my job, ty queen xoxo

--

It’s official. Park Jimin is the neighbour from hell.

He’d tricked you, to start with. With those cherubic features, those doe eyes, and his cute little smile? He looks like an angel. A sweet, innocent angel, one who’d knocked shyly on your door and presented you with a small selection of chocolates when he’d moved into the apartment next to yours. Your heart had gone boom boom at the sight of that cute smile, the slip of teeth, the way his lovely face had scrunched up. 

Nowadays, whenever you see that face, you want to punch it.

Well. Not punch it. Maybe slap it a little. Because Park Jimin is a fiend. 

Your studio apartment is cheap for many reasons. The plumbing is creaky and the heating isn’t exactly great but those are small sacrifices for such low rent—ones you’re willing to make. Creaking doesn’t bother you and throw blankets exist for a reason, right? You get a balcony and a parking spot, which is more than you can say for a lot of other places in this price range, so you’ll take the negatives for these positives.

But you’d give up all the things you love about this cheap flat for some sound proofing.

Because Park Jimin fucks. 

A lot. 

He’d been nothing but lovely for the first few weeks. You’d barely been aware of his existence, minus when you could hear him in the bathroom—your flats are mirrored, rooms sharing walls, so you’d been washing your face when you’d heard his shower start up and then the sound of his dulcet tones drifting through the wall. That had actually been really nice; Jimin can hit some high notes, and it had been a pleasant backdrop as you’d cleansed your face. It had been another bullet point you’d added to the list of things you thought were cute about him (along with his face, his laugh, his smile), and you’d stupidly started to develop a tiny little crush on this boy-next-door, thinking him some soft, kind thing.

But then he’d started to have people over.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve had to listen to the moans and gasps that echo through your walls. You can’t escape from it. As a freelance programmer, you’re pretty much always working from home, so it’s not like you can get away from the sounds of pleasure that shudder through Jimin’s flat and into your own.

It’s never consistent, either. There’s not a single hour of the day that’s off limits to Park Jimin. Morning, afternoon, night; the boy is always ready to go, apparently. And judging from the sounds through the walls? He never leaves anyone unsatisfied either.

Which, like, fine. People fuck. You get it. You’re not judging. You just wish it wasn’t so loud. You have to sleep, for God’s sake. But it’s not like you can knock on a new neighbour’s door and be like hey, I appreciate you have an incredibly active sex life, but can you keep it down, please?

So you’d bit your tongue. You’d gritted your teeth to bear it. You’d still smile at Jimin if you ever passed in the hallway, acknowledged him with a small nod, exchanged pleasantries, all the neighbourly stuff that you’d do with anyone. You’d just invested in some good earplugs and thought that was it.

And then Jimin had started doing his morning yoga routine outside. 

You start each day with a cup of tea on your balcony, watering your hydrangeas and enjoying the dawn sun that lifts up over the horizon alongside your plants. It’s a small, singular moment of quiet in an otherwise dull day and you treasure that serenity.

Well. Treasured. Past tense. Because Jimin has invaded this part of your life, too.

The first time Jimin had unrolled his yoga mat on the balcony adjacent to yours, he’d been dressed in a deceptively unassuming outfit—a loose white t-shirt and leggings that hugged every inch of his calves and thighs and shapely ass, which you had pointedly Not Looked At. He’d tilted his head at you with a smug little smile flickering at the edge of his lips, and when he’d greeted you good morning, you’d responded in turn, even if you were still annoyed at how he’d interrupted your afternoon nap the day before with the sound of his headboard smacking into the wall repeatedly. You were still fairly new neighbours and you still felt like you had to be polite, even if he was starting to fray your nerves.

And then he’d started to bend. 

Now, you’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know much about yoga. But you’d swear Jimin was choosing poses that did the utmost to display his flexibility, the flex of his muscles and twist of his limbs, balancing his body on his arms before easing into a pose that had him bent in two, head towards his toes—and with how he had his back to you this meant you got full glimpse of his ass, straining against his leggings, the way his loose shirt slipped up his body to reveal the lines of his stomach and chest, how his face was still twisted into that little smirk even if it was upside down.

Staring at you.

You’d promptly stopped watering your hydrangeas and walked inside your flat, shutting the sliding door behind you.

Jimin is relentless.

He’s pretty and he knows it. All that shy, new-kid-on-the-block innocence he’d had initially is completely gone, and all he does is flirt, flirt, flirt. He winks at you. Stands a little too close whenever you talk. Lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, trail over every inch of you, lashes fluttering when he catches you watching, unashamed and unabashed. He frequently just… hangs around on his balcony. Not topless, no, but he may as well be, his thotty muscle tees doing nothing to hide him from your eyes.

(The worst thing, though, is when you catch him unawares. When he’s tired and clearly not expecting you to be awake, too, his eyes sleepy and his hair ruffled; a little vulnerable, a lot softer than he usually presents himself. Curled up on the small seat on his balcony with a hot drink in his hand, phone in the other, his screen throwing blue-tinted light over the easing lines of his features.

You wish Jimin was like that all the time. But the second he sees you, his eyes flicker, and his brows lift, and his mouth curls, and once again you rue the day you had a fuckboy move in next door to you.)

It’s not that Jimin isn’t hot. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck him, either. But you have no interest in being some sort of convenient hook-up for him, purely there by circumstance, fate, whatever you want to call it. You dread to think of him sending you haha wyd x texts whenever he feels like having sex and you just happen to be nearby. So you weather all of his obvious come-ons and swerve him something chronic, even if he seems intent on making his attraction to you obvious.

You’ve been managing it for months. But as time goes on, your patience wears thinner and thinner, an atom-thick layer of fortitude the only thing keeping you from grabbing Park Jimin and kissing him and/or killing him. It doesn’t help that you haven’t fucked for a while now, and you’re reminded of this every time you hear another pornstar moan through the wall (the people Jimin brings home seem to like hamming it up for effect), every time you see another mosaic of hickeys laid across the column of Jimin’s gorgeous throat, every time you see the way his yoga outfits do nothing to protect the delicious shape of his body from your eyes.

You dig your fingers into your palms. It’s fine. It’s okay. You can handle Park Jimin and his overt sexual energy, oozing out of him almost every second of every day.

It’s a little harder to handle how he still seems sweet despite his fuckboy nature. How he picks your parcels up for you. How he lets you use his laundry detergent when you run out. How he lets you keep food in his fridge when yours breaks down and you have to wait for a replacement. How he sheds that fuckboy facade whenever it seems like you genuinely need help, how you’ve heard his soft phone calls through the wall, to his friends, his family, sweet and kind and supportive.

Park Jimin is a multi-dimensional being, for sure, and maybe you sometimes wish he was actually genuinely interested in you as a person and not as a lay, so you could peel back those layers to the lovely core at the centre of his being.

But it’s fine. You can handle this stupid yearning and pining. You can handle the knowledge that Park Jimin is a genuine gentleman who just happens to like fucking, is open in his desire for it, and is apparently Very Good at it. It’s difficult, but you can do it.

You can do it.

The date you set up with someone from Tinder ends up being disappointing and lacklustre. You’d escaped before dessert, unable to put up with one more second of this asshole going on and on about stocks, and investments, and trading, or whatever, cursing the day you’d decided to swipe on him. You’re so sick of your luck (or lack thereof) with guys. (At least the food had been nice.)

Of course Jimin sees you schlepping your way back into your apartment, disappointment obvious in the line of your shoulders and lips; it doesn’t take a genius to clock your date outfit, cute as it is, makeup and hair soft. But the night has barely begun and here you are, stepping back into your flat. Alone. 

“Bad date?” Jimin asks, voice gentle, and you just snort.

“Just like the rest of them,” you reply with a small sigh, before shutting your door quietly behind you, missing the look on your neighbour’s face.

Jimin, to his credit, eases off after this. You’re not sure if it’s due to a misplaced sense of pity or something, but even if he still smiles and flirts lightly with you, it’s less… salacious. Still there, still obvious, just a little softer. You hate how this has you feeling grateful towards him, because he’s still got so many fuckboy tendencies that it should outweigh this gentler side of his flirtation, but your traitorous heart still goes gooey every time Jimin smiles at you.

But then. 

But then.

There’s that fucking peach.

You’re just chilling on your balcony, sipping at a glass of lemonade in the warmth of the afternoon when you hear Jimin’s door sliding open. You flick your eyes over at the sound, watching the way Jimin slips out onto his own balcony, how he throws something up in the air and catches it with ease, a flick of the wrist, a curl of the fingers each time he catches it again.

He hasn’t had any fuckbuddies over for a while. A few weeks, almost a month. It’s the longest Jimin’s gone without having sex for as long as he’s started having people over and you’d been sort of concerned. Which, yeah, you know it sounds super weird when you think about it, especially considering how much you complain about Jimin to your friends—help, my fuckboy neighbour hasn’t fucked anyone in nearly a month so I’m worried if his dick has fallen off or something.

(Well, actually, you know his dick is still attached, based off the little gasps and moans he lets out whenever he pleasures himself in lieu of fucking someone else. You’ll take this secret to the grave but those noises that Jimin lets out have been the melody you use to reach your own peaks, although you’re a lot quieter than he is whenever you touch yourself, biting your lip and muffling the wet sounds of your fingers thrusting into your cunt under layers of blankets. You’d never give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that the mental image of him fucking into his fist and cumming over his stomach and chest is what throws you over your own edge, toe-curling orgasms that shake through your body in time with Jimin’s own.)

Anyway. He looks loose limbed and relaxed when he saunters into view, utterly unsurprised by your presence behind your window box of hydrangeas, giving you his usual, sultry smile. 

He’s started to ramp up his flirtations again. This smirk is one which you’ve learned not to respond to. You just stare levelly back at him, unimpressed as you start to water your flowers, which does nothing to dissuade him. It never does. He clearly revels in the challenge.

Jimin keeps his eyes locked with yours as he lifts his hand to his lips. You catch a glimpse of what he was throwing and catching—a ripe, flush peach, tiny droplets of water shimmering on its fuzz, freshly washed.

And then he starts to eat it.

The peach yields immediately to the press of his teeth. Juice bursts out of its softness, running down his lips, his chin; he makes no moves to wipe it away, the lewd sound of his slurps as he curls his tongue into the fruit, messy and sweet.

It’s shameless. He’s shameless. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at you, his mouth glistening with the peach’s juices, the only sound the wet smack of his lips and tongue as he licks up the honeyed liquid that drips from his skin, curving around the fruit as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Water’s been trickling from your small can onto the hydrangeas, cascading over the plants; the soil is waterlogged now, but you haven’t noticed, fixated on the way Jimin is looking at you as he wantonly eats out this peach.

Drip drip, goes the watering can.

Drip drip, goes the peach.

By the time there’s nothing more than the pit in his hand, Jimin is a mess. His fingers and mouth and chin shine with peach juice, eyes dark and heavy as he watches the way you drink the sight of him in, the way his tongue slowly drags over his full lips, catching the sweetness that lingers.

The second he puts his tongue to his fingers to get the stickiness on them, that’s it. You watch the way he sucks his fingers into his mouth and promptly put the watering can down and turn on your heel to walk inside, slamming the balcony door shut behind you.

You’re done. You’re only human. You’ve spent months with Jimin parading himself in front of you, seen the way he contorts his body every morning in an unnecessarily complex sun salutation, listened to the way his voice rises when he cums; the peach is the metaphorical cherry on top, and you’re just. Over. It. 

You hammer your palms against your neighbour's door, rap-rap-rapping on the wood, your blood rising and your heart thudding in your chest, every part of you tense, wound up, pent up. The door swings open to reveal Jimin, his chin still slick with sweet peach, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile when he sees you.

“Park Jimin.” Your voice shakes and you hate yourself for it, hate the way Jimin’s eyes glitter at the sound, the little hitch in your breath. “You are a fucking menace, you know that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He leans against the doorframe, effortlessly gorgeous, hip cocked, head tilted. He lifts his hand, and there’s a heavy moment of tension as you watch him slowly swipe a thumb over the last remnant of juice on his chin, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth and he licks the final taste of peach from his fingers.

When you grab hold of his collar his expression shifts from something coy into something far more self satisfied, months of his brazen come-ons finally culminating in this—you, shoving him backwards into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I swear,” you say. “I swear to God—”

“You swear? I can think of better things you could be doing with your mouth,” Jimin says, and then laughs when you scowl at him. “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re mad.”

“You are infuriating,” you bite out, and Jimin just laughs again, his whole body shaking, every part of him still loose and relaxed even as you continue to tighten your grip on his clothing, feeling every motion of his body under your hands. You hate how pretty he is, even now, utterly unafraid of your frustration—the brightness of his eyes and his smile, that undercurrent to it all, the way his hands slide so smoothly around your waist, your hips, sliding down to grope at your ass.

“I know,” he agrees, still giggling, and then he kisses you.

Jimin dives straight in, no holds barred, and you immediately melt into putty under his touch. He lets out a hum of satisfaction into your mouth as your hands go lax and slide down his chest. You can still taste the peach on his lips, his tongue, licking into his mouth.

You’ve thought about this mouth more times than you’d like to admit: the full swell of his lips, the little curve of his cupid’s bow, how it’d feel pressed against your own, and honestly? It’s so much better than you’d let yourself imagine it to be.

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you bite off a gasp when he pulls you forward, grinding against you. You shudder. Jimin’s mouth is a pleased curve against your own before he pulls away, murmuring in your ear in a voice that’s equal parts sultry and sweet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sensitive skin of your jaw just under your earlobe, making you shiver. “Just relax. You’re always so tense.”

“Maybe that’s because my neighbour keeps me up all night,” you say, but your voice is weak, no strength behind your words, breath stolen out of you at the way Jimin starts to trail his lips down your neck, across your throat. “I find that constantly getting my sleep interrupted—oh, oh—”

Jimin sucks at the hollow of your neck, the delicate skin there so sensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips magnified, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Your hands have slid into his hair and you unintentionally tighten your grasp, fingers tugging at his dark locks, and Jimin bares his teeth against your skin.

It’s maybe a little embarrassing how wet you are just from a little making out. But after months of Jimin teasing you and putting you on edge, coupled with how long it’s been since you've had sex? You’re allowed to be a little desperate. All the small frustrations you were about to voice die on your tongue, slipping away from you as Jimin starts to walk you backwards with a confidence that shows just how often he’s done this—leading people to his bed, never taking his hands off you.

By the time Jimin eases you to lie down, you feel breathless. He hovers above you with that satisfied smile flickering at the edge of his lips, taking in the sight of you, finally underneath him—lips kiss swollen, exquisite, all the sharp words on your tongue softened and gone, goosebumps trailing down your skin. You tug at his collar, which catches him off guard; he sways forward and almost hits his face against yours, but before he can spend too long looking smug at your desperation you capture his lips again. You melt into the mattress, hooking a foot over his calf and revelling in the weight of him between your legs, your hips flush, and how hard he’s getting through those stupidly tight leggings of his.

When he grinds against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against your cunt, an embarrassing whine leaves your lips and trembles against Jimin’s own. Jimin goes still before pulling away from the open-mouthed kiss and when you see the expression on his face you slap a hand over your mouth, burning with shame.

“Oh.” He sounds delighted. “You’re noisy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you say, though your words are muffled against your palm. He grinds down again, a slow and deep roll of his hips that lets you feel how hard he is, and a noise shudders out the back of your throat, audible around your hand.

“It’s hot.” There’s that little smirk on Jimin’s lovely lips, every inch of him dripping self confidence. He knows how you’re entirely at his mercy, in spite of your words; your voice is weak. “You’re normally so quiet.”

“Some of us try to be considerate and think about our neighbours.”

Jimin just smiles, pulling your hand away from your mouth before gently kissing your palm, a motion that’s surprisingly tender and makes you pause. 

“Trust me.” His voice is low. “I do think about my neighbour.”

Your breath hitches when he slides his free hand under your shirt, trailing his fingers over the softness of your stomach. He pulls the fabric up, letting his gaze rove over the bared skin. The way Jimin looks at you makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, like he’s never seen anyone prettier.

You wonder if he looks at his other fuckbuddies like this.

The thought slides away from you as Jimin dips his head and starts to kiss your throat again. You tilt your head back as his lips trail across the soft skin, his hands coming to rest under your breasts, contained as they are by your bra; once he coaxes you to sit up, it only takes him a few moments to strip your upper body, kneeling between your spread legs as he starts to trail his hands over the parts of you that are now bared to him.

“Pretty,” he says. You’d roll your eyes if he didn’t sound so reverent, and also if you weren’t distracted by the way he flicks his thumbs over your hardening nipples, your core clenching as he does, biting your lip to stop yourself from making a sound. A frown flits across Jimin’s face and he lifts one of those thumbs away from your breast, dragging your lip away from your teeth, letting his grasp linger so your lips are parted. “Don’t do that. I've been waiting for months to hear you properly.”

Before you can reply, he kisses you again, licking into your mouth and swallowing down the noise you make when he drags his hand between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and settling between your legs, running his fingers over your cunt, the feeling dulled by layers of fabric even though he presses with intent. Your hips jolt at the sensation, and Jimin repeats the motion, dragging the fabric across your flushed lips.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a gasp against his mouth, and you can’t keep the pleading out of your tone, desperation bleeding into every letter of your words. “Please.”

He just hums, sounding pleased, and a breath of surprise escapes you as he pushes you back against the pillows. He wastes no time in getting to his prize, drawing a scattered constellation of kisses that trail across your chest, your nipples, your stomach, the line of your hip bones as you lift up so he can pull your shorts and underwear off. You’re entirely naked underneath him, bare and wet, cunt flushed and shining, and Jimin groans at the sight.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulls your legs wider. Your cheeks burn as Jimin stares at your pussy, but you can’t help but feel a pulse of self-satisfaction at the visible twitch of his cock in his stupid yoga leggings. “You’re so wet.”

You should probably feel embarrassed, but by now you’ve thrown all your previous inhibition to the winds. You’ve ended up somewhere you’d privately sworn you were never going to—in Park Jimin’s bed, leaned up against his pillows, laid out for him to touch and take and have, every inch of you desperate for it. There’s nothing in your brain or body but arousal and need. So instead of letting out a snip of a remark you just cant your hips towards him, another pleading sound slipping from your lips.

He gives you what you want. He dips his head and trails his lips and tongue down, down, down, wet and hot, until they press against your cunt. He looks at you with the same hooded eyes as earlier, motions of his mouth an echo of his peach eating, sloppy and messy; he’s unabashed in the way he slides his mouth over you, lips slick and tongue hot, sliding over every sensitive inch—sucking your clit, licking your folds, burying his face between your legs and drinking up every sweet drip of your juices. 

You can’t help but make noise. Small gasps that slide into moans of pleasure, hitches in your breath that make your chest jump and your breasts shake; Jimin lets out noises too, muffled against your cunt, sounds that let you know he’s enjoying himself almost as much as you. It’s honestly pretty fucking hot, the way your own pleasure seems to turn him on, how he chases that feeling, eyes blown as he takes in every one of your reactions, repeating the motions that are affecting you the most.

The sight of him between your legs has you tensing. He continues to stare up at you, the curve of your stomach when you bow towards him, the fall of your breasts, which he slides his hands over, cupping them in his palms, pinching your hardened buds, layering sensation on sensation, never taking his mouth off you.

When he presses one finger inside, and then another, both thrusting firm and deep as he mouths at your clit, you tangle a hand into his hair. He watches the way your hips jump from the sensation of his tongue directly on your clit, and does it again, and again, your voice crescendoing from the explosion of sensation, how it’s too much, before he circles his lips around it and sucks messily. Your brain registering nothing but his lips and tongue against you, the hands that are trailing up and down your sides and still skimming across your breasts.

You’re not even aware of the words that are falling from your lips, oh fuck, yes, Jimin, there, oh, the way your grasp tightens in his dark hair, your hips bucking against his mouth as you can feel your orgasm approaching. The pleasure keeps building, flames fanning brighter and brighter as Jimin buries his mouth even further in between your legs, fingers speeding up as you gasp.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, voice getting higher. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, oh—”

Your words slide into a moan as your back arches and your thighs tighten around Jimin’s head and you cum. Jimin continues to finger fuck you through it, your cunt pulsating around him as he keeps licking and sucking at your clit, his gaze fixed on your face as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open and every line of your body sings of the pleasure that Jimin has given to you. Even when your legs and hips start to jolt from oversensitivity and you cry out at each ripple of his tongue against you, he’s relentless, almost cruel in how he watches you writhe from a mixture of pain and overextended pleasure.

You're sobbing by the time Jimin pulls his mouth away from your cunt, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, body shaking as you try to suck in air. He thrusts his fingers into you one more time, slow and deep, watching the way you turn your head into the pillow and muffle a gasp against it. 

“I knew you'd look and sound gorgeous when you cum,” he says, and though you feel boneless from your post-orgasm high, you can’t help a little huff escaping your lips. Jimin clearly catches the sound, quiet as it is against the linen of his pillowcase, and takes your chin in his hand to turn his face towards you. His fingers are slick with your arousal, wet against your skin.

“You sound like you’re reading off the script to a porno,” you murmur.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Oh? You don’t think I’m just speaking my mind?” Those fingers move away from your chin and trace over the swell of your bottom lip; you let your mouth fall open and swallow them down, licking the taste of yourself off Jimin’s skin. “You don’t think that I’ve been thinking about how pretty you’d look as I fucked into you, begging for me to let you cum again and again?”

Your tongue stutters against his fingers and your core clenches at his words, the dark undercurrent underneath them, and Jimin’s expression shifts as he notices.

“You really have no idea, do you?” He runs his fingertips over your tastebuds, saliva starting to pool in your mouth, the slide so wet and messy. “Who do you think I picture whenever I touch myself? Who do you think I was wishing was in my bed every time I took someone else home?”

You nip at his fingers, running the edge of your teeth along his knuckles from equal parts surprise and disbelief at his words. You find it impossible to believe that he really means that, but then you realise—recently, on the few occasions you’d bumped into Jimin in the hall when he’d had one of his lays trailing behind him, for as different and unique each of them was, each one of them had shared some sort of trait with you. Hair colour, eyes, the set of their lips, the shape of their face; once, you’d heard a girl giggling through the wall before it had trailed off into a moan, and you’d done a literal double take at how much she’d sounded like you. Similar, but not exactly the same, a slightly off-tone echo of the sound that spills from your own lips whenever you laugh.

And the emptiness in his bed had only started after the night that he’d seen the way you’d trailed into your apartment with discontent heavy around your shoulders, disappointed at that awful Tinder date.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re shameless,” you say, words a little garbled around Jimin’s fingers, but you know he understands.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, a small smirk curling up the corner of his lips. It should be illegal: the way he has such soft features that can turn so quickly into something sharper and entirely sensual, eyes hooded, lips flushed, the column of his throat so lovely and graceful as he tilts his head to one side. “I just know what I want and don’t try to hide it. What’s shameless about that? I know you want me too, but you always deny yourself the things you want. Don’t you?”

You hate that you’ve been so transparent in your attraction to him. Because the truth of the matter is that for as much as Jimin frustrates you with his entire existence, you do want him. After all—you wouldn’t be naked underneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of a deep orgasm, if you didn’t.

“You’re not always as quiet as you think, you know,” he adds, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and enjoying the way your eyes widen at his words. You thought he couldn’t hear you through the wall, but it seems like you were wrong.

Before you can say anything in reply, though, he grinds down. Without your clothes in the way you can feel the drag of his yoga pants against your cunt, how the wetness of your cum and Jimin’s spit soaks into the fabric, his hard cock hot, and you let out a whine. He still has yet to remove any of his clothes and you want to  see them off so he’s finally naked. You’ve seen enough of his bare skin over the months to have a pretty good idea of what that looks like, but you want to see the real thing.

Jimin seems just as eager to shed his clothes, yielding to your grasping hands and carelessly throwing his top aside; you end up straddling his waist and kissing down his chest in an imitation of his motions earlier, letting your fingers trail over the lean muscle from his yoga and dance. When you tongue at one of his nipples and he gasps, you feel euphoric. He’s unfairly beautiful, from the lovely collarbones to the flex of his shoulders and arms and the line of his chest and stomach, delicate and somehow entirely masculine. You still sort of want to slap him, but settle with kissing the hollow of his neck instead, digging your fingers into his ribs as you roll your hips down against him.

His own hips buck up. You can tell that he’s desperate to be inside you, but you want to taste him first. 

When you slide down his body and settle between his legs, you hook your fingers into the tight waistband of those stupid leggings and tug them down. Jimin hisses through his teeth as you let the material settle just under his hips, baring the top of his briefs to you, how his cock strains against them, the patch of wetness at the head, darkening the fabric.

You don’t strip him. Not completely. You just hook your fingers into those dark blue briefs and pull them down just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, wet with precum. You let your tongue flick out to catch that salty bitterness, and Jimin bites off a curse at the almost shy licks you start to lave across his slit, circling around the weeping head.

Hearing Jimin’s gasps without the wall in the way is honestly an experience. Before, whenever he had people over, they usually drowned him out, theatrical wails and groans overpowering his far more natural noises, but now there’s nothing to prevent you from hearing the way his breath hitches in his throat or the way he moans. Even the smallest things have him letting slip sounds, a noise escaping him as you coax him to lift his hips so you can finally, finally peel those leggings and briefs off, dragging over the hardness of his cock as you do. You want to take in the sight of him fully naked, give it the proper attention it deserves, but then you feel his cock throb in your hand and you can’t stop yourself from immediately lowering your mouth to it again.

His whole body shudders. You let your jaw fall open as you take him in, tongue curling around him, hands touching every part of him that isn’t in your mouth, making sure there’s no part of  him that isn’t receiving attention. His eyes are wide under the mess of his fringe, hair falling over his forehead as he watches the way you run your lips down the side of his cock before sucking one of his balls into your mouth, circling his length with your hands, a twisting rise and fall in the motion as you drink down the noise of surprised pleasure that drops from his lips.

Jimin’s fingers have been tangled in your hair but he lets you control the flow. The sounds of you swallowing him down into your mouth as you bob your head are obscene, wet and messy, but you can still hear how his voice starts to rise, how his fingers tighten against your scalp, and you know he’s close when he tugs you upwards and drags your lips away from his cock. 

Jimin pulls you towards him and you settle against his chest as you start to kiss again, shivering at the way he rolls his tongue in your mouth. This time when Jimin rolls his hips, there’s nothing between your skin and his, dragging the underside of his cock across your flushed lower lips, the slide between your folds and against your clit making you shiver.

“Condoms?” 

You’re breathless, and Jimin quirks a smile at you.

“Top drawer,” he answers. Of course they would be, in easy reach whenever he needs them. 

You lean forwards to reach for the bedside table and Jimin takes the opportunity to circle a hand around your breast and capture a nipple in his mouth, ignoring the way you bite back a surprised noise, staring up at you with almost innocent eyes as he sucks at your skin in the way he’s worked out that you like best. Your hands are a fumble as you pull a condom out of the pack, ripping the sachet away from the others, a bottle of lube rolling into your grasp. You try to focus on your task and not the sensation of Jimin switching attention to your other breast, cupping the swell of flesh in his hand and drawing his teeth gently across your skin.

“You’re insatiable,” you mutter, and Jimin laughs before he kisses between your breasts. 

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “I don't want to take my mouth off you.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, but you’re flustered. Even if you know he’s not lying, and you’re naked and straddling his hips, the taste of his lips and cock now familiar on your tongue, it’s… kind of incredible to think that the gorgeous Park Jimin has been lusting after you for that long. 

Or lusting after you at all, really.

But as you tear the foil of the condom, the look he levels at you is burning with desire, roaming over you, every inch of your nakedness, every movement of your body. His hands rest at your waist, thumbs rubbing over your skin as you hold his cock in one hand and roll the condom down with the other, letting your fingers circle his length, dragging your touch over the heat of him and revelling in the way he twitches. As much as you’ve thought of Jimin as a fuckboy, you know that he wouldn’t lie just to get someone in his bed, so as unbelievable as his words are, every single one of his actions backs up what he’s said: he wants you.

You don't notice how soft his gaze is as you take time to warm the lube in your hands, even though you’re desperate to feel him finally slide home. You've always been so considerate, even when he knows you've been frustrated at him, and that's evident now, in this small thing.

You spread the warmed lube over his covered cock, pumping it in your hand to get him slick and ready, loving the way he hisses though his teeth. He has to stop his hips from bucking up as you line his cockhead up with your entrance, his fingers digging into your sides as you hover in place.

“Come on,” Jimin urges. “Give it to me.”

“Insatiable,” you repeat, one last time, then you bend your knees.

You finally ease yourself down and onto his cock. You both let out moans; Jimin, finally feeling the wet heat of you around him, and you, falling into the sensation of him stretching you open, snug inside you, slowly splitting you open as you take him in, inch by inch, until you’re sitting on his hips and he’s fully buried in your cunt.

It’s been a while since you’ve had someone inside you. You grind downwards, rolling your hips, biting your lip at the sensation. Jimin’s chest expands as he sucks in a sharp breath, and you roll your hips again, a hand bracing on one of his lovely, thick thighs, the other resting just under his stomach as you lean back and arch your spine. You lift your hips, easy and slow, and then fall, Jimin’s cock dragging and pressing against your inner walls, a gasp shuddering out of your lips at the electric feeling.

Again and again, noises of pleasure drip from your mouth as you ride him, head tilting back at the sensations rippling through your body and across your skin, the apartment full of the sounds of your sex—the moans, the wet thrust of Jimin’s cock into your cunt, the praise that falls from his lips, months of feeling pouring from his lips. How pretty you are, how gorgeous, how well you’re taking his cock, how wet and tight you are around him; all the things he’s been thinking about, come to life, his hips snapping into yours as a sharp cry cuts through your lips at the sudden change of pace.

The pleasure’s been steadily building between your legs again, warm and unrushed, but then Jimin flips you without warning, fluid and graceful. Your eyes are wide as you end up on your back, Jimin’s hands braced either side of your head as he looks down at you with those dark, dark eyes of his. He thrusts forwards and your hands fly up to grab at him, your entire body shifting up the mattress at the force of his movements. His eyebrows are drawn together as he starts to drive himself into you, unapologetic in how aggressive he’s being, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs in harried little gasps that shake the air between you.

The sound of his headboard slamming into the wall, a noise that’s been haunting you each time you’ve been trying to sleep or relax, is one you don’t even register. All you can think about is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, caught up in the way there’s sweat beading across his forehead, strands of his dark hair sticking to it, the intense look in his eyes, the way his full lips are parted, small ah-ah-ahs falling from his lips in time with his thrusts, your body tightening around him each time he slides home.

You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good. Jimin reads the language of your body with ease, knowing exactly when to lean back and trail a hand over your hips, circling his thumb over your swollen clit, the slide over that bundle of nerves messy from the mix of cum and lube and spit that’s laid slick across you. Each fluid roll of his hips is perfectly timed with the press of his thumb, your thighs going tense and your pussy clenching around Jimin’s hot cock as you start to reach another peak of pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby.” Jimin sounds breathless. “Let me see how pretty you are when you cum around my cock.”

Normally dirty talk seems so ham-handed and stuttering, but the words fall out of Jimin’s lips  as natural as breathing, thoughtless. Stirring your arousal even further. He’s gripping your hips, pulling you down each time he presses up, and you circle your fingers around his wrist as his other hand is occupied with rubbing at your most sensitive part, tightening your hold as you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Jimin.” Your voice is a keen. “I'm so close, please, there, right there, theretherethere—”

You can't blame Jimin's other partners for being so noisy. The sound you let out is just as loud, maybe even louder, Jimin continuing to snap his hip forwards as you cum hard, a drawn out moan that crescendos as you pulsate around Jimin's cock, still hard inside you. He watches the way you writhe beneath him, tangling his fingers with yours when you reach for him and swallowing the end of your moan in a surprisingly sweet kiss, his lips gentle against yours as he slows to a stop before you become too sensitive.

Your voice is a quiet murmur against his lips. “How have you not cum yet?”

His eyes squeeze into a smile as he laughs, light and bright, the sound so sweet. “I've got stamina for days, darling,” he says, oozing that trademark arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

You clench as hard as you can around him and feel smug when he bites off a shocked curse, his smug facade broken. You can’t help but laugh at his expression, scandalised at it is, though your giggle cuts into a gasp when he pinches one of your nipples and then soothes it with his thumb. He seems amused by the look on your face and then laughs in turn, the two of you dissolving into laughter that’s edged with pleasure, your motions shifting his length inside you.

When the laughter trails off, Jimin stays smiling down at you. You draw your hands over his body, tracing all that smooth skin, and he touches the back of your hands with gentle fingers. There's a beat of silence but it's not an uncomfortable one, the air light after your shared giggles. It's… really nice. It's nice and soft and sweet, just like the expression on Jimin's face, tender, even if he's still buried inside you.

You feel so empty when he slips out, already missing the thickness of his cock when it seems as though he’s about to coax you to roll onto your front. Your hands are still linked with his and you tighten your fingers, making him pause.

“I want to see your face,” you confess quietly. It’s probably too much to ask of him but you feel like if you’re turned away from each other then you’ll feel like nothing more than a fucktoy. Just another warm body in Jimin’s bed. You don’t want that.

Jimin stares at you, surprise written across his features before his expression softens. 

"Okay, baby," he murmurs indulgently. The small pet name sounds so sweet in his mouth. "We can stay like this."

He lets your hands go so that he can reach for a pillow that ends settled under your ass, tilting your hips up towards him. You’re not as flexible as he is—maybe you should start doing yoga too—but Jimin doesn’t push you far, hitching your legs up and draping your calves over his shoulders, leaning towards you so that the back of your thighs are warm against his chest. He's bent forward, face hovering above yours, so much skin-on-skin contact that your entire body feels warmed by him.

When he slides back in, you can feel the change in angle immediately. The head of his cock brushes over your g-spot and you suck in a sharp breath; Jimin notices, of course, aiming to hit it again, and again.

It feels good, of course. Amazing. But as much as you’d be happy for Jimin to make you cum again, you’d rather see him fall apart. 

You dig your nails into his shoulder blades, turning your head so you can press kisses along the line of his jaw, murmuring into his ear.

“Are you going to let me see you cum?” 

Jimin’s hips stutter as your words curl out of your mouth, warm against his skin. You’ve been picturing Park Jimin’s o-face for an endless amount of weeks and you’re ready to finally see the real thing.

“Cum on me,” you say, and then choke in a sob of air as Jimin responds with a sharp snap of his hips. “I want you to cum on me, Jimin, please.”

Your begging is shameless and you know it. Jimin’s face is so close to yours in this position and you can see how blown his pupils are, how his mouth is flushed from your kisses and how he’s been biting at them, his teeth digging into his lip as he starts to get faster, sloppier in his thrusts. It feels so good to know that you’re making him feel like this, that he’s reaching the peak of his pleasure with his body against yours, inside you, above you; he might have had other people in this position in the past, but right now it’s you who’s making Park Jimin come apart. 

You urge him onwards with large, pleading eyes, rocking down on his cock each time he thrusts forward, begging the whole time. Pleading for him to cum, to give it to you, to cover you. Jimin obviously likes you loud and desperate, and you're more than willing to give him what he wants.

He slips out of you, fumbling with the condom and carelessly tossing it aside before he starts to pump his cock, hungry to reach his peak as he fucks into his fist. You let your legs fall open as you watch the way his body tenses, his brows drawn together and little breaths falling out of his mouth, barely audible over the wet slide of his cock in his hand. You run your hands over your body, across the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, dipping between your legs, trying to look as arousing as possible, anything to throw Jimin over the edge.

"I've imagined you cumming for months," you confess, words thoughtlessly falling from your lips. "On me, inside me, in my mouth—"

Park Jimin’s o-face is just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

You love how noisy he is. He paints your stomach with his cum, ropes of white spattering across the soft skin of your stomach and hips as he rides out his orgasm, moaning as he continues to milk his twitching cock. It’s so fucking hot, honestly, as is the expression on his face when you swipe your fingers through his cum and lift it to your lips, mouth filled with salt and warm.

“Fuck.” He’s breathless, panting. “You’re unbelievable.”

You let out a small scoff, but it’s edged with affection. “Says the man who was ready to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” you say. “If anyone’s the unbelievable one here, it’s you.”

“I can last longer, but you’re just so hot,” Jimin says. You respond by curling your fingers at him, beckoning him towards you, and you end up sharing a series of messy kisses. 

You were, honestly, genuinely angry when you'd stepped into his apartment earlier, even if that irritation had been rounded out with arousal and desire. Now, though, you feel thoroughly boneless and content, loose limbed on Jimin's mattress, his lips and tongue moving against your own.

He leans too far forwards and smears his own cooling cum against his stomach. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. You’re the one who has to coax him to clean up, though with the way he looks at your still naked body, you know he would happily launch straight into a second round of fucking so he can add more cum to the canvas of your skin.

He really is insatiable, apparently, when it comes to you.

Even so, you wonder if Jimin’s going to kick you out now that he’s finally had a taste of you. He doesn't. He keeps you close, your body pressed against his side in a way that feels far more intimate than you would have expected.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin breaks the soft silence.

You’ve been trailing nonsensical patterns over his chest but pause when he says this. “Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” Jimin repeats, and there’s a cheeky smile flickering at the edge of his lips. “I have some more peaches in the fridge, if you’d like one.”

“That peach.” Your voice is an embarrassed hiss and your cheeks burn, but Jimin just laughs, boyish and bright as you slap halfheartedly at him. “That was just unfair. Who eats fruit like that?”

“Someone who’s trying to make it obvious that he’s imagining the peach is his neighbour’s pussy instead.” He’s so brazen. “And it clearly worked, didn’t it?”

It had worked. It's annoyingly effective, actually; thinking about the way Jimin had been staring at you as he tongue fucked that peach has arousal shooting through you, even after being so thoroughly fucked by him.

“Yeah, now you’ve had me,” you say. “What do you plan to do next?”

Jimin goes quiet. You wonder if you’ve misstepped, but then he sweeps his hand down the curve of your spine, goosebumps appearing in the wake of his touch.

“I was planning on asking if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he says, his voice so sweet, miles away from the fuckboy persona he usually puts on. This is the softer Park Jimin that you’ve caught glimpses of when he’s unaware, the side of him you wished he’d show more often—revealed to you, now. “Then, if you said yes, I was going to take you out on a date. If that date went well, then I was going to ask if you’d like to go on another one with me. And then another.”

One thing you know about Park Jimin is this: he doesn’t do dates. Each of his lays are one time affairs, no attachments made, no real connection beyond the physical act of sex. Your heart rate picks up.

“Obviously we’d fuck between dates,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at you in a way that’s so exaggerated that it makes you laugh. Of course. Jimin likes to fuck. “Unless you didn’t want to, but there are only so many peaches I can eat, you know?”

“So if I said I didn't want to fuck, and you ran out of peaches, what would you do?” 

Your question seems casual and light but Jimin isn't stupid. He knows what you're really asking. Is he genuinely interested in something more exclusive, or would you just become another notch in his bedpost if he grew tired of waiting for you to spread your legs again?

"I can always buy more peaches."

You stare at him. He's looking at you levelly, a small smile on his face that's a little cocky but mostly warm. And, well, you know he's already gone without other partners for you, even before he'd gotten you in his bed. Park Jimin is serious about you, it seems. He'll wait.

You mouth at his collarbones, tasting the salt of sweat as you kiss and lick at his skin.

"After lunch, we can go back to my apartment, if you want," you whisper against his throat.

Just because Jimin's willing to wait doesn't mean you're going to force him to, especially as you're still as hungry for him as he is for you. 

His hands squeeze your sides as you end up kissing again. You feel soft and ripe and sweet, easing under the touch of Jimin's hands and mouth.

"I still think you're a fucking menace, though," you add, and Jimin laughs so hard the bed shakes, still utterly unrepentant and entirely yours.

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ 

[writingwithcolor]

Announcement: No Longer Answering Rubber Stamp Questions

Introduction

Here at Writing With Color, we’ve noticed a shift in the questions we are receiving. In the past, the majority of questions challenged the necessity of diversity in fiction or asked for assistance in making diversity seem more plausible in world-building. We also received many questions on how to describe and characterize people of color in respectful ways that didn’t demonize different races, ethnicities and religions.

By and large, we see that our followers understand why these concepts are important, and for that we congratulate you! This kind of progress takes real, long-term, internal work. Our team hopes that any advice or input you received from us over the years has helped you continue to develop as a writer. We hope you will continue to support us in the future and are especially pleased to hear from our non-white commenters who have let us know when our content has let them feel seen or heard.

However…

We have noticed a recent trend in asks that is discouraging. Many askers seem concerned with receiving our blanket approval of a particular concept or character. These asks often don’t provide us with the direction and context crucial to providing advice from a race or ethnicity-based perspective. Examples include:

“I’m writing a character from [insert background] who has [insert traits]. Is this ok?”

“I’m creating a world where I have made [insert concept] the basis of my world-building. Is this allowed?”

Hi, I’m a [insert identity]. Is it problematic to have [concept/ character] in my story?

“I’m creating a [Race A] character with [these] traits, a [Ethnicity 1] character with [those] traits, a [Race B] character with [some other traits] and a [sex/ gender minority] character with a [different set of traits]. Is this combination offensive?

We call these questions rubber stamp questions. If this describes your question, there’s no need to feel bad. We realize that there was never an explicit explanation of this concept. In addition, our team is mindful of the changing demographics of tumblr that might make it mean we are receiving questions from a younger user-base are not yet familiar with many of the principles we outline on this website. However, on that note…

What is Rubber Stamping?

Rubber stamping refers to the practice of seeking an endorsement without questioning or seeking to alter the status quo. The purpose of Writing With Color is to be a focal point for discussion about diversity in writing rather than simply prescribe a series of corrective measures. Without knowing the asker’s intent (Which we can’t, since we aren’t mind readers), our moderators are not in a position to provide you with carte blanche for your writing concept in the name of all other non-white people. Yes, we have a certain level of skill and expertise on many of these topics, but we are not here to take on the burden of all PoC to approve your writing choices. Nor would it be fair to other PoC if you took our response as a reason to dismiss the perspectives of other PoC (An unfortunately common phenomenon).  

Bluntly, on the moderator end, these asks are also incredibly frustrating because they are vague and thus:

Time consuming

Labor intensive (mentally and emotionally)

The last example from the previous section (AKA “Laundry lists”) is particularly time consuming because multiple moderators must collaborate to produce an answer that boils down to each moderator saying, “I guess it depends??? *shrug*” but in slightly different ways.

Perhaps the biggest problem with rubber stamp asks is they feel (to us) like they are more about the asker’s desire for closure/ approval/ virtue signaling than a willingness to participate in the kind of education and discussion on diversity we are trying to foster on this blog.

To that effect: We will no longer be answering such questions.

(If you sent in such ask before this goes up on November 15th, 2020, a moderator may reach out to you individually to better address your inquiry as submitted.)

However: Don’t worry! We also are here to teach you how to makes these questions better!

Fixing Rubber Stamp questions:

1. Be specific.

Instead of Can I/ May I, try “How can I” or “When can I” or “What can I”?

Thus instead of: “I’m Christian. May I create a Jewish character seeking to become an actress in 1920s Hollywood?” —> “How do I, as a Christian, create a compelling Jewish character while being mindful of the interplay between my own intrinsic bias and historical accounts of prominent Jewish figures in early Hollywood?”Or, instead of: “I want to write a story about a modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, but with magic. Is this problematic? —> “Given the continuation of modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, what are some tropes I should avoid if I decide to go with a modern fantasy set in this region?”

2. Remember: The goal is improved understanding, not approval. Sometimes, you really just want to know *why* you can’t use a particular concept, and that curiosity is good! Questions that ask “Why?” in good faith are often how you can learn a lot about your own intrinsic biases and the limits of your own knowledge.

Thus, instead of: If I write about [controversial topic], am I a bad person? —> Why is it better for someone like me to not write about [controversial topic]?

This approach has the bonus effect of making us feel like you actually care about what we think.

3. Write your question as a draft: Edit your ask at least once or twice to provide as much information as possible while being concise. I’ve told this to college students before, but I can tell when a person wrote their assignment by the quality of the writing. Writing done late at night, when sleep deprived and without at least one edit contains extraneous information while not having a clear point.

Going through your question (Preferably a day after you wrote it) will help you narrow down what you really want to know.

Remember: You all have free will and can write whatever you please. We presume that you seek WWC’s input because you wish to write on issues pertaining to people of color with greater levels of awareness. On a practical note, we recognize that social media, trolling, call-outs, doxxing and other dimensions of cyberbullying make writers online hesitant to do anything unless they think they have the majority of the public on their side. There are times when it is obvious that the asker is asking more because they need approval to feel less anxious when they share their work with others.

However, if the above is your worry, either you aren’t ready to write on this topic or you need to rethink the boundaries you set with the online communities/ individuals you interact with as well as how you manage your internet presence. With respect to personal anxieties when it comes to writing, morality, your conscience and so forth, we recommend turning to your own support systems IRL. As relative strangers on the internet, we are not well-qualified to allay personal concerns.

Remember: Writing with diversity is like training for a marathon. Give yourself permission to expand your comfort zone at the pace your research capabilities and experience allow!

We appreciate that you all trust us to provide helpful, well-thought out feedback for your ideas, and we also thank you for respecting our perspectives even if you may disagree. In the same vein, we request that you put the level of thought into your questions you think appropriate given that another human being is going to spend, at a minimum, several hours coming up with their response. We look forward to hearing from you! 

- The WWC Team

(A link to this article will be added to the pinned FAQ for everyone’s reference)