#the fucking with socks on haunts me for personal reasons

[feartheoldblog]

ok here goes i guess. full disclaimer ghost is the only band i have a shirt of so uh yeah i think their music is ok. also your post reminded me they have a new ep i havent listened to yet so ive been playing that all day.

the chronology is kind of split up by album so ill go by that

Opus Eponymous (good fucking metal album):

So ghost started out as a concept band of over-the-top tongue-in-cheek anonymous satan worshippers. That has since changed for a couple reasons I'll get into. Anonymity was a big thing for the first few albums, every song was credited as written by a "nameless ghoul" and they all wore masks and the frontman wore corpse paint and i think some facial prosthetics so you couldnt tell who anyone was. Of course some people had guesses (and they turned out to be right lmao). The frontman was called Papa Emeritus and he wore like evil satan antipope clothes and shit. There's also this whole "Clergy" thing which is like the satanic church ghost represents - they're also a band in lore, and their goal is to gain converts by getting fans through the music.

Infestissumam (my favorite album):

Papa Emeritus 1 was an old man and one day he died. I think. Or he retired or something. So to release the new album, we got Papa Emeritus 2, who was Papa 1's younger brother (still like in his 40s or 50s or so). It was still obviously the same guy behind the makeup but who cares its lore baby. I think they actually summoned satan? There's a reading of the first two albums as concepts of a group doing evil magic devil summoning and then a world where the antichrist is actually walking around doing stuff. Anyway I don't remember Papa 2 doing much.

Meliora (their best album but not my favorite. ):

Papa 2 got taken out behind the shed or something i wasnt really into the lore at this point. Being into Ghost and being into the lore is two very different things, you really gotta be paying attention to be in on the lore. Papa Emeritus 3 debuts with this album, which also marks the band's beginning of their shift towards a more poppy sound (the is Ghost metal? debate has been waged for years by the worst metal fans in the world [on both sides] and all i have to say is if you need music to fall into a definition of your preferred genre in order to like it you don't like music, you like putting things in boxes and sounding smart). Papa 3 was the youngest brother, and he was big into the limelight and rockstar image in a way his more serious older brothers were not. This was also a height of their popularity anecdotally (i swear i heard square hammer on the radio once). Papa 3 was a slut, he was absolutely the one to fuck with socks on. Which is funny, cause I had never heard that bit about him fucking with socks on but I do know a guy in real life who fucked with socks on. Crazy.

Prequelle (came out right before covid lmao their weakest album though imo):

Papa 3 was abducted by goons right at the end of their big tour. oh no what happened? They started putting out "Message from the Clergy" videos on their youtube (might still be there) which introduced our boy Cardinal Copia (not a member of the family) who was a mousy little clergyman, and Papa 0 who was like the head of the church (and a few nuns i forget their names). Also in one of those videos all 3 former Papas were killed (they were alive? huh). Prequelle is also where the lawsuit happened which, uh, was a big fucking mess to put it lightly. Band members of the previous three albums were arguing with the frontman about pay (which was an issue cause like i said before, all the songs were credited to an anonymous ghoul), and like limb bizkit says its all about the he said she said bullshit. anyway they had to break the anonymity to go to court, so people learned that the frontman was actually Tobias Forge (formerly of Subvision). This was the prevailing theory by the way not the hugest surprise. I'm not going to get into details of the trial (cause i forget really) but im sure you can find it on the fuckin sweden legal database or whatever. Anyway, the band did kind of break up over this - some of the original longtime members left and Forge continued with the name Ghost and a rotating group of musicians.

Impera (impera is good but when i listened to it i was also having kind of a major depressive episode so that may have affected my opinion):

This is where I largely fell out of the Ghost lore loop. I hear Copia got promoted to Papa 4 which is good for him, nice kid. He's in like his 40s too i think.

They're kinda like the Four Kings cause a new one comes in when the old one dies and if you don't do enough damage there's actually 5 of them. and their music sucks

THE FOUR KINGS REF 😭😭😭

ghost WISH they could have a cultural impact as profound as dark souls 1’s four kings battle and boss theme

thank you for the proper run down i was fighting for my life trying to piece everything together from the shreds i could find (i refuse to watch a 40 minute youtube video sorry i’m stubborn). it literally reminded me of when i first played bb and was like ‘what the fuck happened’, went researching and ended up even more confused.

also you’re so real for your comment on forcing music into really specific categories. why can’t people just enjoy something without arguing over stupid shit like that………… rock? metal? nah, they’re just cringe. embrace it and be free.

question to leave bc i’m a souls bro

who would win in a fight: copia or patches dark soul?????

discuss

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Prompts I’ve seen/found online that I have used an inspiration for many things, but mainly DP X DC stuff.

There’s 200 prompts/quotes in there

1. They match each other’s freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public.

2. People often mistake me for an adult because of my age.

3. “I have a solution.”

“Thank goodness.”

“It involves fire.”

“Absolutely not.”

4. Why are you hiding behind me? What did you do?

5. We can’t have a crisis - my schedule is already full!

6. “What’s our exit strategy?”

“Our what?”

“We’re all going to die.”

7. That is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea. Let’s do it and see what happens.

8. “This coffee tastes weird.”

“That’s probably because it’s not coffee.”

9. “Can I bother you for a second?”

“You always bother me, but go ahead.”

10. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“So sharpening knives at 2am is just a hobby?”

11. I’m going to give my inner child a gun.

12. Your inability to learn complicated handshakes is tearing this gang apart.

13. I get so affectionate when I’m sleepy it’s disgusting.

14. Leaving a watermelon on someone’s doorstep in the middle of the night is a pretty inexpensive way to occupy a portion of their mind forever.

15. No offence to myself or anything but what the fuck am I doing.

16. I would love to be mysterious but I never shut the fuck up.

17. The divorce rate amongst my socks is astonishing.

18. Adulthood is a scam I want to be a crow.

19. Good morning! God has let me live another day and I’m about to make it everybody’s problem.

20. My house is haunted because I live there.

21. That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.

22. God released me into the wild and now he’s hunting me for sport.

23. No, no you don’t want to get to know me, I’m better as a concept.

24. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to pretend I can’t hear.

25. Do birds every just fly for fun or are they always on some kind of mission?

26. The older I get the more I understand why roosters scream to start their day.

27. ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’ I am older and I understand absolutely nothing.

28. Source? It was revealed to me in a delusion.

29. Why do drugs after 30 when you can just stand up too fast?

30. I won’t ever be the bigger person in an argument. God made me 5’ for a reason.

31. This meeting could have been a fist fight.

32. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m never going to have a midlife crisis because my entire fucking life is a crisis.

33. Anyone fancy going off the fucking rails with me I’ve had enough.

34. Go ahead and get in the pond since you wanna act like a silly goose.

35. My life is like a romantic comedy except there’s no romance and it’s just me laughing at my own jokes.

36. Who the fuck decided to call it ‘emotional baggage’ and not ‘griefcase?’

37. I don’t have a nervous system. I am a nervous system.

38. “What makes us human?”

“Selecting all of the images with traffic lights.”

39. Don’t let anyone else ruin your day. It’s your day. Ruin it yourself.

40. The sixth love language is combat.

41. “I just told you 2 minutes ago.”

“I do not control the remember.”

42. Due to not wanting to. I will not be.

43. My flabbers be gasted daily.

44. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Like a hallucination, a therapist, or a person?”

45. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you I try my best.”

46. I tried to embrace my inner child today and the little asshole bit me.

47. I think my dark under eye circles are adding to the aesthetic actually.

48. Being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot.

49. Next time I’m opening up to someone will be at my autopsy.

50. Too many songs about love. Not enough song about sword fights.

51. “You’re cute.”

“I’m feral and chaotic, don’t touch me.”

52. I’m not as unhinged as I could be and I want everyone to be great full for that.

53. How dare you know stuff about things.

54. “I have a plan.”

“Is it a good one?”

“I have a plan.”

55. “Are you decent?”

“Not morally, but I’m wearing pants if that’s what you’re asking.”

56. I may have the right to remain silent but I do not have the ability.

57. I don’t want to look ‘pretty.’ I want to look otherworldly and vaguely threatening.

58. If you ever feel safe please remember that I’m out there.

59. “I’m too good for revenge.”

“Well I’m not. Give me the gun.”

60. “You know I really feel like we aren’t seeing eye to eye.

“It’s because you’re taller than me asshole.”

61. “They rely on you.”

“I can’t be blamed for their lack of judgment..”

62. Well, aren’t you a little Ray of pitch black.

63. I can get behind murder but I draw the line at misogyny.

64. In my defence your honour, I simply do not vibe with the law.

65. Life is a tornado and I’m just the cow being spun around for cinematic value.

66. You can burn all the sage you want, I’ll be back.

67. I believe in holding grudges. I’ll heal in hell.

68. You know…they make medication for the way you act.

69. I like men with massive, throbbing vocabularies.

70. My swear jar could finance the fucking space program.

71. “Well if you want my opinion-”

“I don’t. I have my own.”

72. I’m awake but not operational.

73. Due to personal reasons I’ll be going back to sleep.

74. The bags under my eyes are Prada.

75. I identify as a threat. My pronouns are try/me.

76. Audacity must be on sale this year…

77. “Have you ever been handcuffed?”

“Sexually or by law enforcement?”

78. I don’t like salad or eye contact.

79. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

“No you’re gonna hit me!”

80. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

81. I have to keep reminding myself that I am an adult and will be charged as one.

82. Apparently ‘spite’ is not an appropriate answer to ‘what motives you?’

83. There is a fine line between my crazy and my intelligence. I use that line like a jump rope.

84. I don’t know where you got your opinion but I hope you kept the receipt.

85. Sometimes when I close my eyes…I can’t see.

86. Is being stupid a profession or are you just gifted?

87. Some days the supply of available curse words is insufficient to meet my demands.

88. I’m running out of reasons to not stab you.

89. When I said ‘how stupid can you be?’ It wasn’t a challenge.

90. Love at first sight? Tired, boring. Love at first assassination attempt? Spicy.

91. I’m sorry I don’t take orders. I barley take suggestions.

92. And that’s a wrap on another day where I acted like I knew what I was doing.

93. Now if you’ll excuse me…tonight’s bad decision isn’t going to make itself.

94. I take super hot showers to practice burning in hell.

95. I wanna be 14 again and ruin my life differently. I have new ideas.

96. Don’t be ashamed of who you are. That’s your parent’s job.

97. Being an adult is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

98. If I’m ever murdered, feel comfort in knowing I ran my mouth until the bitter end.

99. My spirit animal would fucking eat yours.

100. Some people will only like you if you fit inside their box. Don’t be afraid to shove that box up their ass.

101. I wonder if people look both ways before getting on my fucking nerves.

102. If I was a bird, I know who I’d shit on.

103. Giving a fuck doesn’t really go with my outfit.

104. I’m not insulting you, I’m describing you.

105. Life is full of disappointments and I just added you to the list.

106. And then I decided to take a detour to deliver an ass beating.

107. I wanna contribute to the chaos.

108. I’m gay and also stronger than all of you. So don’t try any shit.

109. With all due respect, which is none

110. What, pray tell, the fuck?

111. My arson charges don’t define me.

112. Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range.

113. I don’t understand your specific kind of crazy but I do admire your total commitment to it.

114. I am not above slashing my own tires to avoid going to this family brunch.

115. I don’t want to heal my inner child I want them to get revenge.

116. In order to insult me I must first value your opinion. Nice try though.

117. There’s someone for everyone and the person for you is a psychiatrist.

118. Keep rolling your eyes, maybe you’ll find a brain back there.

119. I think my guardian angel drinks.

120. In my defence, I was left unsupervised.

121. I believe in you. I also believe in Bigfoot so don’t get too excited.

122. If you figure me out I want an explanation.

123. I don’t think I meet the height requirements to ride your emotional roller coaster.

124. When killing them with kindness doesn’t work, try voodoo.

125. Another fine day ruined by responsibility.

126. You call them swear words. I call them sentence enhancers.

127. Stop petting my peeves.

128. What a year this week has been.

129. Don’t follow me I don’t know where I’m going.

130. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I am awake.

131. I didn’t say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.

132. Please don’t interrupt me while I’m ignoring you.

133. Everyone has the right to be stupid but you’re abusing the privilege.

134. I just know I will die trying to pet something I shouldn’t.

135. At this point, if a clown invited me into the woods, I’d just go.

136. I told him to take care of his eyes because they’re the only balls he has.

137. The trash gets picked up tomorrow. Be ready.

138. My last words will probably be sarcastic.

139. We don’t have time to unpack all that.

140. I may have committed light treason.

141. How is ‘pretty boy’ supposed to be an insult? I’m the prettiest goddamn boy in this town.

142. I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual.

143. “Based on statistical evidence, I’m immortal.”

“How so?”

“Haven’t died yet.”

144. I’m just here to establish an alibi.

145. Take the day off from being the bigger person and choose violence, you deserve it.

146. Forgive and forget? I’m neither Jesus nor do I have alzheimers.

147. People are so ungrateful. No one ever thanks me for having the patience to not kill them.

148. “I can see your bra.”

“Fucking good it was expensive.”

149. Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.

150. My idea of ‘help from above’ is a sniper on the roof.

151. “We’re surrounded!”

“Excellent, we can attack in any direction!

152. Lord give me patience or an untractable handgun.

153. Step back! I’m a professional idiot!

154. “Trust your gut.”

“I have anxiety. My gut is always telling me to abort mission.”

155. Keep your morals away from me.

156. Your existence gives me a headache go stand over there.

157. What, from the bottom of my heart, the fuck?

158. My heart is not a home for cowards.

159. Underestimate me so I can embarrass you.

160. “It’ll be easy. You just have to seduce them.”

“You’re kidding, right? I’m about as seductive as a cabbage.”

161. You’ve got heart, kid. Several hearts. Honestly, I’m a little scared of you.

162. It takes a very special kind of idiot to pull off what you just did.

163. I’m no doctor - but I think he’s dead.

164. I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.

165. “What brings you here?”

“A continuum of terrible choices.”

“You’d be surprised to know how often people say that.”

166. “I thought we agreed to tell each other when we were bleeding internally.”

“That’s a very specific promise I don’t remember making.”

167. “Did you really google how to flirt with a girl?”

“What? How’d you know that?”

“You do realise there’s a search history?”

168. “I’m gonna…”

“If you kick down the door, I swear…”

“I’M GONNA PUNCH IT WITH MY FOOT!”

169. “Is it still murder if I give them a heads up?”

“That’s a threat.”

“Damn.”

170. Surprise! I’m back from the dead! Isn’t that exciting?

171. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be in the corner, having another existential crisis.

172. I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.

173. You’re important to me you piece of shit.

174. “Why are your hands purple?”

“That’s a very good question.”

175. Can someone turn off the sun please?

176. “I had a thought.”

“Oh no.”

“I swear it’s a good one this time!”

177. I’ve met bread smarter than you.

178. “Please stop getting shot, it stresses me out.”

“Oh, well if YOU don’t like it.”

179. Dude, we are not asking the dragon for directions.

180. You’ve got as much charm as a dead slug.

181. For you, I could steal the stars - but I can also get them through legitimate means, if that impresses you more.

182. I am under no obligation to make sense to you.

183. You smile like an idiot when you’re talking to them.

184. Don’t you sign to me in that tone.

185. Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.

186. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t care. Shut up.”

187. Now that I made it weird, I’m going to make my exit.

188. So uh, I noticed you’re kinda naked. Is that intentional or…?

189. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Smart man.”

190. Well, if you’d woken up properly the first time I kicked you, I wouldn’t have had to do it four more times.

191. “I have NEVER been so insulted.”

“You don’t listen much, do you?”

192. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yup. I just don’t care.”

193. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. I just thought it would be amusing.

194. I would tell you to be yourself but that almost got us killed last time.

195. “Why aren’t you worshipping me, mortal?”

“Not interested. Thanks.”

196. “I’d rather be dead.”

“Then I have some good news for you.”

197. “Did you hear that scream?”

“Yes, I’m the one who screamed.”

198. “What happened to your-”

“I lost a bet.”

“Why-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

199. Reading way above my grade level didn’t get me as far in life as I had hoped.

200. Due to foreseen circumstances well within my control I will be late.

[luveline]

oK HALLOWEEN REQUESTS?! BET!!! GET THIS, STEVE WHO KEEPS HEARING SCARY NOISES IN HIS HOUSE AND HE CALLS READER (his gf) TO BE LIKE DUDE THERES A FUCKING GHOST and it’s a cat who got stuck in his attic or something 🥹

ty for requesting ♡ you and steve go ghost hunting. fem, 1.1k

Steve's waiting for you. Front door open, your boyfriend stands in his pyjamas with a leather jacket thrown over the top, hair ruffled but adorable, one pant leg tucked into his sock and the other dragging on the floor.

"Planning on a quick getaway?" you tease. 

Steve hangs his head. "Whatever, just kiss me." 

You love him even if you tease, using the door jam for extra height as you tip your head back to kiss him. With the way he kisses you can't be expected to abstain, hot little crescent moons of touch pressed softly to the seam of your lips, like the very beginning of a heavier kiss. It distracts you, and you forget why you're there. 

"'M being haunted," he says against your mouth. 

"Right," you remember. "You sounded hysterical on the phone. I thought maybe you'd been spiked." He rolls his eyes. "Hey, it happened once before!" 

"Just come listen. It's a weird thumping." 

"Maybe there's a guy living up there," you suggest, taking your shoes off by the door. 

Steve takes your hand gently, his words much less coddling, "Sure, there's a man living in my attic. He comes out when I sleep." 

"Well, don't scare yourself." 

"It's fucking weird. It's definitely a spirit." 

"Like that vampire you saw last Christmas." 

Steve leads you upstairs to his room, where he encourages you to get comfortable. You take off your jacket and your bag. You'd brought pyjamas, figuring Steve's phone call to be an invitation rather than a real ghost hunt, but you'll save them for afterwards. He looks comfortable, and he smells nice as you drop your face into his arm. 

"Listen," he says, bringing the forearm of the arm you're snuggling up to stroke whatever skin of yours he can reach, "it'll happen again. It's constant." 

"It's maybe a burst pipe." 

He shushes you, not unkindly. "Just listen." 

On the phone, he'd been dramatic enough that you assumed this was a cute ploy to see you. You'd felt quite flattered —Steve doesn't seem to realise how much of a catch he is, so his flirting is over the top, and it really keeps the crush alive even while you're dating. There's a fucking ghost, dude, you need to come over right now. 

Really? I thought your parents bought the house new? 

Baby! Don't make me beg. And don't make me die alone. 

You tilt your head to one side and listen hard for his promised ghost, an excuse to be in Steve's space more than anything. After a few dull seconds of silence, you turn forward and offer him a smirk. "You don't have to make stuff up for me to come over. I would've come to see you for no reason." 

"And while I appreciate that," he says, his hand moving to your face, your cheek to his palm, "there's really, actually a ghost." 

You look up in tandem as a strange sound echoes from above Steve's bedroom. It can't be a person, the weight doesn't shift loud nor close enough for footsteps, only groans in one place before creaking further toward the door. 

"Oh," you say. Steve squeezes your cheek. 

To get into Steve's attic you have to build a precarious ledge. He doesn't have a stepladder and the attic itself has no fold down, nor a ring pulley. "We don't go in there, the house is big enough already," he explains, lugging his TV stand under the attic opening. "This is barely tall enough to get up there." 

"Maybe you can boost me?" you suggest, though the idea of being that far up doesn't sound enticing. 

"No way, it's dark up there. If one of us is going to be killed by a ghost, it'll be me." He kisses your cheek and hops up onto the stand with impressive dexterity. You grit your teeth. "And besides, you don't like heights." 

"Steve, is this a bad idea? What if it's an owl? It'll attack you." 

"It's not an owl," —he grabs at the attic tile and pushes it in, grunting as he pulls the weight of his upper half inside with it— "it's a ghost, beautiful." His legs disappear into the attic. You can hardly see him. "We should've found a flashlight." 

"I can go look?" 

"I'll be fine, probably."

"Stay away from the hole! If you fall and break your back I'll have to work two jobs and someone else will have to give you sponge baths–" 

"Why do you actually sound worried? I'm not going to fa– Holy fuck!"

A huge thunk. You huff out a worried exhale, asking, "Are you okay? Stevie?" as you climb onto the TV stand and peer into the dark attic. 

"I'm okay! I'm gonna come back, don't flinch." His face appears in the opening. "I tripped over something. It's weird, you won't believe me, but the floor is wet in here. There must be a leak in the roof."

"Be careful, Steve, please," you murmur. 

Steve leans down in the gap to kiss your frown. "Sorry. I'm being careful. Could you bring me some towels? I'm gonna clean this up." 

You throw him a couple of towels from his laundry room like you're shooting shoddy hoops, laughing at his worse catching. The floor moans as he cleans, but there doesn't seem to be any ghost now that he's investigating. In fact, the house is very, very quiet. 

"Did you hear that?" Steve asks. 

You shiver. "Don't mess around!" you call, though you're not mad. "You're giving me goosebumps." 

Steve goes quiet for a little while. You chew on your lip, consider standing on the TV stand again to climb in after him, but ultimately stand frozen under the gap, waiting. 

He says something too quiet to hear. 

"What?" you ask. 

Your response comes unexpectedly, a little white face held by two bigger hands from the ceiling, and a frankly earth-shattering yowl. 

"Look! It's a cat!" 

"I can see." 

"Take him, take him!" 

You take the cat even as he hisses at you, holding his claws as far from you as you can manage. Steve huffs and puffs as he slides his way down, the TV stand wobbling ever so slightly as he closes the attic and hops down onto the floor. 

"He's aggressive," you say, wincing as the cat hisses again. "How big was the leak? I mean, how did he get up there?" 

"I told you already," Steve says, attempting to pet the cat and dodging a well-aimed claw, "he's a ghost." 

"Very funny, H. Now, um, what are we gonna do with him?" 

"...I was hoping you'd know." 

"I guess you have a pet now. Congrats, babe." 

[frankcastlescumslut]

A House in Nebraska

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: gore, violence, minor character death, amy bendix (lol), language, angst!!, eventual smut

summary: He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

a/n: hey! I’ve been sitting on this idea for months and finally ready to work on it :) this will definitely be a two-parter(maybe more), but I’m selfishly enjoying this little AU loosely following season 2!!!!

next chapter

comments/reblogs/likes are so appreciated, I love to hear your thoughts <3

“So… how did you guys meet?” “Stay still.” The strong stench of rubbing alcohol burned your nostrils as you leaned over, her foot tapping mindlessly beneath her crossed legs. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Amy,” you interrupted, her blue eyes baring right back into yours. “If you want me to paint your nails, sit still.” She huffed at that. You were used to it by now, never taking her attitude personally because being sixteen was hard enough, so you paid no mind. It was almost reminiscent, a painful familiarity with the way she embodied your sister, but you chose to forget the feeling like your life depended on it. In a way, it did.

Her nail disappeared beneath a glossy black polish, the surrounding skin also falling victim to an unsteady hand. She let out a sigh and continued to count the number of stripes on her socks.

“We met in Nebraska.” “Nebraska?” She sounded disgusted, and the small room filled with laughter. “What the hell is in Nebraska?” “Absolutely nothing.”

Ghosts. Distant memories. Everything was in Nebraska.

It’s where he found you, hiding as some housekeeper in a shitty motel. You were both running from things neither of you cared to talk about while sober, so you didn’t, but he kept looking for reasons to come back.

He blamed it on the esteemed breakfast, a vending machine honeybun, but you saw through him like he was an apparition haunting your strained heartstrings.

Come with me, he asked. Where to? You didn’t really care.

You were in too deep by the time you made it to Michigan—you both were, and yet neither one of you would admit it. There was something sacred about the secrecy and inability to label what you both knew was love, or something like that; it was too precious, and you avoided any chance at jinxing it.

“But you two are together, though, right?” Amy was obsessed with knowing everything. You think it’s her way of pretending that everything was fine. Fine.

“No.” “Oh.” She straightened a bit, and you didn’t miss the way her brows furrowed. “That disappoint you?” “A little.” “Good,” you smirked. “You’re too nosey.” “I call it a healthy amount of curious.” Her back hunched again, and she watched the way your eyebrows scrunched over her fingers. “You guys are shit at hiding it, anyway.” You chuckled at that, manually manipulating her hand to inspect your work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh come on,” she says matter-of-factly. “You guys fuck.” “Amy!” You could feel your eyes bulging from their sockets. “I knew it!” She clapped her hands before jumping from the mattress. “You don’t know anything.” “Oh come on,” she searched your face, expecting to find any confirmation to her assumptions, instead finding your lack of eye contact disappointing. “Not even once?” “No,” you lied. “Happy?” “Not really.”

The mattress failed to hide the sound of her disappointment as she threw her body onto the spare bed. You allowed yourself to find amusement in her attitude long enough to sift through a dirty duffel bag, keeping your mind occupied with something other than Frank’s absence.

Gaining Amy meant losing Frank. Hour by hour, piece by piece, chunk of flesh by chunk of flesh. The waiting never grew easier, but you adjusted, just like you always do, ending up in motels that smelled like damp polyester and cigarettes.

“I’m starving,” she groaned, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’ll get something soon.” Your stomach gurgled in agreement.

Static crackled throughout the room, momentarily stunning you, before being replaced by a weather report.

High of 89 today with an 80 percent chance of rain, folks! Grab an umbrella and stay dry!

You laughed to yourself at that—stay dry—like you ever left those shitty rooms.

It was bittersweet with Amy. You missed the sun. You missed the late night diner runs. You missed waking up to forehead kisses and soft touches. You missed the easiness of it all, pretending to be two normal people that had two normal lives, and now you were confined to a room that reeked of nail polish and gunpowder. A prisoner and caretaker.

“What do you want for dinner?” you asked, attempting to lighten the mood. “Huh?” “Dinner,” you stated. “I’ll go when—“ A knock at the door ended your conversation. “Amy,” you locked eyes with her, “get in the closet.” Your voice dropped to a whisper as you pointed the gun towards the door. “No, it’s fine!“ She practically leapt from the cheap mattress. “Closet. Now.” Your arm aches almost as much as your stomach as Amy reaches for the door handle. She was so far away, it seemed, and your legs felt cemented to the floor. “I ordered food,” she smiled, opening the door to reveal a woman holding a box. “See?”

It felt like you were staring at one of your polaroids; Amy looked pleased, beaming at you with a sense of accomplishment that she got dinner. That she could do things. That she didn’t need your help—Frank’s help. Her smile was radiant, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for her.

“You can keep the change,” Amy offered the woman a handful of cash before turning to you with that same naivety.

Stupid, stupid girl.

You knew it was coming, and yet your stomach still dropped when her smile faded and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Amy’s lips moved frantically, but you were too focused on the way the woman’s gun left imprints against her temple.

Stupid, stupid girl.

The woman looked satisfied, puffing out her broad chest while Amy tried to talk her way out of it. “Kid,” you commanded her attention, ignoring the way you could hear Frank’s voice in the back of your head. She stared back at you, tears welling in her eyes, and you hoped to God that she would understand what you meant as you meticulously cocked your head towards the closet.

The stranger wasn’t an idiot, and she shuffled backwards, somehow digging the gun further into Amy’s head. “If you try anything funny—“

Point. Shoot. Kill.

Amy flinched as warm blood decorated her cheeks like a crimson blush.

You wish you could embrace her and muster out a lie—that it’s all over, that everything is okay now, that things can go back to normal, but you can’t, so you pull her into the room. “Closet, now.”

She listened, for once, ducking her head and hurrying to the small space Frank had designated as hers. A part of you selfishly wished she had fought back against your order. Maybe then things would feel normal, and you could pretend that the brain matter surrounding the door frame was some maximalist’s creative direction. Maybe then you could imagine that the body below you was just a rolled up carpet that was being discarded because it was too much of an eyesore for the motel regulars.

You pretended, ignoring the corpse’s vacant gaze as you patted its body, shoving any remaining bits of your humanity down as you pocketed a wallet and fully loaded gun.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

It was one of the first lessons you had learned while on your own, and one that Frank never let you forget. He was right, unfortunately, and heavy footsteps reiterated the importance of the mantra as they approached your temporary home.

There weren’t many places for you to hide, but you made it work, you had to. The bathroom was small and smelled like mildew, but you couldn’t care about the dangers of black mold when you had a target on your back. The gun felt lighter in your hand this time, and your posture felt natural as you crouched against the bathroom wall.

Time didn’t exist in moments like this. The moments where the world sounded like warm, rushing blood and high pitched screeching. Moments where you become reduced to your primal state, clenching jaw and eyes blown wide as they study the mirrored motel room. Moments where you held your breath, watching and waiting in anticipation of who would barge into your temporary sanctuary, noting the constant footsteps..

The footsteps never stopped, not even as they stepped over the limp body and pooled blood. You foolishly hoped you would have been met with the familiar darkened gaze, that he would lift you by your shoulders and tell you that you did good, but the man that barged into the room was ruthless. Cold-blooded.

His gun was already drawn, spraying the mattresses and walls with bullets and fury, sending drywall crumbling and flaking onto your head and shoulders.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

You inhaled, not even considering it could be the last time your lungs expanded to its full capacity, before glancing in the mirror a final time.

You looked like a version of yourself you had buried long ago—a version that hadn’t emerged since you had left home. It was reminiscent of something you fought to avoid, but you couldn’t run this time, not as the pang of gunshots echoed throughout the motel room.

He moved quickly, and you wondered if he was trained on the same basis: shoot first, ask later. He wasn’t the first one you had encountered, trigger-happy and determined, and you knew they always ran out of bullets quicker than they should.

Your golden opportunity sounded like a few seconds of silence followed by a huff of air leaving your lips before you reached around the corner, catching the man off guard as you unleashed three rounds towards his rigid frame.

“God damnit!” he shouted as a bullet ripped through the meat of his thigh.

His eyes were black, rolling into the sockets like a blood hungry shark, and you genuinely thought his teeth would crumble under the pressure of his clenched jaw.

The bathroom was no solace; you were cornered, backed into a cage like an animal waiting for its turn to be brought to the slaughterhouse. Surrendering wasn’t an option. It didn’t exist for people like the one hunting you��for people like Frank.

The thought of Frank coming back to your makeshift home, littered with blood and bodies, made your stomach churn. It meant you failed, that you weren’t capable of keeping up with him, and it was embarrassing. You failed him; you failed Amy, and you failed yourself once again, though that mattered little anymore.

Your golden moment was quickly interrupted by the sound of grunting and a continuous stream of popping inching towards your hiding place. The wall exploded and ceramic tile flew towards your face before you realized what was happening, and you instinctively receded towards the small spot between the toilet and cabinet.

“Come on out, honey,” he called. “Can’t hide forever!”

You could tell he was hovering outside the remnants of the doorframe, probably waiting for you to crawl out so he could pretend to be merciful by putting a bullet in your head, but his labored breathing told you everything he wasn’t. Your guess was a severed artery, and although he should be down by now, you learned to never underestimate a man with nothing left to lose and steadied your gun on the edge of the counter.

“Just tell me where the girl is and we can figure this out like adults!” “Like adults?” You called out, scanning the bathroom for anything that could help your situation. “Sure,” he huffed out. “We can play house after this. What do you say?”

The toe of his boot peeked around the corner, and your body moved before your mind could catch up.

The man let out a guttural scream and folded in half, instinctively grabbing his bleeding foot. You wasted no time yanking the cheap plastic shower curtain from its holdings before leaping towards the assailant.

He looked like a beached shark, thrashing beneath the fogging curtain, but felt more like a mechanical bull as you held onto him with your thighs, tightening your grip around the curtain.

It happened quickly. So quickly that you hadn’t registered the throbbing pain in the base of your skull as you crashed into the already crumbling drywall. You weren’t sure how he stood, how he gained enough momentum to fling you off of him, but your mind and body remained disconnected as he towered over you.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” the man coughed, failing to cover his mouth. “Where’s the girl?”

This wasn’t supposed to be the end. This was humiliating, and yet there you were, blinking away stars and choking on dust. You attempted to sit up straight, regaining your dignity, before your knuckles hit the familiar carbon steel.

There was only one shot, and you prayed Amy had made it out and ran as far away from you as she could—this wasn’t a place for young girls, yet you felt small enough in that moment. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.

Point. Shoot. Kill.

He fell with a great thud, nearly landing on top of you. His mouth and eyes were still open, completely unsuspecting of his demise, and you were hypnotized by the crimson dripping from the bullet-sized hole in his forehead.

It was seamless, and you think Frank would have been proud had he walked in through the blown out door, but he doesn’t. Nobody was coming.

“He talked too much.” Her voice startled you, and you instinctively reached for the gun. “Whoa,” she warned, “it’s okay, it’s just me.” She showed her palms, emerging fully from the small closet.

“Amy,” you whispered, afraid that she was just an apparition.

“You okay?” She knew it was a stupid question the second it left her mouth, but she asked anyway—she at least meant it.

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing yourself to your feet. “We have to leave.”

“Leave? What about Frank?”

You had already limped across the room, adding the new guns and wallets to the duffel bag, and didn’t need to see the confusion on her face to know she was skeptical of your plan. “He’ll find us,” you tried to believe yourself, but you knew he would understand.

You’d had this conversation before; if anything were to happen to him, you and Amy were to find a Madani somewhere in New York. It was a 10 hour drive, but you were confident you could make it in six if you left now.

The room felt smaller with two bodies and crumbled drywall littering the floor. You could ignore the claustrophobic feel, but Amy stood frozen in place, studying the tread marked puddle of blood beneath her feet.

“Hey,” you started, “look at me. Look at me, Amy.”

She was pale, her eyes sunken into their sockets. It was impossible to make sense of how she looked so young, yet so hardened at that moment, but there wasn’t enough time to wonder. “Amy, we have to go, okay?” Her cheeks were soft beneath your palms. You tried to pull her from her trance, begging her to come back to the shitty motel room of death, but she stayed tucked away in the safest corner of her mind.

“You’re bleeding,” she muttered. “What?” “Bleeding. You’re bleeding.”

Her eyes led a trail to the soft curve of your waist. Your shirt stuck to your skin with an uncomfortable warmth, and you pretended it didn’t ache when you placed a few fingers over the gash.

You wanted to laugh at the irony, deluding yourself with a false sense of accomplishment. It was always too good to be true, and you were reminded of the cruel fact that things could always be worse as the sound of heavy footsteps pulled you from the pain. Amy ran towards the familiar hiding spot without being told, and your heart broke into smaller pieces.

It was getting old, the pointing and shooting and killing. It was getting old, and you were tired of calling the shots—you were tired of waiting for Frank to come back.

Fuck him. Fuck him for leaving you. Fuck him for leaving Amy. Fuck him for making you add two more heads to your roster.

Your arm ached as you leveled the gun, and you let out a sharp cry as your skin pulled in separate directions, the cotton of your shirt peeling from the wet wound. It was a matter of seconds before you would claim your next victim, but all you felt was the burning rage towards the man that left you in this position. It was automatic at this point; all you saw was a threat, so you acted, unloading rounds until all that remained was a busted door frame and tear stains against your grimy cheeks.

“Shit,” he whispered, not even acknowledging the body that he stepped over. “No no no, what happened?” He strung a hand behind your neck, forcing you to watch the way his eyes scanned your face. He meant well, you think, but you couldn’t look at him, especially as he thumbed through the tears that escaped your waterline. “Where’s the kid?”

God damn him. “Closet,” you choked out.

He was gone as quickly as he came, and your knees took the brute of the fall with a thud, masking the sound of the closet doors falling as Frank ripped them from the hinges. The stars in your eyes glistened, your peripheral shrinking, and you weren’t even sure if he was real. If he had actually come back, if he had actually left you on the floor, face to face with your bloody work.

“You okay, kid?” He crouched to her level, but she quickly uncurled herself, practically jumping from the small space to push past Frank and joined you on the damp carpet. “Are you okay?” she asked, her brows furrowing as she studied your face. “I’m fine," you whispered, bracing yourself against the mattress to hoist yourself to your feet. Frank hovered, like he usually did, unsure of his place between the two of you. His anger was palpable, and you made yourself as small as possible, limping towards the disheveled duffle bags. He watched you, noting the way you winced with each step. It killed him, knowing that his shit would eventually catch up to you, too, but he gulped it down, turning his attention towards Amy.

“I’m sorry,” Frank started, grabbing Amy’s shoulders before bending to her level. “I’m sorry this happened. I shouldn’t have left.” “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Seriously. It could’ve been worse.” “Yeah, you coulda been killed. I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Alone. The bile rose from your stomach and burned the lining of your throat at the indirect insult.

“I wasn’t alone,” Amy snapped at Frank before sinking into the mattress. “Look, this is all my fault. I was the one that ordered food, she didn’t know.” It was humiliating having Amy come to your defense like that, even though she was right. Frank’s stare burned, and your feet involuntarily took you to the destroyed bathroom to escape his attention. “What?” He spat. “I mean, really. I probably would have died but she handled them.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “It was actually kinda cool.” “There’s nothin’ cool about this,” Frank hissed. “C’est la vie, I guess.” “C’mon,” he ordered. “Pack up.” “Everything’s already ready.” She motioned towards the perfectly lined duffle bags that you had assembled.

He didn’t have much to say. He was almost relieved at the fact that you were ready to leave him. You could make it on your own, he knew that much. You were strong enough, but a part of him wished you didn’t have to be—that you didn’t have to deal with his shit.

Amy watched as he shifted his weight outside the bathroom door, his fingers flexing and clenching in anticipation.

His heart broke as he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the busted mirror, your head hanging low as you sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He was afraid of you. Afraid that you had made up your mind and had enough of him, that this was the final straw. But the worst thing, he decided, was the possibility that this, that he, was enough for you—that you would pledge your loyalty to a man like him. To a life like this.

“Time to go,” he finally knocked against the remaining wall. You were quick to listen, pretending that you hadn’t been crying, and you pushed past him. The carpet squelched beneath your stride, and you ignored it long enough to pull Amy into your chest, focusing on the sweet smell of her shampoo. She stayed there for what seemed like forever until she became cognizant of her flickering facade. “You okay?” you whispered, nodding your head as if you could somehow convince her she was. She followed suit, swallowing down any trace of emotion that threatened to spill over, but her eyes betrayed her. Frank had seen enough.

It was too much—too much of a reminder that he had failed again, that his perpetual failings would always result in the loss of a life. Your commitment to Amy’s safety was evident; it was a continuation of what you couldn’t give your sister, and he was ashamed that he brought you back to the place where he met you. “Let’s go,” he cleared his throat. You listened, as you always do, breaking your moment of respite with Amy to shove two heavy duffle bugs over your shoulder, not caring to look behind you as you head towards a bulky van. Amy watched you disappear, shuffling her feet in frustration. “You really should take it easy on her.” Frank said nothing, instead sifting through the empty pockets of corpses. “Hey,” she kicked the limp hand, forcing Frank to stop his search. “I mean it. Lighten up.” “You done?” He stood, completely towering over Amy. His jaw clenched against his will, yet she held his gaze. “Be nice.”

“Time to go.” He didn’t wait for her, so she watched her footing as she tiptoed over the broken bodies.

She lingered in the doorframe, committing the bloodbath to memory. It was fucked that she had to—that the motel room reeked of blood and guts instead nail polish remover and pizza. But that’s how these things went, and you watched from the safety of the van as she slammed the door shut on that dirty fucking room.

You pretended that her clumpy mascara was still intact as she climbed in the van's backseat. She pretended you didn’t jump at the sound of Frank slamming his door closed as he slid into his seat. He pretended that this wasn’t his karmic debt catching up to him.

A caravan of fucking liars.

“Where are we going?” Amy broke the uncomfortable silence, and you held your breath. “New York,” he said with a sigh.

New York, a Madani, and a caravan of liars.

There was a poetic moment of silence and anticipation, and then the engine roared to life.

next chapter

[waklman]

Of Course He Loves Me

summary: your past comes back to haunt you, and your roomate jake is there to witness it.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader

warnings: hurt/comfort. talks of past exploitive experiences, bad treatment of women, negative self talk, and allusions to sex. 18+ blog.

a/n: inspired by rhiannon mcgavin qoute shown above bc it reminds me of jake :)

word count: 3.6k.

“Do we want chocolate chips in our pancakes?” Jake asks, solemnly, waiting for you to make the executive decision.

“I think we do,” you confirm, matching his serious tone—twisting your middle to grab the said bag of sweets. The plastic crinkles when he takes it from you, with a pleased hum. 

Jake sets it down, then quickly scans the spread in front of him. His eyebrows pinch together, realizing he’s missing just one item. “Pancake mix..” he lowly mutters to himself. 

You scoot forward, aiming to hop off the counter to fetch it, but Jake stops you–pinning the hem of your sleep shirt down against the countertop with his hand, wordlessly telling you to stay put with a shake of his head. He doesn’t spare you a second to object–already guiding himself across the kitchen in search of the box of dry ingredients himself.

A defeated sigh slips your lips, looking ahead as he trudges off with heavy footsteps.

The towhead blond has yet to tame his bed head–there’s two pieces of hair sticking out each side of his head resembling ears, making him look like a newborn kitten. 

While he slowly sifts through the cabinets, the sunlight filtering through the apartment reflects off something on his finger, drawing your attention away from the state of his hair. You softly smile to yourself, seeing the ring you had on last night, now sitting safely on his pinky finger. It was a drunken habit of yours—you somehow always lost track of your personal belongings on nights out. Knowing this, Jake made sure to keep your things under his care when you had too much to drink.

Your chest tightens in appreciation for him, there was no one who looked out for you the way he did. 

“Whoever gets to marry you, has to be the luckiest girl in the world,” you announce quietly, looking down at your legs, bringing them to a slow stop–no longer unconsciously swinging them. You blink in recognition, seeing that at some point last night–he pulled a pair of fluffy socks onto your feet. You wiggle your toes, as all the events—previously muddled by alcohol, start to come back to you. 

“Marriage? Darling, I thought we’d be roommates for life,” he quips with a light laugh, carrying the acquired box back over to join you and the rest of the ingredients. 

“I’m serious, not everyone is lucky enough to have someone like you,” you try to laugh, but it falls short—now aware of the reason why you drank so much in the first place. Fuck.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you look past your own feet, searching for something to steady yourself on–and your eyes land right onto Jake’s feet. He has on a pair of your fluffy socks too, but they’re an older set, with matted tufts of cotton and elastic fibers scutching in on itself. 

Jake sets down the box, putting a pause on breakfast for now, troubled by your abrupt silence. He can see from the corner of his eye that you’re just vacantly staring at the floor. Something about the shift in demeanor ticks off a warning signal in his head. 

Then, it clicks. You got wasted last night, throwing back shots like it was nothing. When he tried to probe, you drunkenly told him you just wanted to try something new. And a part of Jake found it off-putting—you had an affinity for sweet drinks, so why the need for change? 

A knowing concern coats his thoughts immediately. 

“Did he text you again?” He asks, face unafraid. But deep in his gut, Jake feels the anxiety anchoring him down from where he stands, locking his knees in place. He wills himself to look away from the box mix in front of him, finally lifting his head up to look at you. 

From your peripheral, you can see Jake’s eyes set on the side of your face, patiently waiting for a response. In no way does he rush you, but you feel hurried to give him an answer. Yet you can’t. The walls of your throat have already swelled thick, pressing together at the center, preventing you from speaking.

Jake swallows grimly, eyes dropping down to see you gripping onto the granite counter for dear life, knuckles tight and veins about to burst from excessive strain. After a beat of silence, he calmly moves around you, flipping on the sink beside you. 

The panic that takes hold of you doesn’t allow you to see him test the temperature of the water, nor does it let you feel the way he carefully pries your hand from the counter, easing each finger off the cold ledge. You’re brought back once you feel a warm liquid run over your hand. It slips through your fingers and soothingly traces the skin of your wrist, that’s held by him–you can feel everything again. 

Jake slowly takes in a breath, allowing you to mimic him. His eyes are still locked on you, and a brush of relief briefly sweeps his heart when he notices you taking languid breaths with him. Though, your gaze is still lowered, eyes focused on the lining of his socks. 

After a few more steady exhales, you attempt to reply to Jake’s question again–but embarrassment enters your system, holding you back. You chose to slowly nod instead, knowing he’ll understand. “Okay, I see,” Jake answers cautiously, keeping his voice low. 

He’s still holding your hand under the running water, with both of you acutely aware of the deja vu that washes over this familiar exchange of words. It’s almost a pitiful routine that you two fall into every year–all starting with a text from your ex-boyfriend each time. 

It’s as though you could never get rid of him—the older guy you met working part time back in highschool always made yearly appearances in your life again, like it’s some twisted occasion he must attend to. 

He’d tie you down, under the false promise that “he’s changed”—convincing you to meet up with him. And you’d go, fully expecting to receive an apology—chasing that closure you deserved. But everytime, without fail, your old wound would be mercissley torn right open by him, raw and bloody for the world to see—for him to see. 

And it was ruthless, the way he’d ripped you apart, belittling you, reminding you how gullible and worthless you are—throwing it in your face for his own sadistic pleasure. No one will ever love you if you’re this pathetic, crawlin’ back to me like some fucking puppy. It made him satisfied with himself, knowing you’d always be there for him to gain a sense of control again. He chased that high each year, renewing himself with it—tossing you aside like garbage, after he got what he wanted, until he needed you again next time. 

And everytime, Jake was there for you after shit hit the fan—holding back his anger, while he consoled you–trying his hardest to sweetly smile at you while you weakly combat your heartache. Jake hated how useless he felt—his efforts were always futile. Because, truly there was nothing he could do to stop the hurt that laid inside of you.

But there was one thing Jake could do, and that was making sure to never express his disdain for your decision to see your ex, because he knew how you felt when everyone else in your life did. It made you feel small and stupid—the two things Jake never wanted you to feel about yourself. To him, you were nothing but forgiving and sweet, just stuck in a harmful cycle. This was not your fault, it never was. 

Back when you two were teenagers, Jake had been somewhat alarmed by your relationship with the guy, because what did a man of his age want with you? But Jake held his tongue and trusted you, holding back his concerns when you told him about your new boyfriend, because you glowed like you never had before. So, seventeen year old Jake did what he thought was best—he kept his mouth shut—because what kind of best friend would he be if he stood in the way of your happiness? 

But, if he knew then, what he knew now, Jake would have done anything in his power to stop you from ever meeting him. Because that jerk shouldn’t have ever been interested in someone so much younger than he was, in the first place. It took Jake years of maturing, reaching his very age today to come to that realization because now you two are no longer kids.

“And he wants to see you again?” he asks, jaw clenched, already knowing the answer.

You swallow. “I’m seeing him next week.”

“Jake?” 

“Yes?” Jake answers before he can even think, already peeking over the back of the couch in search of you. 

He looks in the direction of the wall by the end of the hallway, patiently waiting for your footsteps to finally reach there. 

You come out, holding up the front of your dress and Jake doesn’t know what to feel. “Can you help me zip this up?” you ask, embarrassed you couldn’t get your dress on fully. Your hands had been trembling all day, knowing who you’ll be seeing tonight. 

Jake immediately rushes to get up at your request—not letting you take another step towards him. You lightly smile, not surprised by his behavior at all. He’d been like this since you met, programmed to never let you take the extra mile to reach him.

“I shared my location with you,” you whisper, back facing towards him now. You shiver, feeling his knuckle brush against the exposed skin there, gently holding the small zipper between his fingers. 

“Why? I trust you.” He pretends to be unaware of the situation, trying to convince himself that his gut feeling isn’t true—that you’re not seeing him tonight. 

“I’m seeing him in a bit, and I just—I want you to have my location.” Jake finally zips up your dress, feeling like he sealed your fate—you’re destined for a dreadful night, and he can’t do anything about it. 

He reaches for your waist, but doesn’t have to do much to get you to turn around, because you’re already spinning around to face him. 

Jake swallows hard. You look almost unreal under him—too pretty for his brain to even comprehend. And a part of Jake hates that he won’t be the only one who gets to see you like this, especially not tonight.

“Okay,” he stares down at you, expression unreadable. 

You look up at him, wanting him to give you a reason to stay instead—but he doesn’t see the thought begging to be seen in your head, too distracted by the sick feeling pooling in his stomach. 

“Be safe, and remember to text me, please,” he whispers, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead—as if he’s implanting his reminder there. 

The light pressure of his lips makes your heart melt in your chest. With his hands still on your waist, Jake lightly pulls you into him, not sure if it’s to comfort you—or himself. He just knows that he needs to hold you. You instinctively lean into his touch as he begins to wrap his arms around you securely. “Will you come pick me up after?” you mumble, against his shirt. 

“I’ll be there the moment you tell me to.” He assures you, meaning it fully. 

Jake feels restless, swerving into the acceleration lane, slamming his foot on the gas. The rain harshly slamming down against his windows just spurs him on even further, bringing him past the speed limit. 

It’s already well past midnight, and you called him not long ago, barely able to get out a word, too choked up even speak—having to hang up and text him instead. 

Leading up to this, Jake had been shamelessly checking your location. With every second that passed with no update from you, his leg bounced harder against the wooden floor, prompting the downstairs neighbor to smack their ceiling, warning him to knock it off for the fifth time. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Jake had practically lunged at his phone when you finally called, heart sinking when he painfully listened to you whimper–the only coherent word that left your mouth was his name.

He already knew your location, rushing to meet you there now. It’s a ten minute drive from here, Jake made sure to check—but he’s already nearing you in under three minutes. 

It’s not long until he spots you in the empty parking lot. He practically throws himself out the car, ignoring the fact that his door is still slung open.

The sight of you sitting on the wet pavement, knees protectively pulled against your chest, and face buried into your hands makes him sick to his stomach. It takes everything in him to maintain his composure, finally reaching you as he lowers himself to your level. 

All the weight of his worries pit against him now, making it hard to breathe—it’s suffocating almost. 

With careful hands, he wraps his fingers around your cold ankles, attempting to regulate your body temperature, sweetly swiping the skin there. Jake swallows unsurely, feeling you shake like a leaf under him. 

In the palms of your hands, you’re biting back the viscous cry threatening to spill over. Jake’s chest caves in, weak from seeing like this. “It’s okay, let it out.” he permits, leaning in to whisper the words against your ear–drowning out the sound of the rain completely. 

It’s okay, let it out. Those five words mean more to you than you could take, especially coming from Jake. 

Before you can even realize it, the honeyed reassurance opens the flood gates to everything you’ve been suppressing. The horrible insults you pathetically took in the past hour, the sickly feeling of his hands on you from earlier, and the stabbing memories from years ago all bubble to the surface. And you finally break. 

You lamely fall forward, with Jake catching you immediately, in his arms–as the sound of your cry finally echoes into the air. It hurts–the way it thrashes against the walls of your throat, and mercilessly sears through your lungs. It hurts so much, but you can’t hold it in anymore–instead, you force yourself to take on the painful feeling as the cry empties out of you. 

Jake screws his eyes shut at the withering sound, promising to himself that this is the last time he’ll have to hear you like this. He will never let you feel this way again. 

Trying to keep his voice from trembling, Jake forces himself to smile, sweetly whispering to you, once again. “Let’s head home, Darling.”

You haven't said a word since you two got back, too ashamed to speak of tonight’s events. 

But Jake doesn’t show you any sign of judgment, as he pulls out your skincare bottles from the drawer with pursed lips. He came into the bathroom, after waiting outside for you to finish your shower, helping you prep for bed now. 

“Toner pads first,” he declares softly, screwing open the container. 

You tiredly look through him, unable to tear the sad expression off your face. But he softly smiles at you anyway, carefully swiping the cotton pads against your skin. 

It’s like this for the next few minutes—with you lost in your thoughts, sitting on the sink while Jake does his best to correctly go through each step of your routine. 

“I’m so naive,” you weakly profess out of nowhere, starting to sniffle. 

Jake stills, putting down your moisturizer, remaining quiet to let you continue.

“I was—I am, so stupid Jake,” you correct yourself. “I can’t even be mad that everyone looks at me like I’m—like I'm dumb,” you spit out. “I deserve to feel like an idiot, because I just am.” Your voice begins to tremble, but you keep going anyway. “Of course, I had to throw myself at the first person who gave me an ounce of attention, because I knew no one else would, but look where that got me.” You pause, harshly wiping away the rogue tear that slips down your cheek. “He’s right Jake, I’m damaged goods, no one can love me when I’m like this.”  Jake breathes heavily, dissecting the way you talk about yourself. You couldn’t be more wrong.

“Stop it.” he says sternly, no longer smiling. 

His tone catches you by surprise, and you’re scared to keep looking at him. He looks so tired of you—so done with you. Anyone else would’ve given up on you by now, it comes as no surprise that he’s taken the chance to do so.

You lock your eyes on the limp hands in your lap instead, ready for him to admit defeat, like he should. Instead, Jake catches your discernment and reaches out to grab your hands. 

“Look at me,” he says more softly this time. 

Tentatively, you lift your head to look at him again, ignoring the tears blurring your vision.

He takes a deep breath, before speaking again. 

“You’re not naive. You're not stupid. You're not dumb. You’re not an idiot. You’re not damaged goods,” he says firmly, addressing all the hurtful terms you called yourself. “And you’re not incapable of being loved.” You feel your bottom lip quiver at the final statement.

“If any of that was true, I wouldn’t be able to care for you so much, but I do. I care about you so fucking much,” he says, face contorted in pain, seeing the disbelieving look on your face. “You’re everything he’s not. Every bad thing he says to you, is not about you at all. It’s about him. He’s naive, he’s stupid, he’s dumb, he’s the idiot, and he's the damaged one.” You finally allow the tears to drip down to your neck—completely soaking the neckline of your shirt. 

Your eyes snap shut, shaking your head at him, denying what he says. “I mean everything I said.” Jake affirms again, gently swiping away your salty tears. You still don't believe him.

“How do—how do you not hate me, as much as I hate myself?” The choked out sentence punches him right in the heart. This hurts Jake most of all. 

You turn your head away from him, eyes still screwed shut. But he’s already pulling his hands from your lap, to cradle your head in his hands instead. 

“I can never hate you,” he says, voice strung in hurt. He doesn’t know what was the worst part of your question. How could you possibly hate yourself? How could he possibly hate you? And how can you possibly hate something, he loved so dearly. 

You open your eyes, ready to spit out something—anything that’s hurtful enough to get rid of him. He doesn’t deserve to deal with you anymore. But the words die on your tongue, because he’s looking at you with so much concern, with so much love. 

And it’s as if your body has a mind of its own, because now you lurch forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. 

Your head spins when kisses you back in an instant, purposefully slotting his lips against yours, like he has the ability to suck out the hurt living inside you. But it feels like he does, because it's healing, the way he kisses you.

Your heart bursts under your ribs, feeling him slowly drop his hands to your waist, thumbs swiping over the fabric of your shirt, with no urge to take it off you. Yet he’s still able to pull a noise from you, swallowing it down his throat as it leaves you.

His tongue slips into your open mouth next, curling against your own wet muscle—its almost euphoric. The entire room blurs around you, your mind can’t process anything—but him. 

Yet, you pull away first, shocked by the unfamiliar feeling that started brewing in your tummy. You blink shyly at him, he’s fully pressed against you now. “I can never hate you,” he whispers the affirmation again, planting a kiss on your forehead. He stamps the declaration there, hoping it never leaves your mind. 

“I know,” you answer him, believing him this time. Jake swallows, seeing you stare up at him, trusting him fully.

Without a thought, Jake leans back down to peck your lips, drawn in by the way it’s wet with his saliva. It’s meant to be short, because his lips are already drifting from yours—but you chase after the feeling in your stomach again, feeling it growing stronger. Jake hands trail down to your hips, squeezing them in surprise, kissing you back. 

He feels your hands already reaching for his pajama pants, fingers digging into the band, and he stops you, moving his hands to coax yours away from there. 

You retract your mouth from his, feeling regretful. “Shit, I’m sorry Jake I—”

“It's not that.” He assures you. Your brows furrow at his reply, until you understand the apologetic look he’s now giving you—and you know exactly what it means. I love you, but not tonight.

You nod.  

Jake kisses the corner of your mouth, withdrawing his hands to dig out something from his pocket. You smile at what he pulls out from there. It’s a pair of mismatched fluffy socks, one blue and one pink. 

You both look down at his own feet, and he lets out an embarrassed laugh. He’s wearing the matching pair for each sock in his hand. His left foot has a blue sock on it while the other has the pink sock. 

A warm feeling pins you down—Jake is wearing your socks.

note: this one is very special to me, so thank you for reading. as always, reblogs are very greatly appreciated!

taglist: @pono-pura-vida @teaminator @alana4610 @angellwingsss @nataddz @deliriousfangirl61 @bookchik26 @little-wiseone @lonelysoul50

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[astralscrivener]

For the End of the Year Book Ask! #3, #10, #16 <333 Let your correct onions be KNOWN Beautiful <3333

I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY BOOK ONIONS

3. what were your top 5 books of the year?

FUCK this one took a lot of thinking

i had to go to my shelf of favorite reads of the year and it was. very tough to choose.

firstly is yellowface by r.f. kuang, which i talk about more in the next question (i answered these out of order oopsies)

second i think is the fifth season/the obelisk gate by n.k. jemisin. i read the fifth season both last year and this year for two different classes, and then finally got around to the sequel + am currently reading the third book and i am bonkers about them. i am thinking about essun and nassun and alabaster and hoa constantly. deeply unwell. a lot more geology than i had initially expected but i'm having a GREAT time

the long way to a small angry planet by becky chambers. my fucking beloved. i've literally owned the book since like 2021 but took forever to read it but i love it sooo much i love the entire wayfarer crew but i think about kizzy and ashby constantly. the socks match my hat scene was so small but lives in my head rent-free

circe by madeline miller!!!! this one is popular for a reason. i know a lot of people tend to prefer TSOA/their first introduction to miller's writing is TSOA but circe was mine bc i love the odyssey (and also the emily wilson odyssey came out before wiliad. so. i have not had the brain power to get thru the fagles translation of either one yet). anyway i loved this a lot. i connected a lot with circe as a person and a character and her entire web of relationships...i am so emo about it. also i am a circe/penelope truther and when i write a sci fi or fantasy novel very loosely inspired by their dynamic. then what. ....wait i might have just had a breakthru on one of my wips wait a minute—

and finally the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson. i think about eleanor too often. way too often. someone in the goodreads reviews commented on her loneliness and it clicked for me why i like her so much and i have not recovered <3

10. what was your favorite new release of the year?

out of the ones i read this year? yellowface by r.f. kuang. i don't read thrillers much but this one was so much. i loved it. chaotic satirical thriller criticizing the publishing industry and raising questions about ownvoices and representation, which authors and stories the industry rewards and prioritizes, the pitfalls of being a young prodigy, and also it was just bonkers. i know this one was divisive for some people but i loved it. i had a great time. i have not stopped thinking about "they called it a globule" for months.

16. what is the most overhyped book you read this year?

you know DAMN WELL what you were doing when you chose this question. kissing you on the mouth

anyway is this a safe space. is this a safe space for me to be bitch. f**rth wing. it was f**rth wing. spoilering so tumblr doesn't put it in the search for the stans to find me

it is bad. it is bad. i initially gave it i think 1.5 stars (rounded up to 2 on GR) but i hate it more every single time i think about it. there is just so much wrong with it as a book but is also emblematic of a lot of larger issues in publishing, and particularly with red tower as an imprint, but i do not have all day to rant or we will be here forever

end of year book ask!

[writemewrong]

Unlucky

The nickname "unlucky" has been lovingly given to me by those close to me. It isn't something I started calling myself. But they aren't wrong.. I was indeed dealt a shit hand from birth. I mean, so were my siblings. One so much so that he decided that OD in some random person's garage recently was better than being homeless. I never truly blame an addict. The fact that I am not one is statistically a miracle. For this reason, I choose to not drink or partake in any type of drugs. Plus, weed and I don't mix. And I am perfectly OK with that. Now, the issue is the rampant mental illnesses that decided to manifest due to my upbringing. I hate medicine. I remember being a child and opening my mother's nightstand only to find a MASSIVE amount of pill bottles. Most were not even in her name. That image haunts me as I look at my own shoebox of medicine. I want to do anything in my power to forget her but as long as I am tethered to those stupid fucking pills, that memory will be there waiting. I have tried the med-free life. Let's just say I earned grippy socks. I am in a state of constant derealization, but with EMDR therapy I am hoping to change that. It isn't easy. I am about to turn 29. There is a lot to unpack but the fact that I am even in therapy and taking my meds as prescribed has to be proof that I am already taking the correct steps, right? Within the past two years: a dead older brother, a dead childhood friend, and a cat taken by cancer. I still have not cried about my brother. Does that make me a piece of shit? Heartless? One day I will be able to cry.

[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. 

[blouisparadise]

We frequently get asked what our members favorite fics are, so for today’s rec list, we asked each member of BLP to choose FIVE favorite fics for this list - no repeats allowed. Please keep in mind that this is not a complete list of our favorites - there are so many amazing BL fics out there that we all have a lot more than this! Still, we hope you enjoy. Happy reading!

1) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.

Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it. Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

2) Quietly Our Hearts Beat | Explicit | 7539 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis and Harry in the universe of ‘A Quiet Place’.

3) A Love Reaction | Explicit | 9968 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis’s staring up at him, head tilted slightly back, and his blue eyes are glassy, locked with Harry’s in an unblinking and gentle gaze. He looks ready to do whatever Harry says, to please him whatever way.

4) To Love Without Reason | Explicit | 8854 words

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

5) No Good Unless It’s Real | Explicit | 17021 words

Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

6) A Springtime’s Wilt, An Autumn’s Bloom | Explicit | 20593 words

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

7) Ready To Fall | Explicit | 21220 words

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

8) Written In The Stars (That’s You And Me) | Explicit | 22632 words

Louis pushes himself up on one elbow and stretches enough to just barely trace his fingertips over Harry’s jawline. Harry’s eyes drop to track his movements as he does it again. “D’you feel that?” he whispers.

To him, it feels like all of the universe’s magic lives just beneath his skin when he touches Harry with intent. It feels like something special. Louis watches Harry’s lips part and wants to touch that too. He almost does, but then Harry shakes his head. “Feel what?”

9) Middle Ground | Explicit | 23561 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry moves to a new town for work where he meets the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson.

10) England Has My Bones | Explicit | 24087 words

The next time Harry thinks about calling, it’s 4.14 in the morning on a Parisian hotel balcony.

11) Like A Siren In The Night | Explicit | 24868 words

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

12) Hold Onto This Heaven (Of Yours) | Explicit | 25213 words

An ode to being too young, too sad, and too in love.

13) The Devil’s In The Details | Explicit | 25372 words

He squeals when Harry smacks his bum as he bends over to pick up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Harry smiles smugly at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “When are you going to start calling me professor?” He asks.

“When you actually are one,” Louis says with his hand on the doorknob. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Isn’t that how words work? You did study English, right?”

Louis’ quick to slip out the door before Harry can smack him again, his laugh echoing through the hallways as he makes his way to his next class with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

14) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27086 words

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

15) You Fit In My Poems (Like A Perfect Rhyme) | Explicit | 27598 words

The one where Harry works in an old bookshop and Louis is the pretty stranger that ends up stranded there in the middle of a storm.

16) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words | Sequel

The accidental bonding A/B/O fic.

17) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

18) Stuck On You | Explicit | 33983 words

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

19) Coeur De Pirate | Explicit | 34207 words

He tilts his chin up as the Captain strides across the deck, his footfalls falling loudly against the planks. The crew watches them from afar.

Stepping into his space, the Captain wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him in. He lowers his head to breathe his words against Louis’ cheeks. “I won,” he whispers, “I’ve come to claim my prize.”

20) What This World Is About | Explicit | 34472 words

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

21) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

22) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39830 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed onto his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

23) The Space Between | Explicit | 39917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

24) The Sweetest Incantation | Explicit | 40580 words

Harry is a witch who's still working on developing his powers and Louis is a werecat who falls into his life and turns it upside down.

25) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

26) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

27) Love’s Truest Language | Explicit | 48195 words

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow.

“Where's your order forms, then?”

“I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him.

Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

28) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

The one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

29) Latibule | Mature | 54322 words

A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

30) Warming Up To You | Explicit | 56227 words

Prompt 111: Louis and Harry are strangers that somehow got stranded during a blizzard. They find themselves in an abandoned cabin and have to cuddle for warmth. Cuddling leads to much more.

31) Feeling Borrowed, Always Blue | Explicit | 68214 words

Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected it to happen like this.

32) Curly Bun Man | Not Rated | 68597 words

I just paid for these Doritos but they're stuck in the vending machine and I know you've been waiting but I am not going to let you buy something until you help me. AU.

33) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words | Sequel

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

34) Through Struggles, To The Stars | Explicit | 80582 words

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what's right.

35) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

36) Where You Lay | Explicit | 86038 words

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles.  Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

37) And Down The Long And Silent Street | Mature | 86090 words

Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

38) Swim In The Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

39) The Galaxy’s Edge | Explicit | 113921 words

Things never quite go as they are planned during a simple rescue job.

40) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Explicit | 126057 words | Sequel (WIP)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Is it wrong to lie to children?

A personal essay on reconciling with a shitty childhood and the question: is it wrong to lie to children?

It’s perplexing to have a shitty “unorthodox” childhood because initially I tried to throw out everything about It. Toss out the plumping and the rafters and the roofing, dispense of every single part of my upbringing I could get my hands on and not look back. Naturally, this approach didn’t work. It wasn’t even a real possibility. You’re still haunted by it, a ghost in the bones of a house, a foundation that remains long after the builders have left. That’s part of recovery too, to look at that ghost, to look at those bones, and keep saying: I see you, I see. I let you in. You sit with it and accept, accept, accept.

The really terrible part of this, the part where I don’t throw away the baby with the bathwater, is that you then have to raise the thing, deal with it. You have to do the hard work of parsing through the endless bits of self and placing them in “keep” piles and “discard” piles. I want to keep my mother’s kindness. I want to keep my father’s sense of humor. I want to discard the isolation. I want to discard the delusions.

But then there are these weird . . . “I don’t know” things. The things I am unsure if they helped me or hurt me. As I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten more and more of those “I don’t know” categories piling up. I’ve worked my way through most of the more obvious ones and now it’s all grey and mushy and as cloudy as a London winter. Recently, more than anything, I’ve been grappling with the fact my mother believed it was wrong to lie to children. She believed, in her flower-child way, that it was unethical in all forms.

I never believed in Santa Claus. I’m sorry to say I was a pretty obnoxious kid too because I would preach on the playground about how there was no Santa and there had never been any Santa. Which was a bit harsh, but in my defense I was under the impression these people were suffering from some sort of collective mass delusion. They were being lied to. And lying was wrong.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

I’ve known about sex since I was around 5 years old. I don’t remember why I asked, but it was something about where babies come from and so on. Most parents talk about a stork or love or some other abstract side-step. My mother described the anatomy to me and showed me a scientific diagram of the process. She told me that a sperm meets an egg and fertilizes it so the baby can grow. I learned most of this in scientific terms and was surprised when none of my middle school friends knew how a penis worked.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

When I was 9 or so our cat was eaten by a coyote. I asked my mom where he went and she said that he accidently got out the night before. She said they looked for him all morning, but it was too late. She didn’t use the word “gone” or “passed on” or “he’s in a better place now.”

She said he was dead. I said oh. She asked if I wanted to see him. I said yes. For the record, I am not actually sure if 9 year-olds should see corpses. That is neither here nor there. It was something that stuck with me though, the body of my cat with his tummy ripped out. I had never seen intestines before. His eyes were open.

But there was something cathartic about digging the grave. About helping pick up his little stiff body by the feet and placing him inside. There was something about piling on the red dirt as the sun set and letting the tears fall.

People on sitcoms hate talking about death. It’s understandable, it’s not funny, it makes for good dramatic irony when the kid asks “Where’s Socks?” and the parents go “Uuuuuh. He ran away.” I’ve never felt more alienated at those points. My cat died. He was eaten. I saw his body, and I buried it. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t want to be told he ran away-- that he had a choice in whether or not he left me.

Is it wrong to lie to children?

For a long time I thought the entirety of my childhood was wrong and bad, because I was miserable and broken at the end of it. I will assure you, my parents fucked up time and time again. But sometimes I have to stop and keep asking: Was this the wrong part? Was this the part where they fucked up? Was any part of this valuable? It’s a hard process to comb through an entire life and decide which bits are worth keeping, and if there are any silver linings.

So here is one: I am an honest person. I am a crooked person too, unsure of where to place my feet in social situations, picking my way through others normalcy. I do not readily share information, I am not forthcoming, and it’s a slow burn for me to open up about anything.

However, I notice time and time again that strangers will share personal things with me. I don’t mean for it to happen, but there’s just this pattern in my life. I once went on a car ride with a girl I barely know from my debate team. She described how she wanted to lose her virginity, she wanted it, but was scared God would be angry. That she’d be dirty afterwards. I told her that that was impossible, sex was just an act, it had no eyes, it had no priestly robes, or bearing on her soul. She cried. She said she hadn’t told me anyone this before.

I had a friend in high school who was struggling with an eating disorder, people had tried to get her to talk about it before, but I was the first person she admitted it to. In the hallway, sitting, just discussing nothing, and out it comes: I’m scared to eat sometimes. I was on a city bus and an old woman struck up a conversation with me. Over an hour or so, and she ended up telling me her fears for her own daughter going away to college. Her fear of growing old and passing on. Her problems with sleeping as she lay awake and dreaded it.

People have told me about their problems with substance abuse, their struggles with sexuality, and childhood trauma. People spill to me and I sit there thinking: Why? Sometimes I think it’s my gender or just how people are, but it always feels like I’m missing some part of the picture. Why do people open up to me, unprompted, all at once? Why me?

Is it wrong to lie to children?

Recently, I was reading a memoir set in 2001 where two young kids ask the narrator, their mother, about 9/11. They asked what happened to the people on television who were jumping off the building. Where did they go? The mother says this: They were caught. There are people-catchers that flew and saved them. Everyone is okay.

This story was meant to be heartfelt and lyrical, relatable. It ended like this: It is the job of mothers to offer gentle lies.

I had to stop reading because I was suddenly lost in a white-hot rage, unexpected, knee-jerk. How could she do that? I found myself frothing. They trusted her with answers and she lied. How could she? I knew it was irrational. It was silly even. This was a sweet story. It was meant to be heart-warming and framed in a way that suggested this is what all mothers do. This was what they needed to do. 

I felt my own mother, pumping through my veins, furious that these elementary school students were being betrayed. I stopped myself of course, I knew it wasn’t reasonable. I wasn’t raised “correctly.” I had no legs to stand on.

But still, is it alright to lie to children?

I am once again faced with that unending dilemma: how to throw-out those parts of myself that don’t work and keep the ones that do. It’s difficult to say, because in some ways I agree with my mom. How can I not? But death is cruel. Sex is weird. Santa Claus is a beautiful lie.

And what’s wrong with lying? I still don’t know. What’s wrong with letting them never hurt? Never knowing the pain or gross parts of the world? What’s the harm in letting them make-believe?

But sometimes I think about all those people who have cried to me. All these unprompted confessions come with an unspoken plea: I hurt. I am afraid. I am so scared. It’s all so heavy, these painful truths.

And some part of me stands there, the part my mother raised and says: there is nothing in this life that is too shameful. There is nothing in this world that is unnatural. There is nothing in this life to lie about, even to children.

Is death too painful? Is sex too gross? Would you tell an adult that a man lives in the North Pole and watches them?

I asked my mom, years later, when I was less furious and able to talk with her again without screaming, about why she believed all this. She had told me about it since I was very young, but I never asked why. She shrugged. She said: children are people, aren’t they?

I still don’t know what to do with this.

Children are people, but they are not adults. They shouldn’t be exposed to “adult” things, right? But is that line so concrete? Is the word “adult” just a mask for the greater word, the one we really mean? We all agree: honesty is good. Lying hurts. But it’s alright to lie to kids, because in many ways they aren’t people yet, they aren’t people yet, they don’t count.

I am admittedly an argumentative person. I was on the debate team, mock trial, United Nations, I studied political science in college and fought with every single one of my professors I thought was wrong. And I stood in that playground, age 6, and told every single one of my classmates Santa wasn’t real and I wouldn’t stop. The truth was important. And my mother, no matter what, thought I disserved it.

I often felt tiny and powerless as a kid. Terrified and holding myself together by shoestrings. I often felt there would be nothing better in the world than to be grown up. Not for the money or the dating or the job, I just wanted to feel like the hurricane would end. That one day I could stand on solid ground again. My friend often says: I wish I could be a kid again, ya know? No responsibilities. Just bliss. I want to be a kid again.

I can’t relate. I never have. I’ve been busy weeding through the pipes and lighting and the carpentry of my upbringing and asking myself: is any of this worth keeping? Is any part of me built correctly? There are no right answers.

But still, I am haunted. I sit and ask myself in circles: is it alright to lie to children?

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[whatifyoulivelikethat]

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | summon

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The Devil and his right-hand demon are forcibly yanked from Hell to encounter a power they've never seen before, a power that everyone thought was only a rumor. In chains and unable to break free, they are asked to give up part of their souls. And they do. For science. But, mostly, to fuck.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; short graphic descriptions of sexual acts; supernatural and horror (and it gets way creepier during the smut, you have been warned); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs; they don't have your best interests at heart and neither do you.

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you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

-

there’s not a word for what i wanna do to you

One second, the Devil, also known as Min Yoongi, was frowning as he gazed up at his right-hand demon Jeon Jungkook, pondering the whereabouts of the missing soul-shards. The next second, the volcanic ground below him exploded, multiple giant red-black rings adorned with symbols and images creating a circle, expanding a larger and larger surface area, crackles of red lighting and tendrils of black smoke shooting everywhere. It consumed everything, bleeding into every nook and cranny of the throne room, saturating the air with summoning intent. It was happening far too quickly for the Devil to stop, the ground splitting and black chains shooting out, surrounded by a deadly ice-silver signature of the kind of magic you don’t bring home to your mother.

“Fuck–!”

That was Jungkook.

“Ah.”

That was the Devil.

The black chains snapped around their bodies and bound them in an instant. Jungkook snarled and fought with all of his power, black wings flaring out that were instantly crushed and shredded by the enchantment, his curved black horns protruding from his head and being forced back by the power. In contrast, the Devil merely sat there. Yoongi knew he couldn’t stop it, not this kind of magic, if it could even be called that, so he didn’t try. He let the chains wrap around him and shackle him. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tried to trace the source, tried to find the purpose. In order to defeat an enemy, you must be informed. Yoongi lived by this philosophy, which was why he was the Devil.

He could not trace it.

That was very disheartening.

But he didn’t need to worry earlier, because the red-black summoning circle was closing in, and he would find out very, very soon who it was. He had nothing to worry about.

Yoongi was the Devil, after all.

-

You inspected your nails.

Matte black, pointed. You had just done them. You liked to look nice for your guests.

“Hm, the Devil works hard, but I work harder,” you chuckled.

-

This was not what the Devil expected.

Yoongi expected a dark cave, a crowd of hooded figures, lots of candles. Maybe a Bible or a Koran. Devil worshippers, Satanists, cultists, or whatever they liked to call themselves. He fully expected to fight, to kill, to maim, and to fucking enjoy it, because he was the Devil and he served no one.

That was the whole fucking point of leaving Heaven in the first place.

He did not expect this.

You.

“Oh? A new development.”

Yoongi had seen many things in his time. He thought he could no longer be surprised.

He was wrong.

You stood over the two figures chained to the ground, peering curiously at them. A plain black dress with a flared skirt and a lace high collar. Long-sleeved with small ruffled cuffs at the end. No socks or shoes, just long, beautifully sinful legs and pretty feet. Pointed, matte black fingernails at the ends of lovely hands. A single nail was on one of your full dark lips, small amused smile dancing on that pouty mouth.

Your nail pressed into your flesh.

Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that mocking smirk.

Sharp, distinctive eyes. Unforgettable. Yoongi would not forget the eyes of the fool who summoned him anyway, but your eyes… They were different. They held no malice. No innocence either. No, your eyes were the greatest mystery of all.

They were an enigma, revealing nothing to the one who could tell everything.

Yoongi did not like this. He did not like how him, an all-powerful being, one who could poison the minds of all other beings, was being confronted with a human who seemed very not human.

You were holding something on the crook of your arm. He narrowed his eyes. A black plush goat-man with horns and an upside-down red pentagram stitched on his head. It had little leather hooves for feet and hands. Black leathery wings as well. Another common misconception of the Devil. As if he wanted to be an ugly goat for all eternity. Hmph. But there was something about the way you held it that made Yoongi think it wasn’t an homage to him.

No, you held it close to your breast, next to your heart, squeezing the plush goat-man’s little arm lovingly.

It made him ache with longing.

They were in a bedroom, on the floor next to the bed. Black sheets, fluffy blankets with white stars all over them. Black walls with posters all over them, cute animated characters, haunting imagery, various musical artists, sinful and innocent, a vast plethora that told him nothing of true intent. Modern, sleek furniture. A high-end desktop with multiple monitors. A nice flat-screen television. Many soft plushies of adorable and strange characters, stacked on shelves and in corners, both popular and niche.

Who was this person?

With every passing second, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

Jungkook was beside him, disheveled and disoriented, chained down with black. The demon sat up, growling in his chest, trying to exert his power.

“Who do you think–”

“Ah, little Satan, they shouldn’t talk until I allow them, isn’t that right?”

The Devil was not a fool. You were not talking to him. You were talking to the little goat-man in your arms. Yoongi heard a choking sound and he turned his head to see a very large black ball gag ramming itself in between Jungkook’s teeth, snapping closed with a black chain strap behind his pretty head. Jungkook looked livid, trying to bite through it, but Yoongi doubted he could break it.

You smiled at him.

Yes, indeed, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

In some ways.

Seeing Jungkook in a ball gag was a pleasant image.

“I didn’t expect it to turn out this way. I was aiming for him first,” you said to Yoongi, lowering the little goat-man and holding him by a hoof. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to rip apart the plush or be it. He decided that wasn’t important right now.

“Ah, well, this might be better,” you mused nonchalantly. Jungkook was still fighting his restraints, but neither you nor Yoongi acknowledged it. You crouched down, a delicate flash of inner thigh and black velvet panty in his view. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. You cocked a brow, smirk widening. “Two birds with one stone, no?”

You set the little goat-man in front of him.

Sat down, spreading your legs to squeeze the little goat-man with your inner thighs.

There was no question now.

Yoongi wanted to both be the plush goat-man and rip him to shreds.

“I’ll let you speak to me, Devil. You seem polite.” Conversational, calm. Not condescending, which somehow made it worse. At least if you spoke to him with hostility, he would know how to turn it against you.

“You have magic that doesn’t belong to you, human,” he said softly, a raspy renounce in his voice. He festered it with sweetness and warning at the same time, accenting it with a discerning stare.

You grinned.

Even he, the Devil, was unsettled.

“Nothing belongs to anybody. You only borrow it for a short while and then the powers far beyond even you take it back.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop and race at the same time. As he suspected. This was not the work of his father or some a wayward demon. Magic, power, illusionism, these were all words to describe things that could not be described. Entropy holds no bounds and there is no meaning behind it. It exists only to cause anarchy. For some reason, perhaps simply chaos alone, you, a human, was in possession of something even he could not control or understand.

Shit.

He stared into your eyes and they reflected his expression back to him. He tried to search for it, the desires within the heart, the small tendrils of pain that asked to be soothed, the soul begging to be freed. An ordinary demon could be fended off by a strong-willed human for a while, but Min Yoongi was no ordinary demon.

He was the Devil, even if he was bound by your chains.

You tilted your head at him, hair curling around your cheeks and lashes.

Yoongi could take even the weakest flame of desire and stroke it into a blazing fire. Even the holiest of saints could not fight him. Everyone wanted something, even if it was, disgustingly, in the name of his father. And humans, well, they were the masters of wanting things they couldn't have. Easily manipulated, even by each other. The Devil hardly needed to do anything at all. It was only a matter of whether or not Yoongi cared to do it and, most of the time, he didn't give a single shit.

You tilted your head the other way, smiling.

Yoongi did not find a maze or a barrier preventing him from the soul. He found the soul within seconds. It was there, all right.

The Devil just didn't know what the fuck he was looking at.

Why was your soul just you sitting there in the abyss, looking up at him with the same smile you were giving him right now?

And why did he feel nothing emitting from it?

He pulled back, looking into your eyes again. He did not like this.

You leaned forward and touched his horns.

His eyes widened as your fingertips brushed against the large curved black-red horns against the sides of his head. He hasn't even realized they had protruded. How? His horns were a sign of his power, a symbol he used for fear, for appearance, and for the moments of when he was exercising a great deal of his influence. Your fingertips brushed against the second set, the ones that bloomed upwards into wicked black-red spikes. Both sets? His soul-search had him reflexively procure both?

Shit.

He started into your eyes, seeing himself reflected back. Min Yoongi was the Devil. Emotion was no stranger to him. He harnessed it all, consumed himself in the passions and wonders of emotion. There were ones he felt less, simply because of who he was. For instance, there was not much that made him afraid.

You smiled.

Fear. He could feel it rise within him.

Yoongi grinned back.

Was this what he thought it was? He had heard of such things, rumors and whispers, even amongst the angels themselves. The hidden truth that Heaven and Hell belonged in a specific dimension or realm, Order. That there was another realm, the mirror, the reflection trapped, the unknown.

Disorder.

His kind, the high-above, and those between angels and insects, the humans, none of these belonged in the realm of Disorder. There were rumors that Order was merely a concoction of Disorder and that their realm could collapse any moment, erasing all of existence without a trace. Entropy was waiting for them all.

Yoongi understood now.

This was chaos.

The Devil was a master of desire. And a master of deliberately doing exactly what he shouldn't. He should not be tempted by a glimpse of chaos. His father would warn him to stay away from it.

His father could fuck right off.

Yoongi leaned forward, still bound, his horns disappearing. The chains clanged around him, his power rattling underneath. He wasn't doing it to fight them. He wanted to feel it. To understand what could not be understood, to touch the untouchable, because it was there, there right in front of him and he wanted it, he wanted it, and the Devil feeds off desire, even his own.

He wanted those lips.

You backed up.

The denial only made his desire stronger.

You left the plush goat-man sitting there right in front of him.

-

Jungkook was pissed.

Absolutely furious, jaw and head aching from this ridiculously large ball gag, fuming that he had no idea what was going on and that a single human was doing this bullshit. There was no way you were working alone. There had to be other beings behind this. He couldn't figure it out right now, but he would and he would tear them apart, right after he fucked your pathetic human body and tore you apart.

You must be a fool, thinking you could shackle him, Jeon Jungkook, the right hand of the Devil himself, the epitome of pure sin and free will.

He continued fighting the magic, trying to exert his strength, rattling the black chains, ice-silver lashes beating him back down. He tried to release his wings, but they were ensnared, pain shooting up his back. Jungkook cared not for pain. He had felt pain for millions of years. A few seconds was nothing. He tried to release his horns, but he could not, as if the very air neutralized him.

He was enraged.

Maybe would simply kill you so he could spend an eternity torturing you for your insolence.

Then the Devil's horns appeared.

How did he–?

Then you touched the Devil.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

He did, deep in his chest, muffled rage, jealousy, hate, all at once, and both of you ignored him, your fingers grazing Yoongi's horns, fucking smiling, looking unflinchingly into the Devil's eyes, and Jungkook wanted to erase you from existence, destroy every single shred of your soul for not groveling at the feet of Min Yoongi.

The horns disappeared and your hands hovered around Yoongi's head, fingers splayed out around the black hair like a shining halo.

Ironic.

The Devil leaned forward.

Don't you fucking kiss her, hyung!

But you moved away, backing up, gaze lingering on Yoongi before closing your eyes and reopening them slowly, a gradual shift to Jungkook's face.

He snarled at you through the gag.

He had you now. Eye contact and Jungkook could exert at least part of his power, the soul-search to find your deepest desires, your hidden gems, the calamity within that would call to him. He would find it and manipulate it, bend you to his will, turn you into his puppet. Play with you until you begged to die, only to find yourself in his arms once more, his plaything for all eternity.

All he had to do was find it.

You slid to your hands and knees, crawling to him. He felt it inside his chest, his own desire, watching the curve of your back to ass, his cock twitching at the sight, his mind conjuring images of your pretty body on a leash. Jungkook didn't have preferences when it came to bodies. A body was a body. In his hands, all bodies became prettier. You already had the base and he already had the wrath to want it. You stopped in front of him, the black skirt of your dress flaring out. He could see parts of your bare body.

Legs, knuckles, knees.

A small, amused smile on your lips.

Eyes that Jungkook searched valiantly, looking for malice, for innocence, for desire, for the darkest shadows and the lightest light.

Why couldn't he see anything?

This must be part of your magic. No matter. Jungkook had other ways. He was creative and cunning. You would break under his hand. He wouldn't stop until it was done. He was a demon that saw things through, even to his detriment.

His jaw was suddenly released from its prison, ball gag disappearing, fading into ice-silver smoke. He coughed, snapping his teeth, glaring at you.

"You dumb bitch," he hissed, violent resonance in his voice, oppressive and intense. "Do you think you humans are above us with your tricks and schemes? Kneel before those who invented such things."

You tilted your head.

Yoongi chuckled beside him.

Jungkook's brows furrowed. What–?

Your body trickled down like liquid, laying against the dark wood floor, looking up at him. Jungkook froze, maddening desire rising, infuriated at your face looking up at him, plush dark lips parted, hands on your chest, fingers spread out and molded to your flesh under the plain black dress. Sinking in, making him clench his jaw.

Your smile like a Cheshire Cat, eyes reflecting his rage.

Jungkook wanted to straddle your face and shove his cock into that smirking mouth, bulge your throat and cheeks with his girth.

"Is he always like this?" you asked, still not looking away.

"He pretends to be nice when he wants something out of you," the Devil answered calmly.

"Isn't that you?"

You still didn't look away from Jungkook. Why couldn't he find what he needed from your eyes?

"I'm always nice."

"That means you always want something out of someone."

Yoongi laughed, raspy and deep, the sound echoing in the bedroom, filling it up with his sound. Why couldn't Jungkook find it? His rage began to become infested with something else. Your eyes reflected only him.

Like a mirror.

No matter. The demons had other ways.

"Come here," Jungkook purred.

"I wouldn't do that."

That wasn't you. That was the Devil.

Your body lifted as if it was on a string from the center of your chest, fingers and black fingernails trailing against the dark hardwood, head tipped back, the line of your neck hidden by the high collar of lace, shielded from his hungry gaze. Legs curling up, skirt pooling around your thighs, his rage molding with carnal need, festering with something else.

Fear.

You rose to your knees, in prayer position in front of him, almost as if you were about to reach out and touch faith. Jungkook furrowed his brow, watching your presence near, wanting it, ready to coax or rip your desires from your lips themselves. It didn't matter if he was bound, it didn't matter if his black suit was torn up and ugly, it didn't matter if he was bleeding from his efforts to escape this magic.

You were still a human.

He was a demon and he would taint you.

Closer, your lids lowering, entranced by his spell. Jungkook smirked. Too easy. Humans were so, so easy. He craned his neck, lips parting, the palpable lust of his breath exhaling. So close to those pretty, dark, fuckable lips.

"You're really falling for it, hm?"

Jungkook paused. His eyes shifted to Yoongi. The Devil had turned his body to watch, clad in a tailored black suit. In contrast, Yoongi's was unmaimed, as he hadn't fought his restraints. The Devil had black hair like him, parted slightly, with shadowy dark brown, cat-like eyes that glinted with something sinister. Pale skin, almost luminescent. Exposed neck, elegantly laid black silk tie, unlike Jungkook, who preferred not to wear one. Lips that demanded you to plead for your life.

A body that made Jungkook want to sin for him.

That was the power of the Devil.

His eyes shifted from Yoongi to you, who had stilled in front of him. Hands beneath you and knuckles pressed to the floor like an obedient pet. What was Yoongi talking about? He had you right where he wanted you. And yet, he hesitated.

Then you spoke.

Delicate and calm, with no resonance. Human.

"I thought demons had free will?" you whispered. "That not even the Devil could control a demon."

Or was it?

Jungkook watched your lips form the words.

"If he is powerful enough, that is."

-

Yoongi didn't bother warning Jungkook anymore.

The Chaos knew what it was doing.

Clever girl.

-

Jungkook growled, leaning back a little, letting the passion of emotion course through him, wrath, lust, pride. Fear. All of it. Drawing from it, his power pulsing, singing through his muscles.

"Come here, human."

You had to crawl into his lap, his thighs against your thighs, hardness against softness, bringing your lips to his, sudden and sweet with your legs, knuckles, knees. Jungkook smirked, white teeth and canines flashing, urging you to him.

"What a good little girl,” he breathed softly. “I can be anything you desire. All you need to do is tell me."

Your eyes locked with his.

"A kiss, please."

He groaned at the small plea, finally getting it out of you, finally, and he would make you regret doing this, sow every seed of desire within you and reap it all, turn you into his pet on a leash. All he had to do was kiss you.

Jungkook kissed you.

He pressed his lips to yours, ravenous to consume what you had, eager to claim his offering.

You smiled against his lips, a small, amused smile.

It was instant, his hunger to your plushness, the rush euphoric and wild, immediate lust and power dominating him and now he could taste your tongue and fling open the doors, clawing for the soul within, the moment so close he could taste it, taste your moan sliding into his throat, his favorite treat, intoxicating in the way you sucked in his breath to fill your longs.

Jungkook arrived at the last gate, tearing through the door. Looked down into the abyss, triumphant.

You looked back up at him from below.

A small, amused smile.

A nothingness like he had never felt before.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open and widened, staring into the reflective glass of yours, his chest constricted. He had never felt this. Your lips still on his, tongue flicking, taking his breath, and then he felt a strange kind of compression, like everything was being pressurized, tighter, tighter, suffocating, and he gasped in your mouth, recoiling.

The kiss broke, your eyes still on his, lips shiny with his saliva. Your hand was outstretched, hovering in the air, fingers coated with black tendrils mixed with ice-silver, right above his chest.

Your eyes, void of anything but himself.

“What…” Jungkook breathed, hard cock straining against his slacks. “Are you?”

He didn’t understand. You were only a human. Only a human who had done a very stupid thing, summoning the Devil and his right-hand demon to your bedroom. Just a stupid, foolish human. You tilted your head. Lowered your hand and placed both hands on Jungkook’s thighs. He tensed. You pressed your fingers into his slacks, kneading the firm flesh underneath.

Where was your fear? Your malice? Your innocence?

Where was your desire?

He could only feel his own, rising, rearing its beautiful head, teeth bared and ready to strike as your fingers drummed against the fabric of his pants. You had tried to take something from him in midst of the kiss.

Part of his soul.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed, forceful and direct.

You stopped moving your fingers. He wanted to scream in dismay.

“Only a small thing.” Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “A token to remember our fateful meeting.”

Now, only now, did Jungkook not like this.

You removed one hand from his leg and Jungkook clenched his jaw, watching it rise, nearing his heaving chest, the black chains spreading apart, links snapping with ice-silver sparks, but he was still bound, still chained, and he did now know why and not knowing infuriated him. You stopped, right above his heart, the heart he forgot was there sometimes.

The true irony of this world was that angels gave up their hearts to serve the one above and demons kept them to serve themselves.

Jungkook felt it again, the compression of his insides, making his breath hitch and his teeth grind, the sensation unbearable. Your expression remained the same, the small, airless smile. Eyes reflecting his terror.

“I could take it just like this.”

Not a threat, only a statement. Only a testament to the power within you, a power that Jungkook was beginning to think wasn’t something he knew or understood. The Devil could take souls. He could reap them, he could tear them, he could wring them dry. But not like this.

“I will give you a choice,” you murmured, hand retreating, releasing him from the uncomfortable pressure. “Because everyone deserves a choice, don’t they?”

The chains were lessening, slowly slipping off Jungkook’s body.

“I’ll let you give it to me willingly.”

Your hand on his pants caressed the fabric.

“If you have the power to take it,” Jungkook snarled. “Why not take it?”

Your other hand found his other thigh, squeezing lightly, sparks of heat flying through his veins. The chains slid off him, clashing into the hardwood floor and turning to ice-silver liquid that faded to nothing.

“I do not want to take.”

You stopped your touches and Jungkook wanted to scream.

“It will feel better for you if you give.”

He raised on eyebrow. “Considerate of you.”

You smiled wider. He stared into your eyes and only saw himself.

“What do you think, Jeon Jungkook, the Devil’s right-hand man?”

He felt the tendons on his neck tense, expression twisting into anger. You shouldn’t know his name. You were a human. You would only know if he told you directly. Someone else was behind this. Someone who wanted to kill him and the Devil, thereby putting Hell itself in imbalance.

“How do you know my name?” he seethed.

“You told me.”

What?

“When you looked into her eyes, you told her your name,” confirmed a deep, cavernous voice.

Jungkook started, whipping his head to the Devil beside him. No longer chained, simply sitting lazily on the ground, one knee raised to rest an elbow on it. Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Getting soft, Jungkookie?” the Devil taunted.

How…? Was he so absorbed in his own lust and deceiving you that he did not realize? He looked back at you. Your eyes lowered to his slacks and then back up to his eyes.

“Pants can always come off.”

Jungkook raised a hand, running it through his black hair, jaw set. “You are too greedy, human. Do you even know what you’re doing?” he sneered.

Your hands jerked down a few centimeters closer to his crotch, making Jungkook hiss. Your tongue slid out, feathering against the plush dark mauve of your lips. His cock throbbed with need, demanding to abuse the mouth presented. You leaned forward, putting more of your weight on him, welcome weight that Jungkook wanted all over him. He was a demon, after all. He was no stranger to carnal desire.

“I do,” you murmured softly. “You and me and the Devil makes three.”

Jungkook sharpened his gaze. “You couldn’t handle that, human.”

You said nothing.

You simply removed your heat and turned to the Devil, where Yoongi held the little goat-man plush by a single hoof, dangling it next to his lap, making your crawl into it to reach the doll. It was almost an innocent gesture, the way you took it and tucked it into your lap before looking up at Yoongi’s face, lips parted slightly, nearly curious, childlike awe decorating your features.

Jungkook growled like a hurt animal.

Your eyes shifted to him, looking at him under lowered lashes. Dismissive, vacant gaze.

“Yes or no, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

The thin black string between you and him darkened, searing with ice-silver, a contract made. He didn’t even know the terms. He didn’t care. No human could outsmart him. And you, you must have been human once.

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t know if you were human anymore.

-

Yoongi watched your eyes return to him. The little black goat-man plush was tucked between your legs, pressed against your core. Slowly but surely, he was understanding. The original vessel was human, now tainted by someone, something, or simply bad luck. It made you something else entirely. You were a creature from the realm of Order polluted by the realm of Disorder. How long could this last? Would you die eventually from it? When you died, what would be left? Was the soul still there? Would he be able to collect it? Contain it? Study it?

Yoongi didn’t know the answers to these questions.

He wanted to know.

“Your turn,” you whispered to his chin, warm breath against his skin. “What is your answer, my Devil?”

Yoongi chuckled. “A shard of soul is all you ask for?” he purred. “What for?”

You tilted your head. “I want to complete my collection.”

The Devil doubted that. He doubted you wanted anything. Something was driving the entropy in a direction, a purpose given to the original human you long ago, and now you did it because it was the only thing left in the shell, a memory of a purpose, the human determination so strong that it could not be killed or erased, even though this body was now only a container for the power within.

The Devil had spent a lot of his time lately doing nothing. Nothing fun, nothing exciting, nothing worthy of his attention. Yoongi already knew everything there was to know about humans. He cared not for those above. But this.

This was new.

This was different.

This was something he wasn’t supposed to know.

He raised his hand, fingers tracing your jaw, staring into the eyes of Chaos. The Entropy. The Vessel.

You.

“I’ll be part of your collection, little one,” Yoongi purred.

And you will be mine, he vowed as the black string between you and the Devil glowed, ice-silver magic contaminating it with the power of Disorder.

-

part ii the collection. if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

--

masterpost

[willow-salix]

The story... Of my precious one.

So, I was knocking around ebay and I see a listing pop up for an 'Allan Tracey " action figure. Meh, thinks I, it'll just be the carton one from 2000's...but I click... And audibly gasp, like full out" my fucking Gods!" scream.

Because I know that face anywhere, and that ain't no Alan... THAT'S JOHN BITCH!

He's lost the tip of his nose, he's wearing what might be either a sack or a sock... We aren't quite sure.

I show him to the girls and @misssquidtracy proclaims him to be hideous and haunting her when she closes her eyes... @olliepig says he has a flipper for a foot... I squeaked a protest because I was already in love by this point, totally and utterly in love with this gorgeous beast. @inertplanetary went awww because she's supportive. Not like those other two cow bags... Anyway....

I slap a bid in quicker than I would slap the next person that tells me Gerry hated John.

For six days I watch, I lurk, I pray to every Thundergod up there, because damn do I deserve some luck right now. So I pray, I pray with everything I have inside. I pray that people will be put off by the sack, that they will think he is ugly too, that they will miss him because he's misspelt and mislabelled. I want him more than anything in the world...

You see, I know my shit, I've done my research, and I know that they DO NOT make John stuff very often, either they make a full set or they make Scott, Virgil and Alan, you never get Gordon or John, and I was fully aware that in recent times there had been no John action figure made, which meant... Original from the 60's yo! So I tracked that sucker down...

Made by Fairylite, limited production run, genuine 60s and I was determined to get him.

I'd stuck on 99p and it didn't move at all. Twenty minutes before the end and I was sweating, like heart palpitations, anxiety attack for days, because I hate bidding on things, hate it. This little voice in my head, the one I always listen to says "up your bid" I'm like, but no one else is here... But I do it anyway, throw in £25 as a starter.

And I wait...

I have a minute to go and I literally cannot look, I'm laying on the couch with my big chief John sat on my shoulder like a gorgeous blue parrot and the cat staring at me. My eyes are covered... Kid had control of the stereo and for some reason best known to itself her Spotify takes that moment to throw up "Phantom of the Opera" dun... Dun dun dun dundun... I scream at her to get rid coz that's not helping my anxiety... She scrambles... Finds soothing 5sos apparently.

Eyes still covered... I peek... 25seconds to go. Close eyes again...

I feel my phone vibrate at 15 seconds, that means I got outbid.

I almost start to cry. It finishes. I opened my eyes....

Some bastard had tried to outbid me in the last seconds but aimed too low and I got him!!

Baby was coming home!

I was an anxious mess until my lovely postie handed me a box five days later...

He looked like a mummified body... The sack didn't help. But my gods he was gorgeous!! Just the most amazing nose missing, slightly crossed eyed, fading at the temples boy I had ever seen!

I quickly order him something more dignified and it arrived today

I get the scissors and prepare him...

Strip tease... Oh mmmmmyyyyyy @selene-tempest I'm sorry about this...

Cover ya bits baby, this is a family house... Cat is trying to help but its not Virgil so she doesn't really care, he's the only one she's got a crush on. She doesn't mind Scott but she does not care for Alan.

JOHN'S SPACESUIT TIGHT!

It won't go over his peachy ass! I had to wrestle this bad boy on.

Baby too thicc... He got muscles for days...

Look at those pecs...

And he's on the John shelf!!!

Edit: I wanted to have him sitting next to Big Chief John but the suit is so tight he can't bend, coz he muscle man. So until I get him more wardrobe items he's standing like Bond in the background.

Also his flipper feet are too big for the shoes that came with it. So he barefoot.

It was a saga, it was a battle that I valiantly and willingly fought... And he's mine! I'm in love.

[xwing-baby]

Living The Dream (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

For #WriterWednesday hosted by @autumnleaves1991-blog​

Summary: A new house, dog and a baby on the way, Javier’s life couldn’t get any more perfect... its a dream come true.

Word count: 1.6k (good things come in small packages)

Warnings: Angst (cus duh), blood and injury description, mentions of pregnancy, dog death, hardly edited.

Masterlist

—

A tiny little house in the country, with a dog and a child on the way, was not how Javier thought his year would end but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

In the chaotic and dangerous life he led he never thought he would settle for more than two minutes let alone marry someone. You’d snuck up on him, coming out of nowhere to drag him into domesticity. Drag is the wrong word because he willingly went despite how much he pretended to drag his feet. He fell into it comfortably, he was even the one to suggest the house in the first place. You were happy in his apartment in Bogotá but Javier traded you a dog and you couldn’t say no.

A house, a girl, a dog. All he had ever wanted. Everything he swore he did not deserve but he could not imagine anything else now. Everything felt a little more manageable when he could come home to you. His own little oasis away from all the devils that haunted him in Bogotá or Medellín .

Javier planned to show Steve the new house on the drive back into Bogotá . You’d moved in a few weeks ago and everything was basically unpacked now, Javi was desperate to show off to his partner and could barely wipe the smile from his face as he pulled in.

The house was an old farmhouse, covered in iconic white plaster and red tile. The surrounding farm land had been sold off years ago, but left the house with a sizable garden around it to do whatever you wanted. There was enough for the baby to happily grow up and play in when the time came, for now the dog just chased rats through the long grass.

It was a mess when you bought it, but you were handy enough to get on with decorating and fixing up holes in walls while Javier was away working. He loved that part. Though he never admitted it, he always worried about you when you were working in the city. He never knew where you were until you came home. It was a lot easier to keep you safe, in his mind, with you at the house all day. You had done a fantastic job. For someone who claimed to have never even painted a wall before, the house was looking nice. It was becoming a home.

He called your name as he entered expecting to hear your music floating through the house. Instead he was met with silence.

“Must be asleep,” Javi said to Steve, “Pregnancies kicking her ass already,”

“Still can’t believe you’re gunna be a dad, man,” Steve clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ll get Connie to give y’all some baby books when she comes over,”

The two men chatted about the house, the baby, and everything else that had once seemed so out of the question for Javier but was now commonplace. He pulled beers from the fridge, cracking each open before sliding it across the patio table to sit and enjoy in the sunshine. They didn’t have anything to get back to urgently. The stop was justified and needed.

“Where’s that mutt of yours?” Steve asked looking around. In the weeks before the house was liveable, Javi had kept the dog at the apartment and used the Murphy’s as dog sitters whenever needed. Steve was excited to begin with but became a little more ambivalent when he ate his shoes one day. He was very happy when you moved him out to the house permanently.

“Must be with Y/n, they’re inseparable at the moment. In fact I will go check on her, she’ll be pissed if you leave without her seeing you,” Javier emptied his bottle and stood up. Steve chuckled and nodded.

Javier hadn’t been around the house as much as you had. Every time he had been you’d been close by making some kind of noise, a radio on somewhere in the house playing music with you singing along to it. He wasn’t used to it being quiet. It made the whole house seem so much bigger.

He walked upstairs to your bedroom, noticing the photos you had put up while he was gone. Simple wooden frames held photos from your wedding, photos of your family, and his favourite photo of you and him, taken by Steve candidly on the first day you had met. No one knew then just what would come from that one conversation but he was so happy it had led him here.

He pulled himself out of the fond memory and continued along the hall to your shared bedroom. The door was open, sunlight streaming in through half drawn curtains, the entire house was still. He smiled to himself, knowing that behind the door would be one of his favourite sights. He did not doubt that he would find Ringo, the dog, and you curled up on the bed. As much as Javi protested that the dog couldn’t sleep in your bed he knew you let him in as soon as he left in the morning.

Javier called your name again, listening carefully as he crept into the room. A full laundry basket sat on the floor, underwear and socks scattered the wooden floor boards. The drawers were open. You never left things untidy like that. Javier wasn’t the most untidy person in the world but you kept everything pristine. You wouldn’t just take a nap mid task. He frowned and touched the door to push it open.

“Peña!” Steve suddenly called urgently from downstairs. Javi knew that tone, instantly putting him on alert. You could wait for a moment. Javier stopped and turned back, leaving the door as it was and jogged back downstairs.

He came outside to see Steve, white as a sheet with grief written across his face.

“What is the-,” Javier started as he walked towards his partner. Steve brought him around the side of the house and Javi looked down and saw what was bothering him, “Oh fuck,” Javi swore the entire world stopped in that moment. Poor Ringo, shot in the head where he stood around the side of the house, just left without a care on the ground.

“I found him like that I swear! I am so sorry man,” Steve quickly explained. Javier wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear anything but alarm bells, his mind only thinking of one thing. You.

In a second Javier turned and ran back inside the house, picking up his gun from the kitchen counter where he’d left it. Steve followed quickly, keen on his heels. Javier knew exactly where to look, running up the stairs three at a time. He barrelled into your shared bedroom, praying that you were asleep and the dog was just an accident.

If his world had slowed at the sight of the dog the entire universe had stopped now. 

He couldn’t move his feet, mouth agape in total shock at the sight before him.

There was blood everywhere. On the bed, on the walls, even on the ceiling. Three bullets marked the walls behind the headboard. So much blood. He didn’t understand how he had not smelt it when he was outside a few moments earlier.

They had not been kind in your death, three shots to the stomach meant you did not die quickly. You were sprawled out on top of the sheets, still in your pyjamas. The white shirt you wore, Javi’s shirt, was now deep red, soaked through. There was a handprint dragged over the landline phone on your bedside table, glass and book knocked over in your effort to call for help. You hand still reached for it, so close yet so far.

Steve heard his cry of agony and ran in. He saw you, then Javi, and his heart sank. You were dead, there was nothing he could do now but he had to get Javier up. He pulled at his shirt trying to get him to move but was only met with violence as he ripped himself out of Steve’s grip away.

“Javi,”

“Javi,”

“Javier! Wake up!”

Javier’s eyes finally opened, his chest heaving and covered in sweat he was dazed for a moment before he finally looked at you. Your heart broke at the sight. He looked at you with such terror in his eyes, you didn’t have a chance to say anything before he grabbed you and pulled you in tight to his chest.

“It was just a dream,” You comforted him, “It’s okay,”

He took a deep but shaking breath, taking in the scent of your hair. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. It felt so real.

Slowly, he let you go and sat up wiping his hands over his face to clear the tears on his cheeks. He looked around him. He was in his apartment, three am on the clock. There was no dog, no baby, no new house. No body. It was just a dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, sitting up with him and putting a hand on his shoulder, lightly rubbing his warm skin. He shook his head.

“It was just a dream,” He said softly.

The reality was he couldn’t afford to give you that vulnerability yet. He couldn’t let you know just how much he liked you for exactly the reason his dream had shown him. He was dangerous to be around. If you stayed, while it would be nice for a while, someone would pull the rug out from underneath you both eventually. It could only end in disaster. He would rather keep you at a distance, emotionally at least, so when that day came it would maybe hurt a little less.

He settled back down again, pulled you closer with your head on his chest. He could have you for now, like this, and let his imagination run wild with ideas of a picket fence future. But, to protect you that was all it could ever be. A dream.

—

A/n: I don’t know what is wrong with me... I am sorry Javi one day I will write something nice for you but today is not that day.

tagging: @autumnleaves1991-blog @hunters-heathen @beskarbabs @wille-zarr​ @all-hallows-evie

[missroserose]

WIP snippet meme!

@redmyeyes tagged me to share a snippet of my WIP! (Luckily, she didn't specify which one.) I'm going to tag @paperbodiesamongthestars, @twobrokenwyngs, @sirsparklepants, @withoneheadlight, @trashcangimmick, @wendigosam, and @keziahrain—let's see what y'all are working on!

As for me, while I haven't actively worked on Act III of Waters for a while, it's been haunting my ruminations for some time now. So here's an early version of one of the early scenes. It's the week after Billy and Steve got together in secret, and things have been a little rocky between them—and then, of course, there's school...

---

Steve thinks about skipping the lunchroom, maybe going out to his car for a smoke—it’s been a while since he did, Nancy didn’t like it, but Nancy’s in the lunchroom and not out in his car, and frankly that seems like as good a reason as any. But Tommy’ll be there, and Eric, and the rest of the guys, and even if it is unseasonably warm there’s something of an unspoken rule that they all eat together in the lunchroom come December. So he shows up fashionably late, grabs a tray, takes his apportioned apple and slice of pizza and pint of chocolate milk—

A round of applause interrupts his good old fashioned pity party. Sends his attention towards the corner of the cafeteria where the guys from the basketball team are sitting—all clapping, whistling, giving those weird hooting gorilla grunts combined with a spun arm of approval.

All at Billy, standing in the doorway.

Billy’s staring, hostile, mean, but then Tommy runs up to him, slaps him on the back—“hell yeah, stud, like father like son“—and of course he misses the flash of anger this sends across Billy’s face. Steve crosses the room, careful to put a careless saunter in his step, and stands at the end of the table, watches as Billy takes the guys’ semi-sarcastic congratulations. Leans over, where Dan Miller’s sitting, stabbing at his rubbery pizza slice with a plastic spork. “What’s going on?”

“Something about his dad,” Miller responds. “It’s dumb but Tommy got it into his head that it’d be a funny joke.” He looks over at Steve, half surprised. “I would’ve thought you were in on it.”

“What, like Tommy can’t think up unfunny shit on his own?” Steve elbows Dan, gets a half-smiling chuckle in response, straightens. Returns his attention to the drama playing out at the head of the table, hears snatches of conversation. “Lydia Hayes—“ “God, I’ve had a crush on her since middle school—“ “those tits though—“ “shame her daughter didn't get those, huh?”—this last greeted with a round of knowing nods and chuckles.

“Hargrove, what the hell? You weren’t going to tell me it was your bachelorette party today?” Steve bumps his way in through the receiving line, gives Billy an elbow in the ribs.

“Ha ha. Save your congratulations for my asshole father. Apparently he banged some bitch's mom that these idiots have been drooling over for years.” Billy’s eyes slide over the rest of the team with unveiled contempt—most of them have gone back to eating at this point, the joke over.

“Not just some bitch. Lydia fucking Hayes, dude.” Tommy, never one to understand when a joke’s been stretched to its limit, claps Billy on the back. “Loud and proud enough that his wife went nuclear on the Hayes’ holiday decorations over the weekend.”

“It was a public service, really,” one of the guys cracks.

“Jesus, you hicks are hard up for entertainment,” Billy mutters, and stalks off to go grab a tray.

Steve nabs the seat next to Tommy, does his best to change the subject. Remembers his own words to Billy, earlier. “So, what’s your family doing for Christmas?”

“My family? Skiing again. Lame-o.” Tommy gives an exaggerated yawn, stretching one arm up as if flagging for the entertainment. “Luckily, I’ve talked my way out of it. Told the ‘rents I’ve got way too much homework over vacation. Wouldn’t want to risk my GPA, maybe get my college acceptance withdrawn.”

Steve flashes his best Risky Business smile. “So you’re throwing a party?”

“Fuck yeah I’m throwing a party. Friday night. You coming?”

Steve’s smile turns into a grin, all teeth. “I’ll bring the keg.”

“That’s King Steve.” Tommy punches him in the shoulder approvingly. “Wonder if we can set up two. Get you and Hargrove in direct competition—that’d be a hell of a draw. I bet we could sell tickets.”

“Psh, a kegstand’s no draw if you don’t have girls.” A thought occurs to him. “Can we get the girls to hold us up? Like wrestling champions. That would bring in the crowds.”

“What’re we bringing?” Billy’s returned, alotted pizza slice and milk carton and fruit cup all perched on his tray.

“Your A-game!” Tommy, never one to wait for an idea to finish baking, practically crows the words. “This Friday, man. Start-of-Christmas-vacation party! We’re gonna knock the socks off these hicks.”

Steve would swear he could see Billy’s eye twitch at Tommy’s easy appropriation of his personal vocabulary. “I’m not sure I’m really in the mood for partying, Hagan. Besides, didn’t Kristie just throw a kegger last week?”

Tommy scoffs. “Hardly. It was sad, man. There were, like, five people sitting around in ugly Christmas sweaters. Not even enough to play Spin the Bottle.” He shakes his head, expression as tragically pained as someone looking at those pictures of the starving children in Ethiopia. “You going to tell me we can’t do better than that? We’ve got the whole team!” His voice rises on the last note, as if he’s expecting the others to cheer, but he barely garners a couple of glances before the rest of the guys go back to their conversations. Steve can’t blame them—nobody cheers for Tommy other than Tommy.

“So what’re you gonna do if the team’s all who show?” Steve glances over at Billy’s sharp tone, realizes he’s got that look on his face—eyes narrowed, tension across his shoulders, and (Steve would bet) at least one fist balled up beneath the table. “Can’t play Spin the Bottle without girls.”

“Yes! Exactly what Steve here was saying.” Tommy nods, as if he’s some kind of expert on girls and their partygoing habits. “So we were thinking, new idea: two kegs, and we get four of the prettiest girls to assist. Double keg-stand!” He practically crows the words. “King versus king! The ultimate battle for keg supremacy!”

Steve has to give Tommy this much credit for cunning—in the mood for partying or no, there’s no way Billy can turn down an invitation like that. His face goes easy, lazy—the sort of half-smile where you’d never see the knife hidden beneath if you didn’t know to look for it. He turns it on Steve. “Wha’d’ya say, Harrington? Shall we settle the question once and for all?”

The knife is there, Steve knows—always is, with Billy. Even if Steve didn’t know him as well as he does, he’d guess—there’s something a little too clear about the sudden sparkle in Billy’s eyes, something aggressive about the way he suddenly focuses all of his attention on Steve. But frankly, Steve hasn’t gotten where he has by backing down from a challenge.

And it feels good to have Billy’s attention on him again.

“Only if you’re ready to bow before your king.” Steve keeps his voice mild, takes a sip of milk as easily as if it were a longneck. Watches Billy from the corner of his eye.

Billy’s eyes flash, and his voice raises just a hair—nothing obvious, but enough that the whole team’s attention is on them now. “All right. Let’s raise the stakes. Loser crowns the winner, and offers a forfeit.” He takes a sip of his own milk, considering. “We’ll need a crown.”

“And a robe,” Tommy says immediately. “I’m on it. We’re gonna determine this thing right.”

A satisfied nod, Billy turning his smile back on Steve, hitting him with the full wattage. “Don’t worry, Harrington. I’m a generous ruler. I’ll only have you streak around the block once.”

Steve laughs along with the rest of the team. It’s all in good fun, after all. Just guys being bros. “And here I was gonna say, I’ll only make you call me Daddy once.”

Against the backdrop of the team’s ooooos, Billy’s face loses its smile, eyes pale as they look at Steve. “I’m gonna fuckin’ take you apart, Harrington.” He downs the last of his milk, bares his teeth, traces of white still clinging to his gums. “And don’t you forget it.”

[writingsbychlo]

rapp-ed around your heart (01)

word count; 19,578

summary; stan and Irene have decided that mitch needs. a little downtime, and he’s pretty moody about it, until you put him in his place.

notes; this is the beginning of what is going to be a six part series, all based on the road. I really hope you guys like it, it’s about healing, and finding purpose.

warnings; none, really. mitch is moody, but what’s new?

The South East

“Whatever it is that you think I did, I am taking zero responsibility for it until you have proof.” Mitch announced his innocence loudly from the second he stepped into the office, and Hurley simply glared at him from where he was sitting on the other side of the desk, and he flopped himself down until the comfortable chair to wait for his latest bollocking over disobeying orders, being reckless, having an attitude, or whatever it was that he was about to be reamed for.

“That fact that you immediately have to defend yourself is a reason enough for me to be doubtful in your conduct, Agent Rapp.” He recognised that voice, rolling his eyes a little bit letting his lips flick up at the sides in amusement as the stoic face of his superior came into view via video chat, and Hurley leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Irene.” He nodded, eyes flicking between the pair, and brows shooting up as he waited. “So, why exactly am I here?”

“You’ve been working with us for almost three years now, and you’ve been working yourself hard since the incident in Ibiza, which would make it four years since you last gave yourself a break.” His heart clenched a little at the painful memories that flashed behind his eyes, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had once been, and he crossed his own arms, raising his shoulders and dropping them back down in a shrug.

“Your point?”

“The point is, Mitch, that we look after our agents. You are taking a break. A long one.” He let out a groan at the woman’s words, beginning to spew denial and complaints from the second he had processed the words, wiping a hand over his face and shaking his head in denial, but the slamming of an open palm down onto the table was enough to silence him as he looked up at Stan.

“Listen, this isn’t entirely altruistic. We aren’t sending you on a holiday to let you have fun in the sun in the Bahamas. You are going to wear yourself out, and one day you will fuck up in the field and that will cost lives of other agents, and a hell of a lot of civilians.” He huffed, glaring at his superiors in silence, and Stan smirked a little at finally getting him to shut up. “You don’t have anything to live for, Rapp.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Hurley held his hands up, and Irene rubbed her forehead with a sigh, mumbling under her breath about the subtlety of men. “What we mean, Mitch, is that you’ve spent so long throwing everything into work and revenge, that you don’t have anything anymore. Work is important to you, I get it, but it can’t be everything. You have to have something that motivates you, something that inspires you, makes you wake up in the morning, or else you aren’t fighting for anything.”

“What happened to ‘never let it get personal’, huh?” His words were pointed in sharp and bitter tone at Stan, a vicious stab at him for the tactic he’d once used to whip him into shape emotionally, and the older man didn’t even flinch.

“That was when you were unstable, but you’re one of our best agents now, and you train the recruits. When your anger was out of control, anything you latched onto becomes your primary focus, but now you have nothing to guide your direction or give you a purpose.” She sighed, and he slumped back into the chair a little bit.

“What, and you think two weeks in Europe is going to make me a new person?” He snorted at the thought, picturing himself in a striped shirt and a beret, with a curled moustache when he came back and an affection for pastries.

“Actually, you’re staying in the country. Start you up easy, and all.”

He wasn’t sure what to say anymore, and he didn’t see the point. Life felt drained of colour and entirely pointless, the only things that gave him joy were knowing that he was keeping others like him safe, people who hadn’t yet undergone the life-changing trauma he had getting a chance to skip over it and enjoy a life he didn’t get to have.

“My niece, she’s going on a little road trip. I talked to her, and she’s agreed to take you along with her.” Mitch was entirely unaware that Stan even had any family, but he dropped that in favour of searching his brain for an excuse not to go in a cramped car with a complete stranger, but he felt like he was short-circuiting, mind coming up a total blank as he was filled with white noise. The smirk Stan’s face was enough to piss him off even more, but he bit his tongue and waited to be dismissed, he could always come up with an excuse between now and then. “You’d better go and pack, she’ll be here in an hour.”

“Wait, what? And you didn’t think to tell me until now?” He seethed, standing in his seat, before watching between the two higher-ups who were staring him down for his outburst. “Can I be dismissed, or what?”

“Yeah, you can go, but you better be ready by the time she gets here.” He was already out the door before Stan had even finished speaking, the words being shouted after him as he left the door wide open, spite to make him stand up and close it himself, and he heard it slam shut only a second later. He enjoyed the easy recruits all but jumped out of his way in fear as he stormed across the courtyard, stomping up the outside stairs to the top floor of the dormitories, the floor that had been reserved for him and him only, the single perk of staying on to advise being getting to have his own space rent-free, even if it was a little small and cramped, with every little privacy from the group of people constantly moving through in the lower floors.

There was a bag under his bed, the one he usually used when being sent away on an assignment, and he dragged it out with his foot, dumping it on the bed. Opening up various drawers and cabinets, he shoved a collection of jeans and shorts, jumpers and t-shirts into a bag, enough clothes for about two weeks, and enough underwear and socks to match.

Laying out a fresh set of clothes for himself, he stripped off the ones he was currently wearing, dumping them into the laundry basket that he could throw into the washer before leaving, and have one of the interns clean up and leave outside his door for when he returned.

The water took a good minute or two to warm up, and so he busied himself with swiping his toiletries and cosmetics into the bag too, before stepping into the shower and letting out a low groan as the scalding water washed over his skin as he stepped under it. Dirt and grime washed away into the drain as he thought about the training he’d been taking part in during the day, cuts and grazes along his back stinging at the temperature, but washing away every ounce of blood and dirt, cleaning the wounds for him as he washed himself off.

His hair was washed too, until the water was running clean as his muscles had eased, the tension slipping away with every deep breath he took. Not only did he let the physical dirt drain away, but he allowed the water to take away the impurities he felt in his chest too, the way his angry moods and stubborn hatred for the idea of leaving were carried away into the drain.

The fear, however, that stuck around. The overwhelming anxiety that came just at the thought of not being busy. Mitch liked to work himself into the ground, he wanted to be sure that he woke up in the morning with things to get straight into, and he wanted to be so tired at the end of the night that he didn’t have time to lay awake in the dark.

It was no longer the flashes of Katrina on the beach that came up behind his eyes, that was a pain he had acknowledged and processed, breaking it down until he was able to move on, but he was haunted by a life he never got to live. When he was younger, he was such high aspirations, and he mounted for a future he would never get. He missed the thrill of playing lacrosse, or the excitement he got at the idea of experiencing something new, or the adrenaline rush from forcing himself to do something that gave him a little scare.

Everything felt numb now, like the world was in black and white, surrounding him with the buzzing of white noise as everything fell away into the background. It felt blurry, and out of focus, and he felt disassociated from his life, and so when the chance came around for him to fall right into that void and get lost in his insecurities, he wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity.

When the water finally began to run cold, he switched it off, stepping out and towelling himself dry, before picking up his watch and checking the time. Fastening the device onto his wrist, he had just enough time to run through his laundry and grab a snack before leaving, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of the smoked ham and aged cheese sitting in the main fridge, a roll that he could place it within, and his mouth salivated a little in excitement. Tugging black jeans up his legs and a forest green henley over his head, he was grateful for how tidy his space already was, before grabbing at his favourite sneakers and tugging them onto his feet. It was a little cold for his liking, and so he swiped the first jacket he could from his closet, a slightly too big leather jacket with only one rip in it, that could easily be hidden if he didn’t stick his thumb through it, and it was enough for him.

He grabbed at the laundry bag, swinging it over his shoulder before peeking his head out of the door, and flagging down the first recruit he could find. Dropping the bag into his arms, he smirked as the man looked between it and himself, scurrying away seconds later with the strict instructions to wash it, dry it, fold it and leave it outside his door for when he came back.

He patted himself down, checking for keys wallet and his phone, doing a final sweep to check he had everything, before he was setting off, locking the apartment as he went. His first call was the kitchen, stopping in to make the sandwich he had promised himself, before taking a bite out of it and hiking his bag up onto his shoulder, and making his way back through the cabin.

Rounding the large property, he could see a vehicle already pulled up, a storage box on top that was open, and his supervisor was leaning against the back of the large car, a cigarette in his mouth as he listened to a woman just out of his view chat excitedly, but he could hear his voice as he made his way over. It was clearly one of the CIA vehicles, one he was so used to riding along in, and he momentarily wondered about how you’d gained permission for it, but the almost unnoticeable patched-up holes along the side and scratches told him that it was a decommissioned one that had seen better days before being shot at during field days.

The closer he got, the more he could see. Slightly shorter than he was, the girl was wearing a flowy dress and a cardigan, ankle boots covering her feet and sunglasses sitting up in her hair as she showed off a large map to her uncle, one that he didn’t care for, but he seemed to grab both of their attentions as he shuffled over to them.

“Rapp, just on time.” Stan broke, his voice already going colder just from interacting with him instead of the girl he called family, and Mitch simply rolled his eyes.

“Oh, lighten up, Uncle Stan.” The girl was far too positive for his liking, especially while he was still angered over the entire situation, but he tried to be polite, shaking her hand when she offered it out to him, and gave him her name. She moved a little, trying to show him the large map as she attempted to redirect it so that he could see, and he dropped his bag to the floor, finishing his sandwich and sticking his hands into his pockets. “I got some places marked out, but is there anywhere in particular that you want to see, Mitch?”

“I couldn't care less where we go.” Your smile faltered a little, and he almost felt guilty for it, but you were shrugging him off only a second later, and he had to admit to himself that he was more than eager just to get on with this trip so that he could get it over with, the soon you both got on the road would be the sooner he could call this ridiculous holiday off, and the sooner he could come home and get back to his regularly scheduled timetable of running himself into the ground to avoid his thoughts.

Stan took the initiative to pick up his bag and place it in the open compartment above the car, before licking it shut tightly and double-checking it was all sealed up, before the older man was leaning down to press a fatherly kiss to the top of your head as you folded the map away. “You ready to go, Mitch?”

Your tone was a little cooler as you spoke to him, but still held no venom, and he simply nodded, making his way over to the passenger seat, all of the windows along the car blacked out, and he at least appreciated that privacy. Letting himself in, he stared right ahead, ignoring the scenery as he slumped into the plush leather and strapped himself in, crossing his arms and glaring at Stan as the man put out his cigarette and beaming sardonically at him from outside the windshield.

You were only seconds behind, hopping up into the vehicle with more pep than he thought possible, and getting yourself settled, before starting up the car, and dragging him away from the life he knew, on a ridiculous attempt to fix what he already knew to be broken, in his opinion, beyond repair.

It was an uncomfortable silence for at least an hour, only the humming you made along to the playlist that was ringing out softly within the car, your tapping at the steering wheel with your fingers to particularly catchy beats, and the attempts at small talk you’d given up on somewhere between fifteen and twenty minutes into your journey. He was upset, and frustrated, and absolutely did not ‘want to play the number plate game’ with you.

Eventually, his curiosity took over, and he turned to face you, sighing a little for emphasis in what seemed more like a huff, and you glanced over at him from your place behind the wheel.

“So where exactly are we going first?”

“Oh! We are off to Fort Monroe!” You were still too peppy for his liking, and he hummed discontentedly under his breath, before nodding along and twisting to stare back out of the window, this time, looking dead ahead instead of to the side. He almost felt like a petulant teenager, slumped in his seat with a frown, arms crossed and being unnecessarily huffy, the same exact attitude he’d had all those years ago when his parents had sent him away to boarding school. “I was thinking we could go to the beach, maybe?”

He grunted at the thought, and you chuckled under your breath a little, glancing back in your mirrors and slowing for only a second to allow another driver to overtake you, before your attention was back on him.

“Not up for the beach? That’s cool. There’s a restaurant I kinda’ wanted to try, but we can do anything, really. I don’t have much of a plan for it. Just some ideas. I marked out some places around here that seemed cool.”

“A road trip of Virginia, how thrilling.” He rolled his eyes a little, his anger only bubbling up further at the cheery laugh you let out in response, looking over at him.

“I mean, I thought we’d start out easy for today. We’re already halfway through the day, it wasn’t worth getting anything big.” You shrugged, and he turned to look at you for only a second, cringing at the next song that came up, and he did not hesitate in lifting his finger to press skip on your phone as it sat in its stand on the dashboard. “We move down towards Florida over the next week or so, taking it in a slow build, getting to the road so much can be hard on your stomach, but the drives are divided up pretty nicely.”

“Florida?” You grinned, nodding at him, taking your eyes over the road for only a second. “How long is this road trip?”

You glanced over him curiously, your confusion at his statement melting away only a second later, before you were grinning in a way that made his stomach flip with nerves, unsure as to whether he actually wanted to know that answer. Instead of answering him, you reached over to the glove box with one hand, opening it up as the drawer fell open into his lap, and you fished through to find the old-fashioned and large paper map, slamming the storage compartment closed again and dropping the paper onto his legs. “Uncle Stan didn’t tell you the whole truth, did he?”

He grabbed at it, unfolding the large paper. He expected a zoomed-in version of the coast you were along, maybe a little more, but it was a map of the entire country, a red marker drawn along, lines connecting at least thirty dots along the way, and his jaw dropped, trying to add up in his head how long this trip would be, simply with driving and minimal stay time, and he realised he was looking at months of travel here.

“What the fuck?” You jumped a little at his outburst, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the paper before him. “This is one of those road trip things, right around the fuckin’ country! It’s going to cost a fortune in motels alone!”

You shook your head at him as he folded it down enough that it could sit flat, and you jabbed your thumb over your shoulder, causing him to turn and follow the motion with his sight. “We aren’t staying in that many motels.”

He almost felt stupid for how he’d missed it before, but the backseat was flattened down with a mattress laying over from the trunk to reaching almost all the way up to the seats, blankets and covers mixed with pillows, general amenities sitting around the edges, the largest portable phone charger Mitch had ever seen sitting on the floor, and he felt like the tiniest bit of hope he’d had toward this trip just flew out of the window, and at this point, he wasn’t even on control of the complaints that began to pour from his lips. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

“I found out this fucking morning that I have to traipse around the goddamn country with a fucking stranger, and now you’re telling me I have to sleep in the back of a car, doing shit I don’t want to do and sending my money in places I don’t want to go to, all for what? Nothing, that’s what.” He ran a hand over his face, a highly agitated noise leaving him. “Fuck this.”

You let out your own growl, the first sound of anything other than pure glee that you had released, the car jerking roughly as you spun off onto the side of the road, throwing the vehicle into park and turning to him. His eyes widened a little with the fire burning in your glare as you turned to look at him, sunny expression turned sour.

You weren’t willing to let him ruin your trip, this venture meant the world to you, you had been planning and saving up for more years than you could count.

“Listen, Rapp.” You hissed the name out at him, with more venom than even your uncle ever had, and he felt a little intimidated at the sudden rage that had spiked up within you. “This is my road trip. I planned it, I initiated it, I bought the car and saved for fuel, and did all the research. You think it was my dream to have a tag-along stranger jump on board? No. Especially not one with the general etiquette skills of a fucking pebble and the manners of an ex-con with a diagnosis in psychopathy and anti-social disorder.”

He opened his mouth to retort, feeling almost a little intimidated, shrinking back into his seat as you took a deep and steadying breath, closing your eyes for a second as you tried to reign yourself in, before you were looking at him again, before he could even think of anything to say in reply.

“Look, my uncle told me he wanted someone to come with me, someone who needed a little peace and quiet, and something to brighten up an otherwise dismal life. He told me about you, and I happened to think that this road trip would be just as good for you as it will be for me, so I said yes to you coming along. I’m not scared of my uncle, Mitch, and I’m not scared of Irene either. They aren’t my goddamn superiors, and I’m not letting you ruin this for me, so if you keep up this killjoy attitude then I will put you on a bus home, I don’t care where we are in the country. Got it?”

He gaped a little, before swallowing thickly, nodding his head, and letting himself acknowledge the guilt that was creeping up within him. Logically, he knew it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t the one that insisted he go on holiday, you weren’t the one that set him up with months of duty, and you certainly weren’t the one that had caused him a lifetime and a half’s worth of pain all crammed into the last decade, and yet he had been taking it out on you. Clearing his mind, he cleared his throat, mumbling an apology which you were quick to accept, before setting the car back off into motion.

It was awkward and tense, and he knew he’d already fucked it all up, and the two of you had barely been on the road for two hours, but he forced himself to relax a little, listening intently to the song playing, and relaxing in the seat. Uncrossing his arms and letting them sit in his lap instead, his head pressed into the rest behind his head, and he watched the scenery sliding by.

“So, that terrifying glare and scary, angry brow thing is genetics, then?”

You looked at him for only a second, easing up a little from your rigid pose, and laughed lightly under your breath, shrugging a single shoulder. “He taught me everything I know.”

He felt a little better at having broken the silence, and instead opted to open the map back up, studying the stops carefully, as you pulled off of the highway at the first sign guiding you towards ‘Fort Monroe’.

To say Virginia had been an uncomfortable situation of you both would be the understatement of the century. Small talk was fractured and strained, and you had no idea what you were supposed to talk to him about, and you had figured he was feeling the same way about you. Instead, you had busied yourself with mumbled about the different things you were seeing as you wandered around the Nation exhibit of Fort Monroe, and then moved on to dinner.

There was no longer the looming tension of the argument waiting to break out, and in his defence, you could see that he was at least trying to be better, but the pair of you hadn't exactly hit the ground running when you’d started out, and it was having a staggering impact on everything else that was going on for the pair of you.

He had opted to sleep upfront, leaning the passenger seat as far back as it could go, and accepting the blanket and pillow you’d offered him, shuffling every few minutes for almost an hour before he had finally settled in his seat, and you were grateful for the reprieve, before finally being able to fall asleep yourself.

Sleeping that first night seemed to hit that refresh button for you both, because when you woke up, he had already been awake, but he’d mumbled a ‘good morning’ to you when he heard you stirring, actually putting down his phone to turn around and look at you when you sat up. He had shown you the google maps version of the guide that he’d downloaded for you both, to add a little extra navigation, and inform you about roadblocks on your routes, and other such information that you may need.

After sorting yourself out, a change of clothes, and finding a rest stop to freshen up at, you were back on the road, a far more positive atmosphere shared between you both as you set off on the fairly short drive which covered the rest of the distance between where you’d stopped in Virginia, and making your way down towards North Carolina. Your first stop was Crabtree Falls, wanting to take a little break as you got yourselves used to the amount of driving you were going to be doing, and opting to check out the Museum of Natural Sciences to stretch your legs out and get a little bit of fresh air before you were on your way again.

When you arrived, it wasn’t overly busy, no crowds and queues and masses of tourists, and you were grateful for the reprieve, and the fountain of things to talk about with the man beside you so that conversation didn’t have to feel as forced.

The second you stepped inside, you were in awe, glancing up at the beautiful glass dome that the floors all circled around, balconies overlooking from the upper layers, and you took a minute to appreciate the ornate workings of the decorations that were up and about, before a nudge on your arm caught your attention.

Turning to look at the man beside you, his hands were tucked into his pocket, but his elbow was brushing yours, before he nodded his head stiffly towards one of the signs before you both. “They have live animals. Wanna’ check out the snakes?”

“Only if we can look at the big whale skeleton first.”

He nodded his head, the two of you gathering your tickets, and grabbing a map to guide yourself around, unfolding it before the both of you and pointing out the various things you wanted to check out. You did not take it in order, wandering from the top of the museum to the bottom, several times, neglecting to follow the numerical path that had been laid out, but choosing to simply follow the numbers of things you wanted to look at each time you got curious about someone else.

The uneasiness between you both had fallen away somewhere between the butterfly enclosure and the ‘Mountain Cove’ exhibit. The feeling that you were just waiting to blow up at him again the second he began acting out of line once again had faded away, and the borderline silence he had allowed you to suffer through when you’d first arrived had changed into small comments and subtle attempts at conversations that varied between the attractions you saw, all dependent on the sights you were seeing, and just how much it caught his attention, but you certainly weren't complaining.

By the time you’d left, you had a large plushie of a dinosaur under your arm, and a smile on your face, and Mitch seemed fractionally less tense than you had seen him since this trip had begun.

You had a simple dinner, the two of you simply choosing to get by on a drive-thru meal that you could eat as you began the trip down to Georgia, a truck stop in mind that you could use for stopping at, as well as sleeping and cleaning yourselves up some more. Your third day had a dismal start, one of your tires popping from a particularly rough pothole in the road, the impact giving you a headache from the jerk of the car before you’d pulled over to the side of the road, and hours had passed before someone had been out to change your spare tire.

You’d had to pull out the mattress and blankets from the back of the car, balancing it on the top of the vehicle to stop it getting dirty just to be able to get to your tools and more than half of the day had passed you by before you were getting back on the road again, your plans ruined and your mood on the floor, at least five hours worth of driving still ahead of you, and the day had been lost entirely by the time you’d been able to get everything back to the way it should be.

It was quiet as you drove along, nothing cheering you up as you stared out at the open roads, feeling dismal about what had already gone wrong in your trip, the entire outlook making it feel like this was going to be the prediction for the whole trip, and despite your best efforts to be positive, the bad day had put a downer on your mood.

“So, tell me what this playlist is about? Because there’s songs from the sixties, and songs that are on the radio now, all mixed in together, and I have yet to hear the same song twice.” You were a little startled at him initiating the conversation, and you could hear the strain in his voice at actively starting a conversation that had no particular end place in sight, but you realised he was doing it purely for the purpose of cheering you up, and so your lips flicked up at the sides as you glanced at him. “It just seems wildly random to me.”

“Well, a lot of different genres and moods went into it.” He raised a brow at you to continue, seeming genuinely interested in the explanation, and you let out a little laugh at the thought. “Well, firstly you have your typical road trip songs. You know the ones. ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’, ‘Sweet Home Alabama’..”

“Yeah? How about ‘Mr. Blue Sky’, and ‘Road To Nowhere’?”

“Of course!” You were a little happier now, this interaction with him being far more positive than he had been so far, and you rolled your shoulders, forcing yourself to relax as he hummed under his breath. “Then, there were just some of my favourites thrown in, like ‘Brandy’ by ‘Looking Glass’, and the ones that are just typical summer songs. ‘Shotgun’ and ‘Budapest’ by George Ezra, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He mocked, and you couldn't contain your grin as you looked over at him, that being the first piece of sarcasm that hadn't been a somewhat cruel jab towards you.

“Then, there are some of those songs that you can’t help but tap your feet and sing along to. You have to have a couple.” He sighed, muttered a ‘suppose so’, but there was no heat behind it, and quiet took over you both once again, the next song seeming to click into place as a way to end the conversation, and you cleared your throat a little, refocusing on the road. Maybe four more songs, five if you’d stopped paying attention at any point, had passed by before he spoke again, and you waited patiently as he formed his words.

“So.. there’s a random place on the map in Georgia, where are we going tomorrow?”

“There’s this little town called ‘Covington’, and I want to check it out.” He made a vague sound of confirmation, before he was pulling out his phone from his pocket a little awkwardly, and tapping his fingers at the keyboard on the screen, seeming to focus on whatever he was seeing for a good few minutes.

“It looks kinda’ boring. It’s just a regular town, I don’t see the big deal.”

“What, so you’ve never seen The Vampire Diaries?” You gasped falsely, and he clicked off his phone, shuffling a little in his seat and shaking his head, a motion you caught out of the corner of your eye.

“The what?”

“Oh, you need to add it to your list. It’s one of my favourite shows, and this is where it was filmed!” You were filled with enthusiasm just at the idea of getting to talk about it, and he huffed out in amusement at the idea of it.

“Vampires in Georgia, I thought it was supposed to be Transylvania? Isn’t it a bit too sunny in Georgia.” You felt your mind a little blown at how much there was to unpack in such a simple sentence, giggling as you sifted through your thoughts.

“First of all, it’s filmed in Georgia, but based in Virginia. There’s a lot you don’t know about modern vampires.” You had a falsely judgmental tone at his words, feeling your chest warm at the chuckle you managed to elicit from him.

“You’d better fill me on all this vampire shit before we get there, then. You only have a few hours, better get to it.”

Seeing the town in all its glory was the kind of experience that never could have been described to you, and if it had been, it would be nowhere near enough to amount to the way you felt. You weren’t sure how many photos you’d taken, your phone spending the majority of its time on the camera as you took a range of selfies and photos of everything you were seeing. You saw everything you possibly could, leaving Mitch to sit with a coffee in the gardens for an hour as you took the ‘Vampire Stalkers’ tour, before you’d wandered around Covington Square and pointed out different landmarks to him.

He had even offered to take a picture of you in front of the clock tower, and while he wasn’t exactly the most enthusiastic photographer, you were grateful for the offer, because it had felt like an olive branch between you both. You had described scenes and painted pictures for hi as best you could, and despite knowing you were going a little overboard with your passion, he had glazed over a little, no longer responding but simply choosing to nod and hum occasionally, throwing in the kind of replies that were able to pass for any kind of agreement, and you had fizzled out soon after that.

Instead, you’d offered to show him the Mystic Grill, the restaurant catching his attention from the second food had been mentioned, and he perked up a little as he agreed. You took pictures in front of the signs, forcing him to get into a picture with you, and he scowled at the camera as you sat on either side of the neon sign, before getting yourselves inside and settled at a table.

It was exactly how you’d pictured it would be, rustic and peaceful, a country theme that seemed aged and well worn, but you adored it no matter what, and the menu only made you fall in love with the whole town a little more. By the time you’d made your way back to the car and found your next place to stop, changing into your pyjamas and taking turns to change for bed in privacy as the other watched the car, you had made a promise to yourself that you would be visiting again one day, no matter what.

You were settled in the back, and he was once again slouched in his passenger seat, but this time when you’d said goodnight, he made a tired sound of acknowledgement in response, instead of the usual icy silence, before rolling onto his other side and settling into his sleep.

Georgia marked a change in the dynamic between you both, nothing extreme, but the two of you had shifted from mildly irritated passengers to mere acquaintances, and the overwhelming feeling that you’d made a mistake by agreeing to take him on was washing away, to be replaced with indifferent emotions aimed to him, and hope for your journey. This trip meant the world yo you, and you couldn't deny that you’d struggled to fall asleep the last few nights as sadness and fear crept up on you that it was all going to be ruined if you couldn't enjoy a single moment of it without Mitch putting a negative fog down on every happy moment you had.

But, he was showing a change. He was trying, he was putting in the effort to at least not be the complete and utter twat you’d taken him for when you’d first met him, and the man who had done nothing but complain for two straight hours before you’d put him in his place was showing no signs of reemerging. As long as he kept his negativity and pessimism in check, then you could find it within yourself to simply enjoy your trip the way you would alone, as though his presence wasn’t going to be one to affect you, he was simply another presence on the road with you, like the SatNav or the music.

You spent a second day in Georgia, unable to have chosen between the Natural Science museum, the Aquarium, and the botanical gardens. It had been an earlier morning, and for the first time so far, you had woken up before Mitch had. He seemed equally as surprised, pleasantly enjoying the fact that for the first time in God knows how long that he’d slept in. No alarms, danger, or blaring horns for training. He didn’t have to be up to do sprints around the woods or an intensive workout that would leave his entire body screaming out in agony by the end of the day, only to have a full day forced upon him next time.

He voices such things to you in the streetside coffee and pastry shop that you’d stopped at for your brunch, after having a walk around the botanical gardens, something that had been more than soothing for the both of you.

The flowers, the sights, the ornate placements and decorations, with buzzing bees and butterflies, a beautiful eco-system that was preserved and protected within a society that often allowed nature to be turfed over for infrastructure, and it was one of the most beautiful sights that you had ever seen. You touched soft petals, and felt your face heat up when a butterfly had landed on your forehead, your eyes crossing as you tried to look at it and cheeks aching from your grin, and through every thought of his own, without being asked, Mitch had snapped a picture for you so that you could preserve the moment forever, and sent it to your phone only a second after it had flown away.

Filling up on warm pastries and taking a to-go cup of herbal iced tea with you as you chose to walk through the little town centre and window shop, before making your way to the aquarium, while he offered to take over on the driving from you, for the fair few hours drive down to one of the favourited sunny spots in Florida, before you had found the building, and all thoughts about anything other than seeing the pretty fish had slipped from the front of your mind. Only after the two of you had entered, paper band sealed around your wrists and told to follow the green arrows, did he divulge to you that he had never actually been to an aquarium before, a fact that made you positively outraged, in a way that made his lips flick up at the sides a little as he watched you dramatically mourn for his loss of fish observations.

You had taken your time, showing him everything and telling him just what you loved about the scenes, the way the lower tunnels lit up with blue as fish swam overhead, and the way the larger ones like stingrays and little sharks would come right up to the glass, getting you closer to the predators than you ever could be, and yet being entirely safe, as the rehabilitated animals continued with their life, enjoying the safety of their home. You allowed him to take pictures, and made him take one himself, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood in the middle of the tunnel that changed colours, the first one being his usual stoic and emotionless expression.

The second shot, though, was one that you sent to yourself just to be sure that it wouldn't be deleted from existence, because it was far too precious to lose. In the second, the tunnel was between blue and red, a deep purple shade with a pink edge was cast over the man, making shadows appear across his face, the look of awe standing out as he stared up, the largest shark they had swimming directly overhead in the picture as he stared up at it, and at that moment, there was nothing in his life, except the astonishment at the creature that had passed over him.

He thanked you when you handed him his phone back, nodding his thanks to you as he paused on the second, not bothering to spend too much time focusing it, but not deleting it either, closing his camera app and holding the phone tightly in his hand. He was more conversational for the rest of the trip, the photograph unlocking something within him, and he managed to ask you simple questions about why you liked museums so much, and if you liked zoos too, as well as reading the information plaques aloud each time you reached one. The night had rolled around sooner than you would have thought, and the two of you grabbed ice cream cones from a small cart nearby, eating them slowly as you walked towards the car.

“I always wanted to swim with dolphins, y’know.” He shrugged a little, taking a bite out of the mint ice cream on his cone, and you hummed as you licked at the simple chocolate one you had while considering your options.

“You’re only, like, twenty-five. You still have time to do cool things like swim with dolphins.”

He glanced over at you, pausing in his steps for a second, and for a moment, you thought he might open up, that he would reply to you, let you in a little bit so that you could try and find a way to help him heal, but he simply shrugged, and your hopes caved in on yourself, a little quiet falling between you both again as those walls that had been slowly crumbling down seemed to build back up to twice the height they had originally been, keeping you sealed out in the cold from ever getting know him. Once he had finished his ice cream, he was reaching around behind himself, rubbing at his lower back carefully, but his features never even changed, though it wasn’t the first time you’d picked up on it.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been messing with your back all day, trying to stretch all subtle-like.”

“Backache.” The word was grunted out, and you sighed a little at the cold tone he had resorted back to, feeling like for every step forward you took with him, you were taking three steps back.

“Well, for the past three nights you’ve been sleeping in a car seat. Why don’t you take it easy, lay down while I drive?” He shook his head as the two of you approached the vehicle, and you rounded to the driver’s side, leaning against the door and giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly fine, I’ve dealt with worse pains before.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to now.” It was a standoff between you both, and you reached out to place a hand on his arm, before deciding against his, swerving around him to tap on the tinted windows of the backseat. “Why don’t you lie down on the back, and I’ll drive. I’ll take it real slow, so you don’t get thrown about.”

“You’ll wake me up when we get there?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated at your assent for only a second, before he was dipping his head a little, and making his way around to the trunk of the car, allowing you to open it up with the car keys. Kicking off his shoes, he took them with him, his body flopping into the mound of cushions and pillows, and eyes already sliding shut the second he had, the door closing behind him as you got into the front. As promised, you drove slow, moving the pair of you down towards Florida, the night passing you by as you listened to your music so quietly that it wouldn't bother him, and in you slow pace, you were able to avoid disturbing him, the quiet tosses and turns he made causing you to glance back every so often.

Sometimes he was on the verge of being awake, blinking his eyes open a little in the darkness, to take in his surroundings, before adjusting his positions and laying back down. The darkness of the sky had been blossoming into pale pastel shades by the time you saw the entry signs for Orlando, and you could have cried with gratefulness as the journey came towards an end.

You were tired, having stopped once or twice to bolt into somewhere and grab a coffee, but you needed sleep, and as soon as the offer for such a thing had made itself known, you were more than happy to take it. The hotel felt like a godsend, the morning crawling on in as the sun rose up in early hours, the sun still a while off actually breaching the horizon, but the darkness of the sky was beginning to lighten at the horizon, and you were desperate to get some sleep.

You went to check in first, locking the car securely for the man, before registering a room with two beds for you both, opening the box atop the car to pull out your smaller bag, just enough clothes and provisions to get you through the morning until you were both awake again, before you were opening the back of the car once again. You weren’t sure how to wake him, perfectly aware of how jumpy he might be, and if he accidentally lashed out in shock, there would be a chance he wouldn't forgive himself for it, even if you told him it was okay.

Settling to place a hand on his ankle, you shook him gently, and while he awoke with a startled jump, he soon gathered where he was, letting out a little groan as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, and shaking off his slumber.

“How long?”

“About seven hours.” His eyes widened a little as he looked at you, before shuffling forwards to swing his legs over the edge of the car, and he tied his shoes on a little as he took in the area around him. “I booked us in already, and got stuff, but I’m pretty tired, so I’m about ready to crash.”

He simply nodded, reaching out to take your bag from your shoulder and swinging it up onto his own, before grabbing the keys from your hand and locking up the car. The pair of you shuffled through the lobby, one groggy and one exhausted, before leaning against the walls of the elevator as you found your room. You simply dropped the bag on the floor, kicking off your shoes as he pulled the curtains closed, before sealing the door and crashing onto your separate beds.

It was a restless sleep, your mind not even dreaming as you refreshed yourself from the long day followed by a long drive, the time taking its toll on you, and you slept in later than breakfast and almost missed lunch, but you felt like a brand new person when you woke. You weren’t sore or achy, and the crabby mood you’d felt creeping up on yourself before the rest was washed away, and the excitement of knowing that you had the rest of today, plus at least two more days without any long drives was something you were more than excited for, and you stretched yourself out across the mattress, stretching out your limbs properly for what felt like the first time in years, before flopping back onto the bed with a cheerful smile.

The hours had ticked by, the sun rising high up in the sky and you were grateful for the thick curtains that were keeping out the rays out once the heat had begun to rise. It was hot, practically scorching, and you knew it would have woken you up - if not burned you - through the window had they been left open.

“Good afternoon.”

You jumped with a little squeal, completely forgetting where were and who with for one small and blissful moment, and you sat yourself up on the bed, embarrassment flushing you when snapped to sit up straight, and he snorted out a laugh that he muffled behind his hands when he watched you do so. His hair was still dripping wet, but he had changed his clothes, and the rest of your bags had been brought in from the car too. “Well, you’re in a good mood.”

“I slept well and went to the gym, of my own accord, with no interruptions. The last time that happened, I was a new college graduate.” His brightened expression faltered a little as he thought about the memories flashing behind his eyes, before he was stepping towards a covered dish on the counter. “I woke up a while ago, and I made it down in time for breakfast. I brought you some fruit and a croissant.”

“You’re like a whole new person today.”

He swallowed thickly, but quickly handed it over to you as you brushed messy bedhead hair away from your face and to take the dish from him, sitting cross-legged on the mattress as he settled on his own. “You did something nice for me, so I’m returning the favour.” You weren’t too sure how to reply, and you didn’t want him to ever feel obligated to you, but you did want him to be able to trust you with small and simple things, and so you were willing to let it slide, this time.

“I’m going to take it easy today, but you’re free to do whatever you want, take the car, or anything.” You waved a hand at him as you uncovered the bowl of freshly chopped fruit and a pastry, choosing to begin picking at the slices of apples and strawberries first.

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh, some laundry, I only brought a couple of weeks worth of clothes, so when we get somewhere with laundry rooms, I’m going to take advantage. Wash the bedsheets, too, keep everything fresh and cosy.” You bit into the flaky treat, catching the crumbs first before they fell away into the bedding. “I also want to take a nice bath. A hot bath. Washing up at rest stations hasn’t been all that amazing.”

He chuckled, nodding his head a little instead, and mumbling an agreement to you for your statement. “I’ll hang around and help out. It’ll be good to have a day without having to do anything, we can get on with things tomorrow.”

You studied him for a second, the look shared between you both sparking something that almost felt like an understanding, like a bond of something other than hostility or impassive civilship, before offering him a genuine smile. “Wanna’ take all the washing down, and then watch a movie later?”

“Can I pick the film?”

You scowled at his bargain, but nodded, and he wore a victorious look, and you finished up your food, the rumbling in your stomach settling down as you found yourself satisfied. He sat with you while you ate, and the silence wasn’t exactly easy going but it wasn’t the same tension that made you squirm in your seat as you thought of anything to just break the silence or get away from.

He helped you strip down the sheets in the car, and fill your bag, carrying everything into the hotel and setting it all off in the laundry. You plugged the portable charger in to spark back up, and you had your bath, spending a long time soaking in the hot water and letting your fears slip away.

It wasn’t exactly the beginning you had hoped for, or the trip you had dreamed of for so long in your mind, but this was different. You didn’t mind company, in fact, when you thought about it, it was probably nice that you weren’t going to spend so long alone, and getting to share the experience with anyone as you travelled around the country was better than being lonely, but every time Mitch shut you out and built his walls back up when they crumbled even the tiniest amount mad you feel colder and more isolated than if you’d never had a companion with you on the journey at all.

He was an enigma, sometimes he seemed almost like he was happy to be there, and other time, you and the trip seemed to be the bane of his existence, and you couldn't place exactly what it was you were doing that made him open up each time, or what it was you did that made him lock right back up tight.

By the time you’d snuggled down into the bedding, he’d managed to set up the TV and somehow found Netflix, logging himself in as he scrolled the options, a bag of popcorn out on his chest that you really weren’t sure where it was from, but he nodded his head in the direction of the fresh stack of laundry ready to be taken out to the car, and you found your own bag sitting on top. Leaning across to swipe it from where it was, you were quick to rip it open, the salty-sweet smell of freshly buttered popcorn drifting up into the air.

He had somehow managed to find ‘The Vampire Diaries’, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looked at you, lips twisted up in a smirk when he hit play, a blush flooding your cheeks as the opening scene came on, and as much as you adored the program, even you could admit that it was cheesy. You marathoned the episodes back to back, listening to his little commentary when he fell into his comfort zone a little more, and it wasn’t until late into the night that the two of you fell asleep, the ‘still watching?’ question still glaring on the screen when you stirred in the morning.

Your first full and energy-filled day in Orlando was bringing you a bouncy and peppy mood, that was surprisingly not shot down the second the man awoke, he simply groaned as he looked at you pulling open the curtains, before twisting to bury his head under his pillow and flipping you off.

“C’mon, Mitch, get up!” You sat on the edge of his bed, and he nudged his leg out in an attempt to push you from the mattress as he mumbled something indiscernible into the bedding. “I had an idea today for something that I think you’ll be into..”

Your voice was higher, almost singing the words out as you tried to tempt him, and he removed the pillow, huffing before turning to look at you, and while his face was entirely blank. You’d like to think you were able to understand the subtle twitches of his lips and eyebrows by now, and that he was a little less unreadable than he liked people to think, and so you were not perturbed by what may seem angry on the surface.

“I was thinking we could go to the Kennedy space centre for the day. It seems like something you’d want to do.” He sighed through his nose, but didn’t take his gaze away from your own, and you smiled a little, shuffling up the edge of the bed a little closer to him when he sat up in his pillows, wiping at his face and blinking into the morning light, yet to speak. “Was I right?”

He looked away, rolling his eyes a little, but a small smile twisted on his lips instead of the frown you’d been expected. “Yes.”

“Ha! I feel successful!” He snorted at your statement, using his knee to push you off the edge of the bed so that he could stand up, walking straight past you and into the bathroom, the door slamming shut before you had time to start telling him about all the cool things you’d read about online, but you didn’t care, because the two of you were already off to a good start, and you were determined to keep that same vibe going for the rest of the day.

Turned out he was taking a shower, a fact you discovered after lingering around for a good five minutes before he returned, and instead, you busied yourself with getting ready, the warmer weather of being sown somewhere with warmer temperatures, and you settled on wearing a lighter sundress, standing in front of the mirror in the room to braid your air when he finally emerged again. He had shaved, neatening up the messy scruff that had begun to grow out on his chin until it was in a more tidy scattering of hair along his jaw. One hand held the towel that was wrapped around his waist while the other grabbed at a pile of clothes, and you pointedly avoided looking at him in the reflection of the mirror as you focused on the movements of your fingers.

When he came back out, a black t-shirt that only reached halfway down his biceps, and sticking to him with bits of water, and a pair of blue jean shorts on his legs that brushed just above his knees, a jacket hanging over his arm for later in the night.

“Wow, you actually look like you’re on holiday, first time yet.” He rolled his eyes, dropping his head a little and running the towel over his head until it was merely damp instead of dripping wet. When he stood back up, strands were spiking up in random directions, the look of it making you laugh at the thought of it drying that way, and you tried to hide the noise, but he raised his brows at your snigger anyway. “Your hair is sticking up in all random directions.”

“Doesn’t matter, nobody cares, anyway.”

“Yeah, at the farm, maybe!” You stepped towards him, swinging your own plaited hair over your shoulder and out of your way. “When you’re all sweaty and covered in dirt after ten minutes, but you’re on your own time now. What if you want to take a picture and you look like you’ve been electrocuted?”

He simply sighed, but you could sense the amusement that washed over him as he caved, running a palm along the top of his head to try and push it flat, making it look like it had been badly gelled, and you placed your hands on your hips, biting on your lower lip to avoid the cringe you wanted to make at the sight.

“Can I just-” You took a little step forwards, and he hesitated, brows pulling together a little, and shoulders tensing up, but he gave you a single stiff nod and allowed you to enter his personal space. Reaching up a hand, you tried to style the slightly wet strands a little bit, quiffing them up just enough to look good while taming all the strays, and when you were appeased, you pulled your fingers away, humming to yourself with pride.

“Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” You stepped away from him, moving across the room to grab your purse, and he was holding the door open by the time you were ready to go.

“I’ll drive. I’m feeling a lot better.” You fished through your bag for the keys, dropping them in his hand as you both reached the elevator, and in return, he handed you the room key to seal away in your bag.

“You think they have those big floppy hats anywhere? I want one.”

“What are you talking about?” He pushed the lobby button, leaning against the wall and pushing his hands into his pockets, before fixing you with a quizzical look when you turned to face him.

“You know, those big sun hats. That celebrities where so they don’t get recognised.”

He shook his head, fixing you with a heatless glare as he pursed his lips. “If you buy and wear one of those hats, I will go home and face your uncle’s wrath of my own accord. I am not being seen with you in one of those.” You gaped at him, before letting your chuckle best through, and he had the decency to grin a little to himself at his own jab.

“They’re stylish!”

“They’re hideous is what they are.”

He mumbled his response as the door dinged open, rebuking your insistence on the ‘staple fashion’ item as the bickering continued on, all the way through the parking lot until you reached the vehicle, and he held the door open for you as you climbed in, slamming it shut on your argument that if it was good enough for Sarah Jessica Parker in ‘Sex and the City’, then it was good enough for you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t having any of it, ignoring you with a smirk as he started up the car, and cranking the music up so loud you winced, just to drown you out.

You took the hint, choosing to change the topic, hoping to keep him engaged in what was by far the longest conversation the two of you had participated in, in which he was actively talking with you in return. All of your conversations before this day had been mostly you talking to him, spilling every thought that passed over your mind just to stop the awkwardness from creeping back in, but today, he was chatting back. Whether it was playful arguments, subtle insults with no hostility behind them, or even just chit chat, he was taking an interest, and then, it felt like the two of you might be able to enjoy your trip, if it was anything like this.

From the second you had pulled up, he had been just as gentlemanly, and you swore you saw a flash of excitement pass over his eyes as the two of you bought your tickets, the key to unlocking him a little bit and tempting him out to being less than just a robot for the CIA may lie in his hobbies and interests, should you somehow be able to coerce him into acknowledging that he has some.

Your first stop had been to plan your visit, the two of you leaning over the touch screens as you read about each attraction, checking out a site map and trying to choose your way around. You had signed up for a bus tour, one that still had two hours until your allotted space, and so you busied yourself with the ‘Heroes and Legends’ exhibit, and the ‘Race to the Moon - Apollo Centre’, he had actually looked happy, willingly allowing you to take pictures for him in front of various things, and even standing beside you in a few as you forced him to take pictures with you when you found a good shot in front of the fountains and the rockets.

Sending them both off to your uncle as proof that you hadn't dropped him off at a bus station and fled, he soon replied, asking if you were sure that was really Mitch, or whether you’d just grabbed another shaggy and mood stray man along the road by mistake. He had let out a full-bellied laugh at the comment when you’d shown it to him, before tucking your phone back into your pocket.

The whole day seemed to fly by too fast, the bus tour crowding the two of you in, but neither of you had to drive so you were more than happy, and you had wrestled yourselves to the seats at the back, each of you by a window for maximum enjoyment of the experience, before you’d finished the day by reading everything you could, and exploring every miniature exhibit in the ‘Now and Next�� section, being completely awestruck by words you didn’t understand.

By the time you left, you both had a NASA themed jumper, as well as a shirt to send home for Stan, and a sticker decal to put onto your laptop, your purchases happily swinging by your side in a paper bag with the logo printed across the front as you made your way back to the hotel room.

The temperature had dropped a little, and you were in half a mind to get your jumper out and put it on, but you wanted to wash it first, unsure of how many people had already touched it before buying it. Your conundrum was brought to an end when warm fabric was draped over your shoulders anyway, his fingers brushing yours as he reached down to take the bag from your hold so that you could push your hands through the jacket he had given you.

His other hand was tucked in his pocket, eyes fixed ahead of himself as you walked the distance back to your car, but you nudged him with your elbow a little once it was wrapped around you and you were warm, giving him your friendliest and gentlest smile a little when he was forced to turn his sights on you.

“I think there might yet be hope for us to be friends, Rapp.”

“Lucky me.” He muttered, tone dripping with sarcasm, but he lifted his elbow from where it was folded against his body, allowing you to loop your own arm through his and move a little closer to him as you fell into step beside one another.

It was on your final day in Florida that everything seemed to go wrong, blowing up in your face for reasons that you didn’t even understand.

You were red in the face and entirely exasperated as the two of you stood in the carpark, your hands on your hips and his arms folded over his chest as you stared one another down. The air between you both was all but crackling with rage and unresolved anger, and you weren’t even sure where it was all coming from.

You didn’t exactly have the whole day, already having repacked the car and sorted out the sleeping zone in the back, just trying to decide what to do with the small handful of hours that you had to fill while it was too hot to begin a seven and a half-hour drive to Alabama for your next pitstop. He had no ideas what he wanted to do, absolutely none, saying he was just happy to do whatever, and so you’d suggested taking a trip to Daytona Beach, which seemed to be where his issue had started. Somehow, the simple suggestions had deteriorated into a row, people staring at you both as they walked past to get to their cars.

“We’re not going to the fucking beach!”

He was all but seething, and you wanted to stomp your foot like a petulant child in your frustration, but resisted the urge. “You’re not in charge here!”

“I don’t care, I’ve done all the stupid shit you wanted to do every other day!” You felt a little wounded at the insinuation, and you were sure that the hurt had flicked over your face because he seemed to flinch back a little bit at your change, before you stepped back, swallowing thickly and pressing the keys into his hand. He looked between the metal bundle in his palm and you, silence taking up between you both where raised voices had been only seconds before.

“Fine, you don’t have to go to the beach, but I am. Just drop me off and then go and do whatever you want to do for the day, and come back for me a few hours later.”

He gave you a look that made you want to scream, bursting out with rage, but you bit your tongue and resisted the urge. “What, do you expect me to just drop you off at a random beach and leave you there all day? Alone, when anything could happen?”

“Oh, relax. I won’t let Stan have your head if anything happens, you won’t get the blame for my mess.” It was his time to look a little hurt as you spat the words at him, before pulling open the passenger seat door, hopping up yourself and peering back at him. “Just take me to the beach, Mitch, I’ll be fine.”

He groaned, stomping around to his side of the car and making sure to slam the door extra-aggressively as he got in. This time when he turned the music up, it was to purposefully ensure neither of you would speak, and you fished through your bag to check that you had anything in order to busy yourself from the ruined atmosphere between you both. What had been so positive only a day ago felt like it had been shredded and burnt, and the everlasting anger that cooked you from within felt like it had been extinguished, only to come back as a raging inferno today.

When you finally saw the palm trees melt away into white sand and blue sea, you felt your nerves ease a little, relaxing into the car seat as he pulled up he car, fingers clenching the steering wheel, and you opened the door, hopping out and releasing a happy sigh at the smell of salt, fried food, and the sound of waves lapping at the shore.

“Are you really doing this?”

“Yep. You can just pick me up in a few hours. Call me when you’re back at this spot, and I’ll come and meet you.” With that, you slammed the door on him, not looking back as you began your journey down toward one of the little beach huts and stalls to find a bathroom to change in, and somewhere to buy an ice cream. It took a minute before you heard the car pull away, and you were certain he’d spent that time cursing you out and muttering insults about you that only he could hear, but you didn't care, because you wanted to sunbathe, and so you were damn well going to.

With an ice pop in one hand, and your bag in the other, you wandered across the sand barefoot, shoes in your bag with your clothes and towel tucked under your arm, freshly shining with suncream and a swimsuit clad on your body as you wiggled your toes in the soft grains and searched for somewhere to set yourself up. A couple of stray beach umbrellas were still free, and so you were more than happy to claim one of them, making your way over as you wicked at the drips of juice escaping from the frozen treat, and dumping your things down into the sand gleefully.

Rolling out your towel under the shade, you straightened it out before turning and sitting down on it as you finished up the lolly in your hand and sealed the wooden stick into the front pouch of your bag to dispose of later. You replaced it with your sunglasses and your phone, sitting comfortably on the cotton and looking out around yourself at the people surrounding you, and snapping some photos of the beautiful sight that you could print off and frame when you eventually got home.

The flapping of another towel, spraying a little sand up onto your legs beside you made you turn to look, a pair of legs in your view as somebody came to sit beside you, and you squinted at the owner of said appendages as they sat down beside you. Your eyes widened a little bit as a recognisable mop of hair came into sight, and you pushed your glasses up onto the top of the head as he sat down, tugging his shirt up and over his head to discard of it to sit with the rest of his things, a pair of swimming trunks he absolutely wasn’t wearing before on his legs, and they seemed somewhat familiar to you.

“Did you just buy those?”

You reached out to poke at his thigh, the silky blue material shifting under your touch, and he granted at the feeling. “I didn’t own any.”

You merely nodded, waiting for him to expand, but he didn’t and so you placed your glasses back on and settled down onto your back, feeling a little better at not being alone, even if his mood was sour, but it wasn’t going to affect your experience, not even a little bit. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I couldn't just leave you at the beach alone. It’s not safe.”

You turned your head to look at him, finding his legs stretched out before him, hands resting behind his body to support himself, and staring out with a distant look on his face as he watched the waves meet the shore, coming in all the way from the horizon. Something about the rasp in his voice and the tuned out look on his face made you feel a little guilty, and you popped yourself up on your elbows. “It’s just a beach, Mitch, I’ll be totally fine.”

“Yeah, well, the last time I was at a beach I got shot.” The realisation of his hatred of the location made a chilling coldness shoot along your body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, but he shrugged, giving you a glance out of the side of your eyes. “But, you want to go to the beach, and I don’t want to leave you, so we’re at the beach.”

You swallowed thickly, looking at him for a second, and watching as he took a deep and steadying breath. Sitting up a little more, you moved around the pole of the umbrella, perching yourself half on his towel and half in the sand, your thigh pressing to his as you seated yourself next to him. “Thank you.”

You whispered the words, but he turned to look at you, giving you a nod of the head as he watched you, whiskey brown eyes staring into your own as the tension between you both melted away. Rather than pushing your body away from his own, he shifted his arm to rest behind you back for support, before snapping his attention over to his bag. “I brought you something.”

“Yeah?”

“To say sorry for shouting at you. I’m not great at apologies, but I figured it would do the trick.” He produced a slightly crumpled but still pretty woven hat from his bag, and you laughed loudly at the sight as he reached up to push it down onto your head, the rim brushing his hair when you both settled back to look out at the ocean. The floppy hat on your head made you heart race the gesture making you warm up from the inside out. “I’m not going in the ocean.”

“That’s okay, you can stay with the stuff when I swim later.” He hummed under his breath, but twitched a little at the idea, and you pulled your legs up to your chest, reaching back across for your phone. “I’ll stay where you can see me, so you know nothing’s wrong.”

“Thank you.” You barely caught his response, and you weren’t sure what he was thanking you for; whether it was the simple act, the acknowledgement of his trauma, your forgiveness for his behaviour, or perhaps all three, but you just gave him a smile in response, the two of you finding a harmony one again as the waters of you friendship settled back out from the pebbles you’d thrown only a couple of hours prior.

He never moved from the towel, but he did watch you swim in the ocean, and he took pictures with you, and he looked after your stuff. He reminded you to reapply your sunscreen, and he laughed and joked with you after the two of you had moved on from the weight of your makeup conversation, and you decided that today had been even better than yesterday, because while you thought you’d been knocked down and your almost-friendship had ended, he had helped you up and confirmed that there was definitely hope between the two of you, there was a friendship forming.

After you had finished on the beach, you used one of the outdoor showers to wash yourself off of sand and salt, dipping back into a stall to change back into a simple sundress, treasuring the new hat on top of your head as he watched you, before you’d set off on enjoying the falling temperature before setting off on your journey. You had hotdogs for lunch, and walked along the pier, and even stopped in at some of the little gift shops, your arm linked with his as you went along, before finally getting to the car as the sun began to lower on the horizon, and the cool breeze was enough to make you shiver, the car no longer feeling like you were sitting inside an oven when you got in, but instead being a comfortable warmth to travel during the night in.

You weren’t too sure when it had happened, but you were certain that you had fallen asleep sometime after passing the signs for splitting off for ‘Lake City’, and you had woken up with a blanket tucked over your body that you were certain hadn't been there before. You stirred a little bit, a whine escaping you before you could stop it as you felt your muscles stretching and joints popping a little.

Mitch turned to look at you, his face neutral, a pleasant change to the scowl you were used to seeing, and the simple change had smoothed out the creases along the sides of his mouth, or the wrinkles on his forehead from the constant look of anger and irritation he had when he was at the farm with your uncle, and your hand itched with the urge to reach up and brush a finger over the place where the lines had once been.

“Sleep well?”

“I did, actually.” You snuggled down into the blanket a little more, muffling your yawn as you tried to shake yourself awake, despite the darkness still occupying the sky. “How long was I out? Do you want me to take over?”

“About four hours, there’s not long to go now. I was going to wake you soon anyway, I wanted to stop off for some coffee, and there’s a place up ahead. Is that okay?” You simply nodded in reply, and he returned it with a curt gesture of his own, before looking back to the open road, and reading at the signs that flashed by. You were more than happy to adjust into your morning, finding yourself taking a little longer to wake up than usual, because for the first time on this whole trip, you had felt truly comfortable in the presence of the man beside you.

No anxiety or anger was taking over, you were pushing down frustrations at his attitude and biting your tongue to stop from lashing out, but you were instead relaxed and happy, eyes fluttering a little as you tried to keep yourself away, rubbing at your eyes and sitting up a little straighter as the car began to slow down, pulling off onto a side-lane as the neon lights of a diner and truckstop just behind the trees made its presence well known to anyone travelling on the highway.

Finding a parking space was easy, one a decent distance away from everyone else, the car safe at the back as you hopped out, and you were begrudging to shed the blanket from your shoulder as the cooler air swept over you, arms wrapping around yourself instead. It wasn’t actually all that cold, but going from the coziness of sleep haze and blanket wrapped tenderness, to standing on your feet when you’re barely stable in the middle of a truck stop car park was a different story.

“Cold?”

The car flashed as it locked beside you, and you nodded a little, but forced yourself to peel your arms down from being wrapped around your body to sit at your sides. “I’ll be fine once we get inside, I was all snuggly under my blanket. Thanks for that, by the way.”

He offered you a flick of his lips in return, patting his pockets for his wallet and finding it in the front pocket of his hoodie, adding the car keys to it, before making his way over to you. Slinging an arm over your shoulders, you were curled in a little closer to his body, as he guided you across the lot, eyes peering around suspiciously as he took in everyone and everything he saw, from the placement of the car to the smokers standing outside and blowing clouds of smoke up into the air, his CIA training never letting up as he instinctively observed and memorised the area as best he could.

You were correct, the second you got inside the doors of the diner, warm air washed over you, and you let out a hum of contentment at the feeling, his arm dropping from around you as the two of you found a booth, settling in on opposite sides of it. You had a large mug of black coffee in your hands only minutes later, a large order of a breakfast meal at the all-hours kitchen felt like a god-send, and you blew the steam from the top of your mug as you watched Mitch stir creamer into his mug.

“So, can I ask a question?”

“I would love it if you did.” He rose a curious eyebrow at you, and you rose a single shoulder in a slightly embarrassed shrug, before taking a sip of the warm drink and letting out an inaudible moan into the drink, already feeling rejuvenated just from the first taste. “You don’t talk to me much, it would be nice to become more like friends on this trip instead of strangers.”

He ducked his head a little, and you worried you’d crossed a line, but when he looked up, he almost looked happy, and you brightened up yourself just at the sight. A smile from Mitch Rapp felt rare, but you were receiving one right now, and you were basking in the glory of it. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend. I’d really like that.”

“So, what was your question?”

“I wanted to know what the fuck we’re doing in Alabama.” His words were blunt, and you couldn't help the sharp laugh that left you, his eyes twinkling at the sight, before he was chugging almost half of the contents of his mug in one.

“It’s more of a stop off, really, to stretch our legs. Otherwise it was, like, a ten-hour drive, and I tried to split up most of the long drives as much as I could.” You shrugged, swilling your drink a little before taking another long sip of it. “I found this store that sells lost luggage, and you never know what kind of cool things we could find there. It’s like thrift shopping but even more obscure shit than thrift shops have.”

“Sounds fun.”

“We can get back on the road by later this evening, but I was also thinking we could stop somewhere and get a drink if we have time. There’s a bar that’s called ‘Rattlesnake Saloon’, I think, and it seemed fun. It’s only like a four-hour drive from where we’ll be down to New Orleans, so we can get it all done by the end of today.”

He agreed silently, and you took that as your queue to stop your internal monologue, the progress the two of you were making was too much to risk him backing out of if you overwhelmed him by talking non-stop just to fill the silence, but it seemed that he had different ideas; “How do I not know about you? I’ve been around for years, now.”

“I don’t come around so much. Uncle Stan comes to see me every Sunday for dinner, he updates me on everything, he just doesn’t like me hanging around over on your side, because if he’s off with trainees, he doesn’t really trust them not to get distracted.” It was a vague answer, but Mitch nodded like he understood, and made sure that he caught your eye as he tried to find his next words.

“For the record, if you did ever want to come around, I would like to see you.” He offered a smile, and you grinned into your mug, thanking the waitress as she placed down the meals before you both, cutlery soon following it, and your stomach rumbled slightly as the smell of the delicious plateful reached your senses. “So, when you say he updates you on everything, what kind of things do you know?”

“Oh, do you mean about the CIA black ops divisions, the Orion team specifically, or are you asking what I know about you?” His eyes widened a little, before he let out a deep breath, nodding his head with a small laugh that was masked by his sigh. “You’re surprised.”

“No, I’m relieved. I didn’t want to have to hide anything from you.”

You weren’t too sure how to reply, so instead you busied yourself with your hashbrown, the two of you falling into casual conversation between bites of food as you ate, opting to change the conversation to something a little more lighthearted, you were the main focus of the conversation, no matter how much you tried, you didn’t get through to him, he didn’t share much about his past, the things you didn’t know, but that was okay, because he was asking about you, and at least putting the effort in to get to know you. Another two cups of coffee were in your system before the sun was beginning to make its presence known, and the two of you decided that the rest of the journey was due to be completed. You took on the drive this time, and while you had insisted that it was okay for him to sleep, he opted against it, snoozing a little bit keeping up the conversation.

It seemed that the heavier weights of conversation had come crashing back over you both once you were back on the roads, dust kicking up behind you both as you continued on your adventure. The lost luggage shop was fun, the two of you seeming to shift through everything in that store, the hours passing far more quickly than you could control. You left with a pair of wireless and soundproof headphones, and a purple plaid jacket that Mitch said made you look like a lumberjack, and if it was three sizes too big and super baggy? Well, that was just even better.

He himself left with a new sports watch, his last having bee smashed by a recruit during a fight, and a pair of sunglasses with blue-tinted lenses that made him look like he was something from an intense spy film, the scowl and his body language only adding to it, and you couldn't help the picture you took as he did, showing it to him, and he’d quickly agreed with you.

As it turned out, despite how long you’d spent in the little store, you did have time for one drink at the bar you’d found, taking pictures of everything from the drinks to the cowboy style to the creative cliff top overhead, staring up at it in awe as you watched the nature from above grow over the top. You grabbed a quick bite to eat, to soak up any excess alcohol, before the two of you were on the road once again, with you excitedly singing along to the music as you drove, and Mitch poking fun at your driving, the light-hearted humour carrying you all the way along on the shorter drive towards Louisiana.

It was the asscrack of dawn by the time the two of you arrived in New Orleans, having swapped over on the driving a good two or three times, despite the tiny drive that it was in actuality, but you’d stopped a couple of times along the way at several little gift shops, and once to take a walk along the edge of a sweet little lake just outside of New Orleans, Lake Pontchartrain, the two of you watching as the sun came up over the water glittering across the slightly rippled surface, and you had found yourself once again tucked under the man’s arm, this tom daring to loop your own around his waist as you walked, and when you stopped, only detaching when you got back to the car for the final piece of the journey.

You had to admit, it was nice for you too, to be able to make a friend that understood everything about your life. A friend who understood that sometimes you would temporarily drop off the radar, and why you lived in the middle of nowhere, and why social media wasn’t exactly a big thing for you. It was nice to feel understood, and helping Mitch rediscover who he was was without the pain and suffering of his past and his job, was helping you to discover who you really were, and helping you work through some of your own issues.

You’d always been the most important thing in your uncle’s life and so he’d done his best at any given time to make sure you got everything out of life, but being so closed off from the world had made it difficult for you to get to know the social nuances of other people, and so you and Mitch were a learning experience for one another at the same time.

Your hotel was on Bourbon Street, because as you had so eloquently pointed out mid-yawn when he’d asked you ‘if you were serious’, you had confirmed that yes, you were very serious, because there was no what that you were going to come to New Orleans and not stay on Bourbon Street. You checked in and found your two beds, barrel even remembering to pull the curtains closed as you both made it through your nighttime routines, scrubbing at your teeth with minty toothpaste and changing into pyjamas, before crashing on your beds without another word other than some mumbled goodnights.

It was your alarm clock that woke both of you up, a shrill ringing that you’d forgotten you’d set and hadn't turned down, wanting to get up and have a shower before you got on with your day, and the sleepy man had glared at you from his bed, rolling over and face the wall as you snickered behind your hand. Sweet-scented shampoo and a very bubbly soap had refreshed you entirely, snapping you into your morning and giving you the wakeup call you had so desperately desired.

He was still in bed when you emerged, your clothes already on and simple skincare for the day completed, and your hair was still damp, but you weren’t willing to let the day slip away. “Mitch, get up!”

“No.” You barely heard him, before he was pulling the covers up and over his head as you yanked open the curtains, and he groaned out at the motion. You made your way over, standing on the edge of his bed and kicking at his legs from above, to which he promptly kicked back. “Go away, I thought this was supposed to be holiday hours.”

“It is a holiday! But I only have this room for two more nights, which means we only have three days in New Orleans, and I want to get some of the signature pastries from Café Du Monde before they sell out of the freshest batch!” You teased, and his messy bedhead poked up above the blankets.

“Pastries?”

“Freshly baked beignets.” You said, a sing-songy tone to your voice, and he sat up a little further, noticing that you’d caught his attention. “Little fried fritters, in powdered sugar. You can get coffee too, and fruits.”

He stared at you for a long minute, before seeming to crack, and he shook his head. “Fine, let me shower first, and I want a lie in tomorrow.”

“Deal!”

You watched him go, the bathroom door slamming at the water started up, and it took him about as long in the shower as it id for you to dry your hair, and the second he’d pulled on a change of clothes and prepared himself alongside you, he ruffled his hair dry on a towel, tipping it towards you for you to sort the strands, and he gave you a false glare for the giggle you let out at the action. Sifting your finger through his hair, you flattened them down into a reasonably decent smile, but not without making a comment about how he needed a haircut, to which he promptly shut down as he pushed you a little out of the way and headed to the door.

It was a short walk to the café, a warm breeze washing over your legs, even though it had barely reached midday yet, and as promised, you had been served the freshest of the pastries that the two of you could get, Two portions between you both, and several cups of coffee, you also split a fruit bowl, nibbling on the juicy treats as you chatted. You bought a box of the coffee to send to your uncle, taking it home forever as you collected it up, as well as a couple of the mugs that caught your eye, and Mitch had even purchased one for himself, brushing his finger over the lettering and the logo on the front as he purchased his first real souvenir of the trip.

Your next stop was the post office, the man shooting you a quizzical look as you went, browsing through boxes and shipping labels, before gathering up all the supplies that you needed.

“I figured we could box up and mail all out souvenirs and purchases back to my Uncle, and he can collect them up and keep them safe, so that they don’t all get lost or damaged in the car, and we don’t get overwhelmed.”

“If I send something back to be kept safe, your uncle will give it to the recruits to play soccer with before we get back.” He teased helping you carry all of the shipping items you’d purchased out of the door and back onto the street, the sun now shining down warm and clear from above.

“Send it all in my name. If we box it all up together, it gives me an excuse to see you once all this is finished, when we get home.” You spoke the words earnestly as you made your way back to the hotel, to spend the better part of a few hours wrapping, labelling and shipping it all, and he turned to look at you, face a little unreadable.

“You don’t need an excuse.” You were a little frozen once again, the lines between comradery and friendship between you both becoming blurred, but you still weren’t sure where you lay with it, and then his face split into a teasing look. “Unless I’m sick of you by then. I may have to hide when I hear you’re coming over.”

“Oh, shut it.” You jabbed your elbow at his side, his training making it easy for him to duck and swerve out of the way in time, which only resulted in a large grin taking place on his face. “By the end of all this, you’re going to be missing me like crazy. You’ll be calling and begging me to come and hang out with you.”

“Sure thing.”

You had just about made it in time for the post office, the woman a little perturbed at not being able to close up fifteen minutes early, but you’d left a healthy tip in the labelled jar beside the counter for her, knowing that the number of boxes labelled ‘delicate’ to all be shipped a good few states over was a hassle for her, but she completed it without complaint, and you couldn't have been more grateful.

It felt like a task taken off of your plate, leaving you both with a worry and stress-free evening to spend in New Orleans, quickly settling on getting the full experience, and going for a few drinks at a jazz and blues bar. Neither of you had to drive, and so you were able to indulge in a few more drinks than you had so far, your hotel only a short walk from the bar you’d chosen.

Bourbon Street by night was alive with energy, buzzing with excitement and thrill, and you could feel the atmosphere lifting you up onto their level, the idea of people getting to live here and experience it everyday making you prickle with a little jealousy, but you knew it was only as special to you now because you’d never experienced it before, that it was a rarity and something to be treasured, not envied.

The buildings were a mix of modern and ancient, still holding their beautiful French architectural designs with the balconies and the stylings of their decorations, but being lit up with neon signs that gave the entire road an ethereal kind of colourful glow. You felt pulled in every direction, not wanting to miss a single thing, and the pictures you took with the bright backdrop had been breathtaking. Blues and pinks and yellows, all glittering from signs above and around you, the kind of vibe that felt surreal while you experienced it, and made you wonder whether it was all just a dream when you thought about it later that night, laying in bed as your heart still raced.

New Orleans was beautiful, and your second day had only been more fun.

“I have a plan, Mitch!”

“You promised me a lie in!” He growled, and you took a seat on the floor beside his bed, placing your arms across the mattress and balancing your chin atop them, waiting for him to surface from the disturbance of the covers when you did so, a small giggle on your lips when you felt him shuffle, before glaring at you when his eyes finally met your own.

“I did give you a lie-in! It’s midday!”

He huffed, reaching out for his phone on the nightstand and almost smacking you in the head with it when he reached back, barely being able to duck in time, and from the look on his face, you couldn’t decide whether or not he'd done it on purpose. As though he hadn't believed you, his eyes widened as he checked the time to see that you weren’t lying to him, a few minutes fast twelve, officially making it the afternoon, and he groaned under his breath, running a hand over his face.

“Do you want to sleep longer?”

He gave you a pointed look, as though to say ‘duh’ without actually speaking the words, and you offered him a small smile, ducking your head again when he shifted to put his phone back down, placing his head on his pillow and closing his eyes once again, shutting you out in silence. “Give me, like, another hour and a half.”

“That’s cool, I’ll come back and get you later, we can go for dinner!”

You shuffled away from the bed, backing away across the floor as you took your hands from the mattress, standing up again and brushing off your pants of the dust and dirt it had collected when you’d sat down. A hand locked around your wrist, honey-brown eyes peering up at you, narrowed and curious. “Where are you going?”

“I want to go and check out all the places they filmed any and all scenes that had a Mikaelson in.”

“Another TV show tour?” He mumbled, letting out a low breath as you nodded at him excitedly.

“I would almost be surprised that you hadn't seen ‘The Originals’, but you haven’t watched ‘The Vampire Diaries’ either, so I’ll let you off.” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, hugging his pillow a little closer to his chest, his cheek pressed into it.

“Vampires aren’t my thing. Plots always suck.”

“Woman don’t watch the shows for the pl-” You paused, looking at the cheeky flick of his lips as you gasped. “Did you just make a vampire pun?”

“Yep.”

“It’s like I’m meeting a whole new person.” His eyelids shifted a little, and you could’ve sworn he’d actually rolled his eyes at you with his eyes closed, which isn’t something you would have put past him.

“Give me another half an hour, then, and I’ll come with you.” He sighed, turning away from you and waving a hand at the curtains you’d opened as his face scrunched up, and you closed them once again, the fabric barely doing anything to hide the light in the room that was coming from the bright sun sitting high in the sky.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to.” He mumbled, and you nodded your head, taking a seat beside his legs on the end of his bed when he shifted them to the side and dragged the covers out of the way, letting you sit and wait for him as he snoozed a while longer, and you took the time to go through the list of places you wanted to visit. While you were well aware that not all of the filming was actually done in New Orleans, there were definitely a handful of places that you could see, and you were all but exploding with anticipation at the chance to do so. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

He sounded like he was barely present for the question, somewhere between this land and a dreamscape, but you turned to look at him anyway, despite knowing he wouldn't be looking back. “No plan, just figured we could go with the flow, or whatever.”

“We could go check out the ‘LaLaurie Mansion’, could be fun.” You gasped, staring at him in pure shock, and he cracked a smile at your reaction, stretching a little as he rolled over. “What, you’ve never seen American Horror Story?”

He was using your own words against you, pushing himself up to sit as he blinked into the light a little, and you shook your head to clear it, before grinning at him with a smile you didn’t even want to prevent. “Looks like you do know how to have fun, after all.”

He stuck his tongue out at you childishly, retracted his leg up the bad and you weren’t quick enough to move, being sent into a pile on the floor with a yelp as you were removed from the mattress, and he hummed in victory as you lay on the ground. He stepped over you a second later, looking at you on the floor with a smirk before swiping up some clothes and his toothbrush from the bag of his toiletries on the side, and switching on the cold tap to splash some water on his face.

You were practically pulling him out of the room ten minutes later, knowing that he was purposefully dragging out everything he did, changing his shirt three times just to make you wait, and with both hands on his forearm you’d dragged him all the way to the main door of the building before releasing him when he finally stopped dragging his feet and digging his heels in, laughing at your eager desperation to get on with the day as it approached one o’clock, and you still had things to do.

Tucking yourself under his arm to keep out of the way of others on the busy street, he adjusted you a little, his hand hanging over your shoulder as you pulled up the map on your phone for you both to see, covering your own eyes, as the sunglasses he’d purchased from the luggage shop in Alabama sat on his face.

“Thanks to someone changing his outfit like a diva, we lost a whole bunch of time.” You mumbled, his laugh rumbling up beside you.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“A whole bunch of time.” You nudged him in the side with your elbow, feeling him raise his hand from your shoulder temporarily to flick your ear, and you rubbed at it absentmindedly while looking at the directions on your phone. “Figured we could walk from here to the Lafayette Cemetery, it’s only an hour's walk, but our tour isn’t until five tonight, so we can take our time and check out other stuff while we go.”

“We’re taking a tour of a cemetery?”

“Yep!” He gave you a look like you were far too cheerful about the prospect of walking around a graveyard for a while, but you purposefully ignored looking at him. “First up, St. Louis Cathedral.”

You took photos in front of the beautiful building, the sun lighting up the exterior until it almost looked as though it was glowing, and it all seemed all the more natural that it did, a blessed appearance taking over your photos. You explored that end of the French Quarter in detail; visiting a Voodoo shop, even backtracking far enough to go to ‘Boutique Du Vampyre’, taking your time going around the store, checking out everything within the colourful and quaint little gift shop, the crowded building feeling out of place in the elegant and organised streets, like you’d stepped into an entirely new place when you’d walked through the door.

You listened to music and dropped change in the cases, cups and hates of almost every street performer you came across, and tried snacks from every street vendor you reached, sharing out the treats between you both as you made your way along, stopping at any and everything that caught either of your attention. You ended up with more photos than you’d expected, leaving you with a rapidly filling camera roll, hours worth of work when you finally got home and were able to sort through them all, printing off your favourites to build into a large photo album, ensuring that you’d never forget even a single moment of the trip.

After your tour of the cemetery, learning more than you thought there was a history to be had, and getting a chilling vibe all the way through, the two of you had settled on the Delachaise Wine Bar for your dinner, sampling different glasses and sharing them out as you filled up on french fries and bread rolls, before making the slow walk back to your hotel, seeing everything once again on you return, but this time by night.

The day had passed faster than you’d expected or hoped for, and yet, it was filled with priceless memories, the late hour making everything seem entirely new and different from the ay it had in the day, everything you passed seeming like a new building, signs lit up with glowing lights and the cheery and upbeat music from the day had taken on a lower and more sensual tone, changing with the mood as the early evening turned to night, seeing you off into your hotel with a smile on you face and a head full of thoughts that you’d never forget.

“So, I did a bit of research.” You started, and he turned to look at you, lowering his phone for a second from where he’d been taking photos, his attention now on you, waiting quietly for you to continue. “Turns out, that whole iconic witch’s walk in that one episode is outside of a restaurant and bar, and it’s only a few streets over. It’s called Vacherie Restaurant, and I made us a booking.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You were waiting with bated breath, hoping you’d made the right call, your suspicions being confirmed when his face cracked with a bright smile, and you let out a relieved sigh.

Much like he had spent the entire day with you yesterday exploring the sets and shooting locations of one of your favourite TV shows, you were now doing the same for him, the two of you wandering around the end of the French Quarter you hadn't yet gotten a chance to explore, taking in everything before you. Your first stop had, of course, been the LaLaurie Mansion he’d been so excited about, the man having been the one to wake you up this morning, pulling you from one end of the bed to almost falling out of it, hands on your ankles tugging you down the mattress until you’d been giggling and kicking at him as he dodged you, prompting you to get up so you could make the most of your third day.

It was only a short walk, the two of you grabbing to-go breakfast from a little café to eat as you walked, coffee and a breakfast burrito in your system waking you up considerably as you prepared yourself for the day. Neither of you had all that much of a plan, some quick googling as you walked had done wonders, however, guiding you through the already crowded streets as you made your way towards your various destinations.

Some were closer and some were further, the two of you working to create a list of your destinations, making your day a little easier to navigate. You were due to be on the road again by tonight, already having repacked the car and checked out of your hotel, but you were armament to spend as much time soaking up the sun and walking around as you could, before you were back on the road for a long drive up to Texas.

“So, when are we booked in?”

“I figured we could go for a late lunch, before we see the house they used for the academy, since it’s down in the Garden District, and we have to head that way anyway to get back on the main road.” He nodded, before he was reaching out to you a little, holding up his phone.

“Want to take a picture with me?”

You put your own away as you agreed to the request, his arm wrapping around you as he held up the device away from you both, positioning you to be able to see the house in the background, a smile on his face as you beamed brightly at the camera and squinted at the sun.

“I used to record and photograph everything, you know. I loved it, keeping a hold of my memories and all the moments that mattered, but for the last few years, there hasn’t been anything worth remembering, so I stopped.” It was a heavy confession, and you weren’t too sure what he was expecting from you, whether he was looking for comfort, or simply to get something off of his chest, but heat crawled up his face and made his cheeks tint pink as he looked at you, waiting for a response.

Instead, you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, pulling him into you as his arms hung at his sides, your bodies pressed together in a hug, and you felt the way he stiffened underneath you, you laughed muffled as your shoulder pressed into his chest. It took him a minute to respond before his arms were wrapping around you lightly, holding you in return as his cheek pressed into your hair, and then, he was squeezing you like his life depended on it.

Only for a second, but he let his walls down, and then he was letting you go, breath rushing back into your lungs from where it had been squeezed from you, and his face was even redder than it had been, eyes shining a little, but he didn’t have his defensive stance or aggressive expression. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed relaxed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mitch.” You hooked your arm through his, immediately soothing the tension building by asking if he wanted to stop by the patisserie shop you’d passed by on your way over here, getting a whole boxful to take with you in the car to snack on as you drove across the country to your next state.

You visited the ‘Marie Laveau: House of Voodoo’, before moving on to taking a wander around the St. Louis Cemetery to look at the crypts, before going for your lunch. It had consisted of thrilled discussions about everything you had done, comparing and swapping photos as you ate, and talking about the bits that you’d personally found the most enjoying. It wasn’t just the time in New Orleans that you discussed, but you managed to force him to open up about the rest of the trip you’d taken so far, the things he had fun doing even if he hadn't been willing to admit it at the time.

With full stomachs and smiling faces, you’d piled back into the car for the first time in days, upon making the walk back to the hotel parking lot. It was almost strange, having spent so much time on your feet and using the vehicle as little as possible, opting for you to drive the small distance down to the Buckner Mansion, the final location used as you drove along, through the Warehouse District and down to the Garden District, mitch taking pictures out of the windows as you went.

After his confession, which neither of you had risked to speak of again, he seemed like he was finally accepting that it was okay for him to live his life, and to admit that he was having fun, actually wanting to take photos and record the sights he was seeing, to relive them once you’d left and gone home.

You couldn’t go inside, but you could walk around the garden, peering inside as you leaned dup to the windows, and taking pictures on the steps up to the front door, talking about all the scenes that you could specifically pinpoint, and making the most of it, before having to leave as the lower light began to fade and the night came in, ushering out the warmer temperatures as a cool night breeze came in.

You flipped a coin, deciding who would do the first half of the journey, Mitch calling heads as it came spinning back down towards your hand, and that side had been the one facing upwards at you both when you’d both studied it, the man cheering to himself, even though you insisted it wasn’t much of a prize to have to drive for several hours in the dark when he’d rather be sleeping, but he was just happy to have won something.

Houston was your next destination, hoping to reach it by the time the morning rolled around, the shift between you both in New Orleans only making you happier about the rest of your journey to come.

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

<<Prev | Next>>

Ao3

Phagophobia Pt. 2

Summary: There's more off the grid than bloodborn.

Words: 1,425

Warnings: Insomnia due to anxiety, emotional distress, brief reference to suicide

Sensible plan or no, Isaac laid awake in one of the two motel beds, back-to-back with Curry, for over an hour before accepting that the Sandman had stood him up. The hybrid foam of the mattress muffled his movements as he slipped out of the starched, scratchy sheets. Perched on the bed’s edge for a minute, he studied the room’s blandly functional décor. Nothing touched by a sense of the personal. Someone could die of a stroke, overdose, eat the end of a pistol and all traces of them would disappear. Be discarded and scrubbed away in time for the next anonymous occupant to take their place. There wasn’t even enough history or character for a ghost to tether to.

Just like the townhouse he’d escaped from. Had been allowed to escape from. Isaac’s stomach rolled over like a dead fish, bloated with nausea. Bending in half, he rested his clammy forehead on his knees until he was sure he wouldn’t either burst into tears or copious vomiting. Once the bout passed, he wobbled to his feet. Shuffling across the carpet in his socks generated enough of a charge to spark a nasty shock when he reached for the top drawer of the desk across from the beds. Isaac cursed under his breath, shook his tingling fingers out, and tried again. The drawer slid out silently. Inside lay what he wanted: an eight by eleven magpad. No question whether it worked—it still bore a drawing of a huge dick left by some artistic soul who’d passed that way before. Smiling to find a stamp of humanity on the place at last, Isaac picked the magpad up and flicked the erase tab on its side. The virile imagery vanished, leaving a clean rectangle of gray to work with. Isaac slid into the desk chair, took the steel stylus in hand, and began to exorcise the thoughts haunting him in the only way he knew how.

Name/Alias: Dimas, Renato F

Type: Bloodborn (unregistered)

Age: 100+ estimated

Pronouns: Not stated

Height: 5’ 8” estimated

Weight: 150 lbs estimated

Hair: Brown

Eyes:

Little spikes of magnetic dust radiated around the point of the suddenly still stylus. How could he articulate the awful fascination that struck him when he’d met Renato Faria Dimas’s eyes? The way it had diffused through his body like a neurotoxin, paralyzing him? Their ability to reflect human emotion despite the monstrous intent lurking in the mind behind them?

After a moment of hand-wringing, Isaac decided to stay practical. He only had so much space, and anyway, he wouldn’t give the bloodborn the satisfaction of turning him poetic.

Eyes: Blue-green

Maker: Unknown

Affiliates: Possible magic user(s), possible brood

Assets: Sufficient money to purchase current model of car, electronics, and maintain real estate. Possible access or knowledge of high-level sorcery. Access to drugs and medical supplies.

Threat Assessment: Enhanced speed + strength. Some formal training, style unknown. Claims 16 human deaths.

The stylus summoned another tiny ring of dust while Isaac’s ethics struggled to elbow past his rage and disgust. He grimaced as, with a final jab, it won.

Displays some capacity for reason. Violence not 1st option, however, no show of remorse when it’s used.

Then, because he’d earned it, and the emotional poison needed to be drained:

Notes: Smug asshole. I’d love to shoot the stupid, bland smile off your face. Why me? You knew I was Coven but you came after me anyway. Do I look that weak? Or do you think you’re that untouchable? I guess so if you let me get away and call for help. What the fuck is your glitch? Are you getting off on having power over life and death? You can’t seriously think you can take the entire Coven on. I take that back. You probably are that delusional. You ruined my life and I hate you. I hope I get to watch you being staked.

Head empty and quiet at last, Isaac shivered and slumped in the desk chair, suddenly exhausted. No way could he sleep in that room, though, with its affordable, impersonal furniture and bland walls. Not even with people he trusted nearby. Lurching up from the chair, he made a beeline for the door.

Desert heat wrapped around him like a security blanket despite the shade of the motel’s veranda. Everything from the unvarnished boards scratching his bare feet to the buzz of flies socializing around a puddle left by the ice machine reassured him this was real. He wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t trapped. Squinting against the glare of the sun off windshields and chrome in the parking lot wasn’t the only reason for the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but no one else had to know that.

Tiny tremors shivering through the veranda floorboards behind him sent a different message.

His head whipped around, pulse hard in his throat. Tina Yi showed no surprise that he’d sensed her footsteps or at his reaction. She only met his eyes for a couple of seconds before averting her own to the shimmering parking lot, running a hand over the bristles of her closely shorn hair, and clearing her throat.

“Can’t sleep?” She made it a question more as a courtesy, judging from the grim smile.

Embarrassment grabbed one corner of Isaac’s mouth, apology the other, both pulling it into a grimace. “Not in there.”

Yi nodded before tossing something at him. He made a grab, sent the object bouncing out of his palm, but managed to scoop it up on the fourth try. Not too pathetic, considering the kaleidoscopic tattoos of sacred geometry relating to speed and strength interlinked from her shoulders to her wrists. Shoulders and wrists that could bench about as much as Isaac weighed.

The car’s key fob rested in his hand when he looked down.

“With it plugged in and the panels out you should be able to run the AC without depleting the batteries,” the corporal told him. “Plus, you won’t roast. Me or Curry will check on you every hour or so.”

Relief helped wash down the lump of guilt in his throat. “Thanks, Yi.”

She shrugged. “It happens to all of us the first time we get in over our heads.” For a second, she glanced at her geometric tattoos. “You might not think so, but you did the best anyone could’ve, Soto. Survival’s like anything else. You don’t have to be the best, just good enough. And…here you are.”

This time. But Isaac made himself nod.

“Get some winks. There’s more out here off the grid than bloodborn.” She turned and went back inside the room.

Thus reassured, Isaac managed to make himself comfortable enough in the passenger’s seat of their company car, seat reclined and AC cranked up. He woke three times, the last being a need to use a bathroom rather than from amorphous nightmares. Pushing open the door, a sharp smell stabbed his nostrils. Alarmed and still functioning on dream logic, he looked at his lap. Dry and accident-free. Frowning, he took a good whiff, then coughed and pressed his sleeve to his nose, eyes watering. The smell had the bite of too much ammonia to be human. Like cat piss with oily notes of musk from a big mammal. Underneath festered just a hint of the poisoned sweetness of rotting meat. He took shallow breaths until he made it back inside the motel room.

Only after he’d concluded his own business did Isaac’s sleep-slowed brain follow the trail of breadcrumbs. He’d no sooner flushed and washed his hands—not stopping to wipe them dry—than he was standing at the foot of the beds.

“Yi. Curry.”

Neither bolted upright. They rolled to a sitting position, hands on the guns holstered against their ribs, in one efficient motion. Isaac didn’t move a muscle until both started to blink, instinct waning in their eyes as humanity returned.

“What’s up, Soto?” asked the sergeant, letting his hand fall from his weapon’s safety.

“I think you’d better smell for yourselves.”

One sniff from the edge of the veranda proved enough. Curry and Yi swapped tight-lipped looks.

“Pack up. We’re out of here. Let’s hope this is a fluke and four wheels is enough to outrun four legs.”