#the teams voice of reason lol

[mayasdeluca]

Station 19: 5x11 “The Little Things You Do Together”

[maschotch]

gideon sending emily after hotch as he storms off... someone’s gotta keep an eye on him and it sure aint gonna be gideon!!

[int9]

You can find anything in the city.

Ilfirine’s physical condition has been worsening with each passing year as the shadow magic decays more of her body, and the treatments she’s tried in Waterdeep haven’t proven successful. With her friends moving on and her treasure hunting income source gone dry, she decides to seek help elsewhere. She’d heard of someone in Baldur’s Gate who might know about her esoteric condition, and though it would be folly to put too much faith on a rumor... she was desperate.

She meets up with an old acquaintance, the quirky back alley doctor who restored her vision years prior and left her with an unfortunate scar. He talks of moving to Baldur’s Gate after being driven out of practice by Waterdeep’s strict guilds, and Ilfirine asks to join him. She’d be returning to a place she hadn’t lived in since she was a teen. 

Ilfirine struggles to find the person she’s looking for, wondering if the rumor had any truth to it at all. She brings her case to a number of wizards and healers in the city and is met with confusion, fear, pity, and disgust. One of the more sympathetic scholars informs her that whatever dark energy that shadow gate had imbued into her is part of her now, that there’s no getting rid of it without getting rid of her.

She scoffs at his attempts at consolation, unwilling to resign herself to an early death. In the coming weeks she continues her search for a healer, until one day, it is interrupted by a strange looking ship flying overhead and an abduction that would throw a wrench into her plans for the foreseeable future. 

[s4pphoiduser]

things i want in life:

aftg show adaptation so andrew's opening scene has wymack going goddamn it minyard! this is why we can't have nice things! and it transitions to an edit of andrew joseph fucking minyard with taylor swift's this is why we can't have nice things

[scribbleboxfox]

Some thoughts about the use of Unreal assets in the new season of Red vs. Blue.

This wound up being longer than I meant for it to be, so I’m putting it under a cut for courtesy bc I don’t wanna clog up anyone’s dash :’D

It’s just genuinely so funny to me that ppl are upset that they used Unreal assets for RvB:Zero. Like you’re going to call them lazy for using free stock assets in the middle of a pandemic? Okay. So I guess that means I’m lazy for licensing a photo from Adobe Stock for my company to use instead of filling out a request form for a professional camera, waiting for the next budget meeting to make my case about why I need it, learn how to use it, gather props, hire models, book a location for the shoot, gather costumes, learn how to use Lightroom, spend 4-6 hours shooting photos and directing the models, and edit the photos.

I’ve seen the argument that RvB has always stuck close to Halo as a reason for why the Unreal assets are bad. But this isn’t true. The closest RvB’s ever gotten to real Halo lore was with Project Freelancer*, and it barely scratched the surface. Yes they have references to it scattered throughout the show on occasion, but their whole arrangement with Microsoft makes it so that they can’t overlap too much.

Also, we’re really going to get mad about that, and not the really shitty snowmen in Season 12?

Those don’t look like Halo assets to me.

I just think it’s so silly. The argument that they should have only used assets from Halo is ridiculous because there’s plenty of times where they straight up haven’t done that. Like the knights in Season 16. Which were also free assets that they grabbed from somewhere.

3D models take time to make. You have to come up with an idea, make concept art for that idea, review the concept art and pick a direction to go in, sit down and make the 3D model (which can take hours and hours depending on what you’re making,) take down the poly count after creating a normal map so you don’t have a million faces that will slow down your render time, make sure the UV’s are all laid out properly so the model can be textured, pass it off to the people who texture the UV’s or do it yourself, test the textures to make sure the seams aren’t too visible on the model, do render tests to make sure the textures and normals and bump maps all look the way you want them to, and THEN you have to rig it yourself or pass it off to the coworker in charge of that sort of thing, apply constraints and controls, skinweight it, and apply physics (depending on the model.) And once you’re done with all of that, then you can give it to an animator to add it to a scene and animate it. And bear in mind that people have to do this while also keeping up with their meeting schedules, breaks, mealtimes, childcare, pet care, grocery runs, doctor’s appointments, etc.

I’m definitely missing a few steps/mis-naming a few things, but it’s been literally 3 years since I’ve created a full 3D asset from start to finish so...take it with a grain of salt.

The point is that creating one model is a lot of work. Top it off with the fact that we’re in a pandemic, and it gets even more strenuous. Things like ad-hoc design reviews may be harder to do because people might have their notifications for Slack/Teams/Discord/etc. off so they can get work done. And that can mean the difference between getting an asset finished in the middle of the day today, or waiting until early morning tomorrow when the rest of your team is online.

It’s much more cost-efficient to just buy/download pre-made assets. And frankly, in the middle of a pandemic, it’s a lot more ethical too.

I just wish that ppl would step back and ask themselves why they might be using Unreal assets for this season. Companies use stock assets all the time. Rooster Teeth is a company. I worry that people forget that sometimes.

Anyways, that’s just my two cents on it. As someone whose done the whole 3D animation process multiple times (albeit mostly for college,) it’s frustrating that people are making arguments against the use of stock assets without having an understanding of the amount of work that goes into making them yourself.

---

*The use of AI’s and the Huragok in Project Freelancer were two very direct references to canon Halo lore.

** Also worth noting that they DO use canon Halo guns in the first episode. I can’t speak for the other episodes because I haven’t seen them yet as of today (11/9/20) but I personally doubt they’re getting rid of them entirely.

Edit://

I mixed up Unity with Unreal. They’re Unreal Marketplace assets. Thanks @banditsheath​ for pointing that out.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

btw i found it very charming that jeff o’ween is That into bowling and is earnestly glad to share that his recent personal best is a 78

[coolspacequips]

U ever think of Kuron's escape and then fucking Die? Bc I sure do :')

[ghostandsoap]

Call Signs

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. John “Soap” MacTavish)

Tags: Angst. Gunshot wound. Blood loss. Shock. Hypothermia. Major injury. Mentions of death. 

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So I’m not totally sure how accurate some of this is. Also, I’m not sure if parts of this are canon? Read with caution LOL. 

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

Military call signs. Clever, crafty, and specific to the person they’re associated with. 

There was one main, golden rule when it came to call signs: don’t complain about your own call sign, or else they’ll give you something worse.

Yours wasn’t exactly one that you were thrilled with in the beginning. It wasn’t as badass as you would’ve liked. If you had been given the opportunity to choose, you would’ve chosen something a little more…tough. But once the name stuck, you were stuck with it. You didn’t dare let even a single word of distaste fall from your mouth. If anybody caught wind of you complaining about it, they’d give you something to really complain about.

Over the years, you had heard some good ones — some more creative than others. Depending on the person, sometimes it was easy to tell the reason behind their given name — other times, not so much. You had some friends that you still didn’t know the reason why they were given their call sign.

For example, Soap was just Soap.  

In the time that you had known him, you had begged Soap to tell you where his call sign came from. You had even rattled and poked at Captain Price a bit to get him to give it up. But both of them always gave you the same answer.  

It’s classified. 

With that answer, you refused to tell anyone the reason behind your own call sign. If they weren’t going to tell you about theirs, then you weren’t telling them about yours. It was only fair, you weren’t telling anybody. Nobody knew. 

Well…nobody except–

“Gecko. This is Ghost. How copy?” The syrupy-thick voice seeped through your ear that was still ringing from gunfire. 

You were cold – miserably cold. You were chilled all the way to the bone to the point where your skin was numb to the touch. The sound of rain registered with you. The sky was pouring buckets, which explained why you were so freezing. There was no telling how long you had been passed out and exposed to the elements. Not a single part of you was dry, despite all your layers underneath and over. 

There was pain somewhere. Your groggy state made it difficult to figure out exactly where you were hurt. To be honest, it hurt just about everywhere. A searing sensation settled in your side, but it was migrating all over. Based on the large red spot leaking through that area, you had a really good idea then of what it was.

“Gecko, do you copy?” Another voice spoke that you knew to belong to Soap.

His voice sounded a million miles away, even though it was literally right in your ear. When your eyes opened, you were eye-level with the ground. You were met with a harsh pavement underneath you, muscles trembling with exhaustion and low temperatures. It took a few seconds for your vision to clear, and it took even more effort for you to raise yourself up even to make it onto your elbows. 

When you were able to take a glance around, it wasn’t any less unsettling. The slick streets of Las Almas weren’t very pleasant in the dead of night. Even worse, you didn’t know where Soap and Ghost were. 

It all came flooding back to you. Graves turned on the team. He tried to kill all of you. You, Ghost, and Soap managed to split up and narrowly escape. It was chaos, the kind that shaved about 15 years off of your life.

“C’mon. Where are you, Gecko?” Ghost asked in an aggravated, yet worried way. 

His question was more out loud and to himself more than anything, but it occurred to you that it probably would be nice for him to hear you.

“I’m here,” You groaned, throat dry and scratchy. “Just barely.”

“Oh shit. You’re alive!” Soap replied, and you swear you could feel Ghost relax from wherever he was. 

“What’s your status?” Ghost demanded.

You were not telling Ghost that you were hurt if you could help it. It was certainly against protocol, but you didn’t need Ghost getting all worked up when the three of you needed to find one another and get the hell out of there. You knew how he could get whenever you were hurt.

“Where are you both?” You rolled onto your knees, ungracefully managing to get on your feet.

You felt any and all blood rush from your face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea taking over your stomach. The bleeding in your side was definitely a problem. You stripped your outer jacket off, wrapping it around your waist and tying it as tight as you could possibly stand it. It wasn’t like the jacket was useful any other way, considering it was soaked.

“No fuckin’ idea. I’m in and out of these shops,” Soap grumbled. “I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Me too,” You managed to laugh, but it came out as more of a struggled exhale. “Ghost, what’s your location?” 

“The church. Soap’s finding his way here,” Ghost said. “What’s your status, Gecko?”

You knew he’d ask again. He always knew when you had dodged a question.

“Just a little rattled,” You lied. “Where’s the church?”

“It’s in the square. Navigate through the shops, they’ll lead you there,” Soap said. “Stay sharp. Shadows are everywhere.”

Survival mode has kicked in for you. You had one objective.

Find Ghost. Don’t get killed. 

“Will do. Ghost, I’m coming to you.” You announced, beginning to take the first few steps to get yourself moving. 

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered – and he gave an answer that you knew had Soap raising a brow.

“Please be safe.” 

A shudder vibrated down your back, and it wasn’t from the bitter cold rain. 

Being involved with Ghost was…complicated. It was a forbidden love in a lot of ways. There was a certain disapproval when it came to 2 members dating within the force. It caused drama sometimes, tension other times. Not to mention, it would be painfully awkward for everybody else if the two of you were to break up. 

But the connection was undeniable. It astounded you just how in touch you felt with him. He did everything he could to protect you, to make you feel safe in an otherwise dangerous world. He spent every spare moment with you. He spilled all of his most pressing thoughts to you, knowing his words of vulnerability were safe with you. Talking to him was easy, spending time with him was easier.

Loving him was easiest of all.

Despite your likeness toward each other, it was a mutual understanding that no one was to know. Ghost didn’t fancy all the teasing, and you wanted at least one part of your life to be private. In front of others, you were Gecko and Ghost. When alone, you were Simon and [Y/N]. 

In a lot of ways, the secretive aspect of it was fun. You liked sneaking around with Ghost in the late hours of the night, tip-toeing around sleeping comrades in an attempt at a moment to yourselves. The nonchalant glances…the discreet, yet lingering touches…the whispers of words of affection. It was all something you couldn’t help but get a kick out of. Anybody in their right mind would find it even a little bit entertaining.

But in all honesty, suspicions from the rest were becoming more and more. 

Price had known immediately. Not even three days after you and Simon decided to give it a try, he could sense that something was different. He couldn’t really explain it. He could just see it in Ghost’s behavior that he was preoccupied with something…someone else. Something that had been sprouting for a long time was now beginning to blossom in front of the captain’s very eyes. Price was a respectful man. He wasn’t one to get in the way of something that wasn’t his business. He kept an eye on the situation here and there, more for a status update than anything. 

It took Gaz about four months. He suspected nothing in the beginning. He managed to miss all the signs at first. Who could blame him? He didn’t know he was supposed to even be looking for them. He didn’t catch any real changes in behavior or attitude. In all honesty, if he hadn’t witnessed it with his very eyes – he might’ve never known. It had been a quick gesture. So quick that Gaz might’ve been able to convince himself that he was mistaken if it hadn’t been so blatantly clear.

Gaz had passed by a bit quicker than he normally would, catching a quick glimpse inside the room he hadn’t planned on entering. What he saw was a kiss being planted on the cheek of Ghost’s mask, and a light laugh from the man as you did so. Gaz had stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen. He was tempted to turn around and question you, but he knew better. Gaz figured if he hadn’t been told outright, then it probably wasn’t for him to know. He kept it in the back of his mind, however, and after that, he began noticing everything.

And as for Soap, the poor lad had yet to connect the dots. He had heard some chatter here and there about Gecko and Ghost “getting it on.” Soap didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen it or heard it for himself, so in his mind, the rumors were null. That didn’t mean that Soap didn’t like the idea of his lieutenant and one of his closest friends seeing each other. He entertained the thought here and there. He supposed that Gecko and Ghost had a nice ring to it, and it was something that he liked to snicker about. Overall, Soap didn’t think about it too much. There was no way that “LT” and the infamous Gecko were together. Almost a year into it, and John MacTavish was oblivious.

It hadn’t taken you long to develop feelings for Ghost. Suddenly, you were worried about where he was and him getting hurt more often than not. This was one hell of a career to be in when you were an anxious worrier. This job had changed for you. Before, there was no fear of living or dying. It was just you. It was all you. But when there was someone else in the cards?

That changed things. That really changed things.

That seemed to be the only fight that you and Ghost ever had. It was always the same one. One of you fell ill or became injured, it was due to defying an order, the other was scared to death that something worse could’ve happened, and most of all – you both wished that the other would be more careful. 

“Careful” was a funny word in this business. No matter how careful you were, that didn’t automatically make you safe. 

Roaming the streets of Las Almas while lethargic, unarmed, and bleeding was a definite reminder of that. You followed Soap’s advice, weaving in and out of the stores and getting whatever supplies you could get your hands on. A homemade weapon was better than no weapon, in your mind. Avoiding any and all Shadows was your main goal. There was no chance of you getting out of that alive, if this bullet lodged in your side didn’t kill you first. You hoped that Soap had made it to the church by now. It made you feel better to know that they were together.

The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. You figured it was fine. It wasn’t like you could get any more wet than you already were. It at least made enough noise to conceal your footsteps, which you didn’t have much control over due to the splitting pain in your core. 

You just had to get to the church. Get to the church, get out of here, and get patched up. You’d be fine. You’d survived worse. You weren’t going to-

There was a flash of white over your vision. While brief, it was enough to startle you to a complete halt. You staggered out of the coffee shop, leaning against the back door for support. This was bad. This was really bad. 

“Ghost…” You squeaked.

Breathing suddenly became overly difficult. Every gulp of air was a struggle to get the next one. There was a significant wobble in your knees as you stumbled into the nearest alley for cover, knowing your legs were close to giving out. It was notably colder in the space between the two buildings, but the feeling of your soul being slowly sucked back into the universe made that seem minor. 

“Talk to me. Where are you?” Ghost asked.

That was when you collapsed, landing on the wet ground with a thud. A whimper escaped from your throat at the impact. Clutching your wounded side was all you knew to do. Your jacket used as a makeshift way of putting pressure on it was proving ineffective. 

“The alleyway,” You strained.  “Left of the coffee shop.”

Ghost and Soap both heard the trouble in your voice. Ghost had only heard that tone once before — and it was when something was really, really wrong. 

“What’s your status now?” Soap questioned.

Lying was no good to you now. They were going to know one way or the other.

“I’m down,” You swallowed. “Must’ve been hit at some point when we got away.” 

There was no way you were making it to the church. You were as good as gone as long as there was still a bullet in your torso. Bleeding out in the streets of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t how you had envisioned going out. That was a conversation you had held with Soap more than once. Everybody had their preferred way of dying. You had always hoped that you’d meet your demise in a more memorable way. Maybe in a missile explosion or getting ejected from a helicopter in a hot pursuit.

Dying alone was the part and the possibility that always scared you the most.

This wasn’t what you had in mind. Bleeding to death by yourself in an alleyway in the middle of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t what you had wished for. You knew the day would come…and the day had finally come.

But not if Ghost could help it.

“I’m coming to get you, Gecko. Don’t move,” Ghost remarked sternly, and you could hear that he was on the move. “Soap, we’ll meet you at the church.”

“Copy.” Soap confirmed.

“N-no,” You coughed. “Ghost, don’t leave your location if you’re secure.” 

“None of us are secure. I’m not leaving you,” Ghost said sternly. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.” 

Arguing with Ghost was usually a lost cause. When Ghost was set on something, he was surely going to stick with it. It was a waiting game now, and it was one of the most helpless feelings to know that you were relying on somebody else to save your ass. You knew that Ghost would be there in half the time that it probably should’ve taken him, but when you’re dying, the minutes feel like eternity. 

This wasn’t the first time that you had been in situations like this. Everybody had their fair shares of “I almost died” stories. But this was different for you. This was the closest you had ever been to not living to tell this story. 

Panicking was most definitely not the way to handle this situation. Very rarely was panicking ever helpful in a dire, critical scenario like this. It was the most eerie feeling – literally feeling yourself dying. The blood loss was becoming less, but only because you were running out of blood to lose. Your heart was beating slower and slower by the second. Breathing was now a voluntary action. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the situation set in, your anxiety crept over you and infiltrated any room for collectedness that you had left. 

“G-Ghost.” You sighed, a layer of tears pricking at the base of your lashes.

Ghost heard the near sob in your words, putting an even faster pep in his step. 

“Almost there, Gecko. What’s wrong?” 

“I’m…I’m scared.” You admitted, hot tears mixing with the fresh rain water on your cheeks.

Ghost’s heart shattered into a million pieces, catapulting into every vessel near it like the strongest of shrapnel. He couldn’t stand the thought of you alone and scared. 

“I know. Just keep talking to me and Soap,” He breathed, trying to stay calm for you. “I’m coming, G.”

‘G’ was a nickname inside of a nickname. Ghost only used it sparingly, and it was usually when he was trying to be supportive or sympathetic without giving your secret romantic endeavor away.  

It felt silly to say. Generally speaking, you didn’t really have the right to be afraid. It was the pure passion for your job and your own willingness that put you in dangerous situations. It was your own free will, your own decision that you made the same choice on every single time. It was one thing to be scared when you ended up here accidentally. It was another when it was a consequence of your choices and actions. Courage and strength were supposed to be your strong suits. They were the characteristics that you were supposed to fall back on every time.

Yet here you were. Scared to death of dying – something that you had thought about and been preparing for since you started this gig.

“Simon, I-I…I don’t want to d-”

“It’s ‘cause I clean house quickly.” Soap’s voice echoed in one ear and out the other, suddenly and abruptly.

What? 

Even in a near unconscious-like state, you were still well aware of how that needed some clarification.

“S-say again?” You stuttered, the corners of your vision beginning to go foggy. 

“Soap. ‘Cause I clean house and buildings with speed ‘n accuracy,” Soap repeated. “That’s why they call me Soap.”

Soap!

It made so much sense. You were almost embarrassed that you didn’t think of that yourself. You knew it was Soap’s way of distracting you – keeping your mind off of dying. 

“That’s a good one,” You nearly wheezed. “Thought it was because you were a bath man.” 

“Thanks for that image. Won’t be able to unsee that one,” Ghost piped up. “Almost there, Gecko. Hang on for me, yeah?” 

Ghost’s voice was strained as if he were running. Using every ounce of speed and stamina that he had to get you as fast as possible. He couldn’t lose you like this.

He refused to lose you like this. 

“It’s because I’m quick on my feet, and because I can scale a building faster than anybody.” You croaked.

“Ah. That’s why they call you Gecko?” Soap chuckled, and you could hear the amusement in his words.

“Came up with that one myself.” Ghost smirked.

“Some people might even say geckos are kind of cute.” You joked, but didn’t quite have the energy to laugh.

“I’d agree with that,” Ghost countered, and you could sense Soap’s internal confusion from forever away. “I have a visual on Gecko. Almost at the church, Soap?” 

“Affirmative, Lt. Meet you there.” 

Sure enough, Ghost appeared from seemingly nowhere, like a sent guardian angel. Your vision had tunneled, so you couldn’t see much out of your peripherals. He had never seen you so weak and close to going out on him. His eyes behind the mask were wide and dark, focused on getting you out alive.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” You shivered.

“Glad you’re not a goner,” He returned, removing the glove from his right hand and pressing his fingers against your cheek. “Shit. You’re freezing.”

“How bad do I look?” You slurred, and you fought to keep your eyeballs from rolling back into your head. 

“Probably not as bad as you feel. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Ghost said, working quickly to get himself arranged to carry you.

“Did you see any Shadows on the way?” You gulped, eyelids beginning to flutter. 

“They’re everywhere. We need to get going,” Ghost scooped you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing and weren’t dripping wet through multiple layers. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

The journey from the ground to up into Ghost’s arms felt like an airplane takeoff. You were close to slipping out of consciousness.

“We’ll get to Soap and get a vehicle out of here,” Ghost explained, readjusting his arm underneath your knees. “You’re going to be fine, Gecko.”

“G-Guess I wasn’t quick enough this time, huh?” You gave the faintest grin, and Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at your stupid joke.

“Shut up.” 

There was relief in knowing that you were with Ghost. Your chances of dying hadn’t changed, but if you were going to die, this was a better way of going out. 

The fog in your vision became thicker and thicker until you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The darkness surrounded you, sucking you deeper and deeper into nothingness.

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡                                     

The next time your eyes opened, you weren’t met with the dim streets of Las Almas. There was no smell of rain or taste of blood and sweat. The smell this time was sterile air and cheap (but clean) bedsheets. You couldn’t taste anything due to the worst case of cottonmouth that you had ever experienced. The beeping music of an EKG reader and distant chatter was the real giveaway. 

The muscles in your legs were stiff, mainly because you hadn’t moved them in so long. A grunt was all you could manage as you shifted, a new type of discomfort erupting where you had been shot. It was all wrapped up now (professionally and medically wrapped), clean and taken care of. There was an IV in each arm, one administering fluids and the other what you could only imagine to be some kind of pain medication. The white walls and tan floors were weirdly comforting…a sign to let you know that you were safe for now. 

The best sights of all were the ones seated to the left of your bed.

Ghost’s arms were crossed, ankles crossed over each other, and his head lowered and his breathing steady. His outer skull mask was nowhere to be seen, but his balaclava was clinging to his face as always. 

Soap was also snoozing, but less peacefully and quietly. His head was tilted back as far as it possibly could go, his arms draped at his sides, legs stretched all the way out, and snoring so loud that you were surprised you hadn’t already heard it.

You were gentle as you called to Ghost, considering he didn’t always react calmly when being woken up.

“Hey…” You rasped with a dry throat. “Ghost.”

His eyes snapped open, flickering up to you instantly. A monumental wave of relief visibly crashed over him, filling his veins and relaxing his heart.

“You’re awake,” He leaned closer, taking your hand into his. “You’re okay.”

“What…how long has it been?” You asked, bits of your memory coming back to you.

“A few days…four I think, ” He answered with a nod. “How do you feel?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure. Physically you felt terrible, but better than when you were dying of shock, cold, and blood loss. Mentally you felt fuzzy and groggy from being out so long. Emotionally…well, only time would tell.

“Like shit.” You admitted.

“Not surprised.” He grinned under his face covering. 

There were a few beats of silence. You took a few glances around, getting familiar with your new setting. Ghost, though, never took his eyes off of you. They were a light shade of red, and even his balaclava couldn’t hide the dark circles under them.

“Have you slept at all?” You asked, knowing good and well he hadn’t left your side.

“A little bit here and there,” He said, motioning his free hand towards Soap. “This is the most sleep Soap’s gotten this whole time. He’s been out for about 30 minutes.”

Soap was indeed out like a light. You couldn’t imagine how tired the two of them were. There was another stretch of silence. This one lasted longer and was much more tense. This wasn’t an easy encounter. How were you supposed to act when you had barely scraped by with your life?

“Simon?” 

“Yeah, love?”

“How close was it?”

Simon stared for a moment. No formation of an answer to your question occurred for a second or two. He didn’t like that question. He had avoided thinking about it until now. Ghost knew that he’d have to do his own mentality check in with himself in a few days. He had almost lost the most important person in his life…he’d need to deal with that. 

“Too close.” 

Another silence. Another silent thank you that you were here to see another day.

“You were…hypothermic, in shock. You lost a lot of blood before and during surgery,” He said. “Doc said if it had been any later getting you help-”

“Hey,” A groggy voice piped in, unaware that he was interrupting. “Gecko’s up.”

Soap’s eyes were just as bloodshot as Ghost’s, but Soap’s personality was wide awake.

“Happy to see you again, Sergeant. My apologies for being absent from our reunion at the church.” You grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Left us to do double the work,” Soap chuckled. “Feels weird callin’ you Gecko now that I know where it comes from.”

“Soap doesn’t have the same ring to it, I have to say.” You fired back. 

“Agh, I’m crushed. Right in my pride!” He shrieked. 

The three of you shared a soft laugh. Nothing like Soap’s comedic relief to break the tension. You felt okay. This was just one of those things. One of the things that you signed up for with this job. It didn’t make it any less unnerving, but now you felt like you could really move on from this. 

And you were thankful that you had lived to tell the story. 

There was a sudden itch in your throat. An annoying tickle that reminded you that you hadn’t had a physical sip of water in four days. 

“Do you think that I could get some water?” You wondered aloud, nearly choking on your own words from the parched feeling.

Ghost hadn’t left your side when you were knocked out, and he surely wasn’t leaving now that you were awake.

“Johnny, could you-”

“Yep! On it.” He scurried out and down the hall without another word. 

That left you and Ghost. The man that saved your life by risking his own to come back for you. You didn’t even want to think about what you would’ve done if Ghost had gotten killed at your expense. At least you would’ve died together, but that hardly sounded right or fair. Ghost deserved so much more. 

“You scared me.” Ghost confessed, not even hiding the worry in his voice. 

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, doll. Just…” He sighed. “Just really thought that I had lost you this time.” 

There wasn’t anything you could say to make him feel better. You knew that because you had been in his shoes. His head wasn’t in the best place. You knew that even better. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that you loved him more than anybody else ever could.

“Thanks for coming back for me.” You whispered, a sudden set of tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ghost raised his balaclava. The material stopped just under his nose, his bare lips coming to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He made a solemn swear to himself in that moment that he’d never take you for granted again. He’d never get too comfortable with having you around and at his disposal.

Because fate was far too cruel for that.

“Always.” 

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

FUCK!!!! I'VE BEEN THINKING THIS BUT I NEVER FOUND ANYONE ELSE WITH THE HEADCANON FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please read my tags i have the bad habit of ranting there instead of here

Give us the jessie bpd rant

JESSIE TEAMROCKET HAS BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER: A POST

[Paraphrased behaviours. I’m not a psychologist I just read the DSM-5 for fun. This is not a diagnostic tool, but if you identify with this post maybe look into some actual ones and learn some fun stuff about yourself.]

Identity problems, an unstable sense of self.

Jessie describes herself as adaptable, someone who can fit in anywhere, and this is indeed one of her strengths! She doesn’t let a lack of experience or qualifications discourage her because she believes that she can shift and change to suit her environment, and she’s right!

It’s also a major weakness of hers, though. Jessie in her element (when she’s her true self) is loud, confident, assertive, and bold. However, whenever she 'imprints’ on someone she throws her true personality aside entirely--buries it under the facade of someone who is malleable, softspoken, easy to be around, does whatever they can to make the person they love choose them. This trait of hers, and how it’s a fault, is a MAJOR plot point in XY063.

there’s a scene early on in this episode where she’s partially paralyzed from a stun spore, and Dr. White, the man who saved her from drowning, feeds her a berry to fix it. She poses triumphantly with her arms in the air and shouts ‘THAT DID THE TRICK!’ then realizes she’s being too loud around an attractive man and immediately throws her hands over her mouth, trying to stop more words from coming. It’s an incredibly effective way of showing how contradictory Jessie is when she imprints on someone. The Jessie we know would never even think of second guessing how much room she takes up in the world. 

In this episode, Jessie has feelings for Dr. White, and she completely buries her personality to make herself a silent, sweet, softspoken housewife in the hopes that he’ll fall in love with her. Dr. White instead falls for his childhood friend, a loud, rude, brash girl who likes to fight, calls him a wimp and tells him to fuck off when he presses her buttons.

The tragedy of this episode is that Jessie is forced to confront this about herself--this way she shifts and changes to keep people near may very likely have caused her to lose something here. She’s forced to reckon with the idea that if she had just been herself, he might have loved her back. Not in spite of her personality, but because of it. 

In Borderlines, this trait is often a survival mechanism, driven entirely BY:

A debilitating fear of potential abandonment, perceived or based in past trauma.

Jessie’s childhood trauma, though not often discussed, hinges entirely on her abandonment issues. She was given up to foster care around kindergarten age, which was long enough to learn to love her mother before never getting to see her again. Jessie’s implied to have been a deeply lonely child who never had a family to call her own, and who didn’t fit in with any other girls her age because she was too poor to afford even basic food and couldn’t keep up.

When Jessie opens up about her love life, she doesn’t go into specifics, only mentioning that it’s been full of nothing but heartbreak thus far. She’s an unreliable narrator, always, but when she’s inviting pity on herself it’s almost always manipulation to gain something, and these moments don’t seem to have that element. When she talks about her love life in EP100, it’s very carefully accented with this image:

In her adolescence, Jessie tried to center herself around her passions, pursuing them whenever she was handed the opportunity. Frequently, though, she’d find herself meeting people and growing attached to them, and would eventually reach a crossroads where she forced herself to choose between the people she cared about and the goals she chased relentlessly.

The biggest example of this is DP073, where she chooses to stay and train to be an idol, rather than to travel with the boy she’s in love with.

She ends up not passing her audition, losing both him and her shot at her career. This starts Jessie’s descent into compulsively abandoning/parting ways with everyone in her life in an attempt to control how people exit her story. The only way to prevent yourself from being abandoned with 100% certainty is, of course, to leave them before they can leave you.

This kinda blends into the next point, which is:

Instability in personal relationships.

As previously mentioned, Jessie has a tendency to leave people behind & sever ties. It’s only speculation on my part, but it would make sense that she does this because she has been left behind in so many regards and by so many people she loved, it’s the only way she feels she can take control of this phenomenon.

People who watched a lot of OS back in the day, but don’t necessarily keep up with the series much now, will famously circulate Jessie’s speech to the Ghost of Maiden Rock in EP020. The maiden was a woman who died waiting for her lover who was out at sea, and since her death her spirit’s remained on the cliffside in the hopes that he would come home. Jessie shoots the ghost of the maiden with a fucking bazooka half her height and says this:

This is lauded by 90s kids everywhere as a #GirlPower speech about how Jessie don’t need no man (which is true), but it’s actually, like... kinda tragic? She hates the ghost of the maiden because she sees herself in it, and she takes the opportunity to proclaim that what she sees of herself makes her sick to look at. This speech she gives is so aggressively out of nowhere and so long and rambling that you have no choice but to read it as deeply personal. She just short of confirms that you can’t leave Jessie because Jessie leaves FIRST.

And you GET to see this in action. Jessie struggles so hard with loyalty. In ALL her relationships! Literally all of them. Every time something shakes up her foundation with a person in her life, she hardlocks herself into run run RUN mode because there’s a slight chance they might leave her and she CANNOT have that.

It was shown in the most explicit detail in the side story about what she was like in training, where Jessie’s inability to stay beside various partners in Team Rocket is literally the trait that defined her to everyone in the organization.

There’s even a beautifully symbolic shot in the beginning of that episode where she abandons her 12th partner, and kneels down while the world literally collapses behind her.

In DP073, when Jessie sees her Dustox has fallen in love with another Dustox, she demands that Dustox leave despite the pokemon hesitating. She doesn’t let Dustox control that scenario--Jessie crushes her pokeball and demands she migrate with her mate.

When Meowth dips on her and James to work food service because he finds it more rewarding, Jessie doesn’t try to fight it, instead focuses her energy on also leaving her teammates in her dust because at least she can get out of there and move on before James abandons her.

When she realizes White loves another girl, she doesn’t bother to even say goodbye to him, she just leaves wordlessly with nothing in her wake but a bouquet of daisies, and when she remembers that oh right, her wobbuffet is also in love with White’s own--

She tries to leave him, too.

You can’t fire Jessie. Jessie quits.

This is the in-depth, analytical part of me Diagnosing Her. Everything else she exhibits is far more General and really doesn’t need a trained eye:

Instability in one’s goals, aspirations, or career: Jessie has a steady job in Team Rocket, but is constantly picking up side-hustles and being distracted by passions like acting, performing, contests, and the like. She’s left Team Rocket entirely before to pursue Contests, only to return almost immediately. (DP117)

Difficulty controlling the range/intensity of one’s emotional responses: Long past the Slapstick Days of the original series, Jessie’s still incredibly prone to outbursts. It’s not just anger--she reacts equally strongly when she’s sad, happy, lovestruck, anything. I have used this exact phrasing before, but Jessie doesn’t feel her emotions, she becomes them.

Poor impulse control: Kind goes hand-in-hand with the above.

Engaging in dangerous/risky/self-harming activities with no concern to personal limitations: This applies to all of Team Rocket, but Jessie seems to take it a step further in thinking she’s invincible. She’ll throw herself headfirst into anything, rarely backs down from a fight, and often has trouble taking rest days even when she needs them because she lacks self-preservation.

Hair-trigger temper: lol yeah.

Unstable emotions/mood swings: lol YEAH, Jessie will be crying one minute, screaming the next, immediately fine. She can cycle the whole spectrum of human emotion before you can finish a sentence.

Idealization & Imprinting: Jessie frequently rushes into relationships based entirely on the idea of a person, not grounded in reality. She becomes attached to people incredibly easy at times, willing to throw her entire life thus far away to run away with someone she’s just met.

Living entirely in the moment, unable to comprehend the past/future: Jessie prefers to go with the flow and, as previously mentioned, adapt if things don’t turn out in her favour. If something doesn’t work out for her, she immediately will turn in the other direction and start toward whatever’s there.

This post is so long and I could probably make it longer but I’m gonna stop here. My credentials are I’m an Incredibly Powerful Jessie Kinnie who has BPD herself as well as an autistic who’s special interest is the pokemon anime and team rocket specifically fdhdfghg.

IN CONCLUSION,

[weedle-testaburger]

That Apu debate summed up

Indian-Americans: Apu is an unpleasant stereotype who has made a lot of people think of us in an ugly stereotypical light, and the fact he was invented by white writers to be an exaggerated stereotype with virtually no input from us ever is insulting

Simpsons: BUT WE MAKE FUN OF EVERYONE WAAAAH

General audiences: You fucked up that response guys

Simpsons: Umm ok let's write him out!

General audiences: DAMN SJW'S WAAAAH

[l0v3tast3]

141 men finding out military!reader is only 19 after they break down from being overwhelmed and overworked??

✎ this idea bounces around my head a lot actually and now i have a reason to write it down finally :) i wasn't sure if you wanted them altogether or separately so i did it separately because it's easier lol. i kept it platonic and sfw!

✎ tags : gender neutral!reader, reader has a panic attack, descriptions of violence/injury/death, swearing, hurt to comfort, all platonic relationships, only half proofread

you're barging into the safehouse where he had said to rendezvous, gasping for air that your closed throat won't let through. the rifle held in your dominant hand is dropped as soon as the door is shut behind you, and you're clawing at the straps of your helmet and chest armor to get them off because it's too tight and it's too much and you can't breathe.

this wasn't your first mission. it wasn't even the bloodiest one you'd been on thus far. you could handle the gore and the death and the pure misery of the victims of these situations, because at the end of the day, you were helping them, right?

unless you were too late.

the family had been huddled in a corner, two children laying underneath their parents. there had still been two other rooms to check in the house, but you were running out on shaky legs.

he's in front of you now, looking down at you and asking if you're injured. you're sitting on the floor, heaving for breath and tears pouring from your glassy eyes.

"it's not- it's not fucking fair!" you cried out finally, trying desperately to wipe your face dry on your sleeves, but it only worked to redden your skin further. "why are these people doing this? how could someone be so cruel?"

he sighed softly, not knowing how to respond. the team didn't show emotions like this, they didn't deal with them, not like this. but they had all been here, where you are now. they had all asked why, again and again and again until the word lost all meaning.

"i mean, are we even really helping? god, these people are all already dead! why are we here? why- jesus fucking christ, why am i here?" you rambled; you weren't talking to him anymore. your voice was fizzling out, getting quiet enough that he had to lean closer to hear your unsteady words.

"i can't help these people," you sobbed. "i'm just a kid, i'm only nineteen, i can't- i don't know what i'm supposed to do! they said i was special! they told me- said i was so much better and smarter than everyone else, what a fucking joke!"

☆ simon "ghost" riley

he knew you were young, but fuck, if that didn't break his heart, there was nothing left that would. simon didn't talk to you more than any of the others on the team, but you were special, like a little sibling to the team, to him. always having enough energy and kindness to make up for the rest of them.

seeing you like this was a first, even for him, the man who had seen the worst of the worst. it wasn't like he was immune to emotions, but he had spent so long pressing them all down until he couldn't feel them that this was new to him again. all he could do was offer a hand on your knee that he hoped resembled something like comfort.

"we're almost done here. the heli will come for us soon," he said quietly. "you did good, like always."

he watched and waited with you while your sobs whittled away to sniffles, never moving his hand from your knee, where you had grabbed onto it with one of your own. most people knew not to touch him, that they'd end up with one less hand if they did, but you were an exception.

☆ john "soap" mactavish

at first, he doesn't do anything, just kneels in front of you and stares in shock. you're nineteen? you had always danced around the question that the team would tease you with, asking if you still had to work on your homework, but it was always a joke. now it wasn't.

instead of dwelling, john shifts and sits in front of you, almost hovering over you awkwardly as he tried to figure out what to do. sure, he was one of the more open people on the team, but when you're standing next to ghost, just smiling makes you look emotionally vulnerable.

he takes your hands away from your face and into his, placing them on your lap before gently holding your shoulders. "look, we're almost done here, alright? we'll be far away before you know it." that didn't help much, so he paused again.

the almost-distraught look on his face forced a giggle out of you. his worry turned to confusion, why are you laughing now? you probably shouldn't have been, but the big, scottish military-man fretting over you was kind of funny.

"alrigh', lass, at least something cheered ya up," he grumbled, but turned serious again right after. "higher-ups were right, ya know. you are smarter than the rest of 'em. maybe even smarter than us, yeah?" he said with a smile.

☆ kyle "gaz" garrick

it wasn't that long ago that kyle was where you are now, fresh out of school and eager to prove himself in the military. except it had taken him several years longer than you to reach where you both were now; he had had plenty of time to come to terms with the horrors he saw.

now he realized that you hadn't, because you were smart and you were better than most other people, so they had thrown you in, like a minnow in a piranha pond. by all means, you were doing wonderfully for your circumstances, but you could only keep going for so long.

he sat down beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and wrapped an arm around you to bring your head down to rest on him. he sat with you quietly, giving you the time you needed to just get it all out.

eventually, once you're more calm, he breaks the silence with bad jokes that he definitely stole from simon.

"why do twitter users make bad soldiers?" you lifted your head to stare at him incredulously before he continued, "because, they're too quick to retweet."

☆ john price

the captain knew how young you were. he never told you, but he hadn't wanted you on the team at first; the second he was handed your file and saw your birthdate, he started protesting. but it wasn't up to him this time. he couldn't spare you from this, and he knew that it would always weigh on him. he knew he would always remember this, you, crumbling in on yourself in a heap on the floor.

john came down on one knee in front of you and started telling you a story about when he had started, how one of his first missions had gone so terribly wrong. you honestly thought he was just going to tell you to "suck it up" until he told you about one family he had saved during that mission, one that was still alive today. they still sent him letters, even.

"all you need is one good save, kid. and you've got dozens already," he murmured. he wouldn't say it outright, but you really were one of his best.

you remembered the child clinging to your back as you ran out of a collapsing building, the woman who's leg you had managed to get unstuck from fallen debris, the man you had stopped from being executed just in time.

price smiled once he saw he had gotten through to you and helped, at least a little, and roughly patted your shoulder. "evac will be here soon, chin up now."

[prettyboykatsuki]

please kiss me when you leave | k. bakugou

★ tags ; gn!reader, fluff, reader is a programmer (lol), making up, wee bit of angst, established relationship, arguing, reader is very chill and relaxed

★ wc ; 2.7k (idk either)

★ synopsis ; in the rare moments you and your boyfriend get in a spat, he thinks to himself how terrible it'd be to lose you.

★ a/n ; sorry about projecting on reader. it will happen again.

Katsuki fucked up.

Majorly. Inconceivably. Astronomically.

For the first time in his three year relationship, he's made a terrible mistake and the consequences are beginning to weigh on his conscious.

First things first, Katsuki is not a boyfriend who makes a lot of mistakes. Contrary to popular belief, his anger issues actually don't make dating difficult because his egoism and pride step-in first. If he's going to do anything, he's going to be the best at it. And anything getting in the way of that can respectfully, fuck off.

Despite some of the rockiness in the getting together stage of your relationship, when he finally made it official, things were as smooth as they could be. Before then was awful of course. Because vulnerability and love aren't things you can win at no matter how hard you try. Getting to boyfriend was like climbing a mountain naked.

But at the summit, all the snow cleared and Katsuki could finally rest easy. You met on the job when the Dynamight Agency signed a contract with you to make some technical software for them. You were the Senior Dev. responsible for it.

Truthfully, Katsuki hated you at first. For one, you were too non-chalant about all of it. It's a professional job but you showed up to work in the most unprofessional attire. To his credit your hygiene was decent but the workspace you and your team occupied was a mess. You had a bad diet, and an even worse sleep schedule.

You were a mess. Katsuki didn't like or respect you. He figures all tech people are freaks like that. All of the support engineers are nut-cases, so why would you be any different? But you were recommended to him by Deku who gushed about how smoothly everything was running with the new changes.

He didn't know anything about your job. And he didn't really understand it until he caught you half-falling asleep at your computer trying to finish something. It was probably the first time he came into the office and you were still there finishing up work - nearing 6am and clearly not having slept that he started to respect you a little.

From then on, his sense of responsibility for you grew. Mother hen tendencies and all. You and Katsuki are complete opposites in a lot of ways. Where he's hot-headed, you're relaxed. Where he's cold and calculating, you're strangely warm and sympathetic. Another shitty nerd in his life, he's fond of. Go figure.

It took him a long time to figure out his romantic feelings for you. The first work function you ever attended where you looked.. good. He felt it strike like an iron, a sense of dread overwhelming him as his heart fluttered at the sight of you.

("...You clean up decent." Katsuki stutters, trying to catch his breath.

You flash a smile that sends him reeling.

"Thanks, boss.")

From then on, through a series of mishaps and sad phone-calls - Katsuki managed to land the boyfriend position. And from there, your relationship has been considerably easy going.

A big reason for that is because you're much better with feelings than he is. You're reasonable about your own emotional affairs. In the many years Katsuki's tantrums might've caused a rift, you've handled him with care. Of course, he does his absolute best to accommodate you back. To support you, almost trying to make it up to you where he can.

But his mistakes have always been small, and petty. Even when they're bigger - you manage them like they're just small blips in the timeline. Gently and softly. You don't raise your voice even if he agitates you. It always works out. Katsuki tries very hard not to do anything that he would make you really angry.

In fact, he's never even seen you really angry. Maybe upset or annoyed, but angry? Once in his life if that. His friends and family often bestow you the title saint to which you always laugh but you are remarkably patient with him that he doesn't think it's undeserved.

So what happened last night was a a big fuck up on his part.

Last night, he came home from a long mission.

The only rule you have with Katsuki is that if something happens, you have to talk about it. This rule includes other rules, such as being able to delay said conversation for a better day and other veto privileges. But if something important happens, big or small - the other person has to know. That's law to abide by.

Last night, Katsuki came home from a long mission and he was exhausted. Nothing bad happened but his patience was running thin due to a series of unfortunate events and he wanted to come home and sleep. And he could feel the pressure of it starting to eat at him.

Everyone has tough days and this was his. Most of this could've been solved if he had just told you. If he had simply used the second rule to delay the conversation. You would've quietly slept next to him like you always did, no questions asked.

But he was tired and delirious and for some reason he decided to open his big fucking mouth. When you had very gently inquired about his mood, he immediately went silent. Then when you went and asked again, he snapped on you.

He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn't mean any of it.

"God, can't you read the fucking room? Do I have to spell it out for you? I don't want to talk about it right now."

He felt it immediately. The once warm room filling with a cold tension. He couldn't even lift his head, too steeped in his anger to apologize right away. It was suffocating. How long you stood there, feet planted on the floor.

And then from above him, there was a shaky sigh and a thick voice. You were upset, obviously. Too much for words. In a terrifying turn of events - you didn't even get angry. He wishes you got angry and loud. That you could've fought this out.

But you didn't. Of course not. You just sighed, frustration teeming in your voice and said.

"Right. Find me when you want to talk. I'm gonna rest in the guest room."

Obviously trying to hold it in, you took your pillows and quietly went upstairs and slept in the guest room. And Katsuki sat there for god knows how long, regretting everything. He shouldn't have done that. He wanted to sleep next to you.

When the next morning rolled around, Katsuki wasn't expecting it to be brushed over. And it wasn't, not in the way you tried to pretend things were fine. You still set out warm towels for his shower. Made his protein shake and left it on the counter. Put his hero costume up on the couch for him to take.

And you still greeted him with a tired good morning. But he could tell that you weren't all there. It was awkward. Like there was a stranger in his house and not the person he's been in love with for the last 5 years.

Silent. He's so accustomed to your morning chattiness. Rambling about the dream you had, the movie you watched, the bugs in your code you fixed. All of it disappeared in an instant. You didn't kiss him when he left for work, pausing to blabber in between before kissing him again. Running to the train so you weren't late.

You just left. Told him you'd be working off-site for a bit and that it's your turn to make dinner. He should let you know what he wants to eat.

You stood at the door, obviously debating something and then left with a short side-hug and no kiss. No kiss. He hasn't not gotten a kiss before going to work in years. He's so hung up on it he can't believe it.

It was probably right there, kiss-less in his kitchen that he realize he fucked up beyond reasonably doubt. The feeling was awful, but you were already on your way to work before he could scramble to say something.

Katsuki is bad with apologies. It's not that he isn't sorry, but he tries his best to make up for all of his short-comings with his actions and hopes people can forgive him. That he can be a good enough person that the one, choked-out sorry can be enough of a fix and that the rest can be solved with his consistent remorse.

And he does apologize to you often enough, about small and trivial things. But this doesn't really feel small and trivial. It's the kind of fight that feels like a rift, maybe that he'd gotten too complacent. The terror sets in before the rational does and all Katsuki can think is that he has to make it up to you somehow. Somehow.

He doesn't have patrols today. The only thing on the agenda is meeting with Deku about a partnership program they want to create for new heroes. Only the two of them to discuss logistics.

He can't focus at all though. Fuck.

"Kacchan?"

Deku's voice cuts into his focus once it register. He looks up from the empty space he was peering into, suddenly aware of his surroundings. A scowl settles on his features, though he's not actually mad.

"What, nerd."

"You okay? You seem off." He replies, that concerned and overly-welcoming tone. His scowl deepens.

"Fuck off."

"So there is something," Deku concludes, in a way that makes Katsuki want to punch him square in the mouth "Is it Y/N?"

"Why the fuck do you know that?"

"Uhm. Well. You're doing your sad scowl and not your mad one. And normally you only really get sad about like 3 things. Y/N makes the most sense."

Katsuki makes a face of disgust.

"You're such a goddamn freak."

Deku smiles disarmingly.

"So what's up?"

"Fuck off with that therapist shit," He says first, then relents because of course "...Got in an argument. I fucked up pretty bad."

Katsuki relays the events with a sense of dread as Deku nods and listens empathetically like he always does. And Katsuki wants to crawl up in a fucking hole for even opening up, maybe a sign of his desperation.

"That bad?" Deku asks.

"Didn't get a kiss before they left and that hasn't happened in like 3 years."

"That's so sappy, Kacchan." Deku gushes.

"Shut up if you value your life." Katsuki says with no real heat behind. He watches the nerd think on it for a while, doing some analysis he cares fuck all about before snapping his fingers.

"Have you apologized yet?"

Katsuki grits his teeth. Deku sighs.

"Kacchan."

More silence.

"Kacchan."

"Fuck you, I already know okay! But I'm just.. so fucking anxious about it. Like I know it's not the end of the world, but it just feels so damn bad."

Deku smiles in that weird, loving way that Katsuki hates.

"That's because you care about them, Kacchan. It's gonna be fine."

"Gross."

Deku laughs again and Katsuki finds himself relieved just a little. Which he resents, of course. But it's better than feeling whatever he was feeling a few hours ago so he lets it be.

__

He spends the rest of the day coming up with an apology plan and seeing it through to the end. If he was gonna say sorry, he might as well go all out.

He calls in a florist shop first, sat at his desk and asking for whatever flowers are best apology flowers. Then he calls your favorite place to eat and makes sure he can get take-out hot for the drive home. At the end of his work day, he stops by to get some shitty balloons with sorry on them and even buys the ugliest teddy bear he can find at the store because he knows he would like it.

Then he drives home with a pit in his stomach, feeling terribly stupid and a little ridiculous for being so worried about it. Because he knows it probably will be fine, but he won't relax until he's home. Until he sees you and everything is fine again.

When he finally gets home and hauls ass with the assortment of Apology Gifts he's brought - he doesn't actually find you anywhere in the house.

He knows you're there though. Because your shoes are in the doorway and your bag is on the counter but he can't find you.

It occurs to him that your showering when he hears a god-awful tune that unburdens him just a little and he decides to hijack your shower. Because he thinks that apologizing like that will probably be a whole lot easier.

So, he steps into the shower and announces his presence. There's steam fogging everything up and he's still dressed in his work clothes. He can hear your humming come to a halt as he closes the door behind him and sits on the sink.

He feels fidgety. The warm room and the smell of your bodywash relax his nerves.

"Hey," He starts. You're silent but he can hear you scrubbing so he keeps going "Just got home. I brought food so,"

And it's still quiet. Your movements have softened and there's less of an echo. Katsuki frowns.

"Look, last night," He starts afain, then stops - closing his eyes and swallowing the pit forming in his stomach "What I said. I don't know what the fuck I was thinkin' I mean... I didn't mean any of that."

Still quiet, Katsuki sighs and bites his lip.

"And nothin' really happened. Just a long mission, undercover sucks and everything was going wrong and obviously I was pissed. Not at you, never at you - I shouldn't have—fuck me, I'm ramblin' aren't I?"

He looks up at the ceiling, glances at the door, then at the shower curtain.

"I'm really sorry, baby. Really fucking sorry. Been feeling shitty about it all day."

Before he can grovel anymore, the water turns off. All of a sudden, the curtain rips open and before he knows what to do with himself - he feels your hands on his neck. You're still half in the shower, naked and dripping and your hands are wet.

But you're pulling him into a kiss and Katsuki couldn't care less about the circumstances. The tension in his chest eases completely, melts away likes it nothing and he puts a hand on your wrist. He feels like he could cry. Fuck, what happened to him? Is this what love does to people? Make 'em feel stupid?

When you pull away, you give him an audacious grin. Pleased and warm and so full of love that he could rip apart at the seams just looking at it. All the affection in your gestures that he's grown so fond of rekindle and light him anew. He loves you so much it nearly hurts to look at you.

"You're such a worry wart, aren'tcha Kat?"

He kisses you one more time, thankful you won't point out his desperation.

"Shitty bastard."

"Get me my towel so I can kiss you properly."

"...I'll help dry you off." He says. Once again, you just smile with trembling lips like you want to giggle at him but don't. Even so, you do as he asks.

He grabs a towel and drys you off slowly and patiently. You smile at him the whole time before he grabs another one to wrap around you neat. Like you promise, you kiss him for a long time after. Arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the blonde hairs on the back of his head.

"Thanks for saying sorry, baby." You say first before you coo at him "I forgive you. I'm not mad. I wasn't even mad this morning, just wanted to give you some space."

"...Even if you're pissed, kiss me before you leave," He mutters, embarrassment flooding his face "Please."

You snort.

"Promise, I will. I love you. You know that, right?"

He nods because he does, really always does. Deep down, despite the terror he feels at the idea you'll stop - he knows he loves you. But as everyday passes, he's faced with the reality that he loves you more. With an even heavier hand and much more force than he thought possible.

That corny shit people say about loving someone more everyday. He thinks he's starting to get it. At his own state, he laughs against your lips.

"Yeah I know. I love you too."

[harrys-titties]

Harry’s a dick, and Y/N hates him for it.

WARNINGS: small dick energy from Harry until all of a sudden it’s big dick energy, if anyone treats you like this at work, please for the love of god go to HR, switch Harry and Y/N, degrading sex, PIV sex, oral (fem and male receiving,) rimming, spit kink, idk man lots of different sex things in this, lots o’ swearing bc it wouldn’t be a fic by me without it and lots of plot where they just hate each other so much lol.

(A/N Here it is; love you all. Pls let me know your thoughts!)

-masterlist-

Y/N hated Harry. 

She hated his perfectly coiffed hair and his smooth, glowy skin. She hated his award-winning smile, which drew people in like a siren or summat, his melodic laugh and the swoon of his voice, which could charm even the grumpiest of coworkers. She hated his leather jackets and his heeled boots, his vanilla and tobacco scent and his tattoos.

And she especially hated the way he teased her. 

Y/N would consider herself a strong and willful woman; she was intelligent and knowledgeable about her work. She cared about her clients and the colleagues around her, even if they were more often laughing at her than actually talking to her. She was well-spoken and confident, but something about Harry riddled her into a bumbling fool for some reason. She could hardly form a sentence around him. And if, by some miracle, she did, it was primitive and nonsensical, often made more embarrassing by the fact that she was usually trying to defend herself against his incessant taunting. 

It was infuriating. Each time she saw him leaving one of the elevators across from her desk, she would internally groan, duck her head and try and focus on whatever was on her computer screen. Anything to avoid capturing his attention, and no doubt his mockery straight after. Why did he need to come down here so often? It felt like he was doing it on purpose. None of the other members on the associate's team would bother to come down to the analyst floor (too busy dealing with actual clients and pretending they were much better than any analyst still wading through spreadsheets and numbers), but each day he would arrive, waltzing down and gliding across the shitty commercial carpet as if he owned the place, and Y/N fucking hated it. 

She couldn't be alone in it; she knew she couldn't. But her lonesome status within her own team made it hard to ask, and it looked as if everyone worshipped the very floor he walked on, greeting him as if he was a celebrity and laughing at his less than funny jokes (mainly when they were aimed at her.) 

She'd had enough, and each time she heard the soft pat of his shoes against the carpet heading straight towards her desk, she'd attempt to gear herself up for the fight, try and prepare exactly what she was to say when he would inevitably point out something that didn't meet his satisfaction. But each time, she would only look at him dumbly in response, the words getting choked in her throat and coming out in a mismatch of errs and ums. She hated the way he'd stand at her desk waiting for her response, his arms across his chest and his shit-eating smirk plastered across his (let's be honest, not that good looking) face. 

Until she'd finally give up, a cheerful laugh leaving him and a "still learning to speak, are we?" Or an, "hm, such a good point" thrown behind him as he stalked off. 

It was safe to say, Y/N fucking hated Harry Styles. 

——

Harry had a good life and an even better job. He'd basically waltzed into the company when he was fresh out of university, applying for a role much above his pay grade and far beyond his experience level. 

Even he was shocked when he actually got the position, understanding that charm and wit could only get you so far in investment banking. But it seemed flirting with the Vice President of the company and the hiring director during his interview paid off some, allowing him to nestle into an associate's role without ever having to even understand how to calculate the statistics down on the analyst's level.

He was grateful, his skill always lying in dealing with people, often knowing the best place to exactly prick and prod at to get a favoured reaction, and he proudly brought that ability into his work, swindling money from the country's finest CEO's none the wiser that they were talking to someone who had skipped half of his classes in university, relying heavily on his natural intelligence and the occasional blowie for some notes to pass the semester. 

It wasn't Harry's fault he was witty and likeable. He only used it to his advantage, no one could blame him for that. He was more than used to getting what he wanted; coworkers usually more than willing to help him out where they could and kiss at his feet if he so requested, taking whatever he said blindly as the truth. There were only a few select people on this earth that Harry tolerated calling him out on his bullshit, those being his mum, his sister and Sarah, who just so happened to be sitting in front of him doing so right now. 

It had started when they'd both gone down to the analyst's floor, needing to pick up reports from last week to discuss in Harry's next meeting, when he'd made his daily stop at Y/N's desk. She was a nervous little thing, constantly shaking and choking up around him, barely even able to look him in the eye for longer than a second, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't love to watch her squirm. 

He'd noticed a little origami flower sitting on her desk, which ordinarily Harry may have considered cute, but it was too easy. He had picked it up, watching as she'd rushed to stop him, her face construed in panic, an intense overreaction to a piece of folded paper if you asked him. "Ohh, is this what you were busy learning during your mathematics class in uni?" He didn't wait for her to respond, continuing regardless of her open mouth, clearly ready to speak. "Now your reports make a lot more sense. Maybe you can try and redeem them by folding them into flowers next time? Make them a tad less painful for me to try and decipher, hm?" 

He had watched as her shoulders slumped, her upper lip twitching, and he waited as he always did for her to respond. He kind of hoped one day she would give him a bit more than the pathetic attempt she usually produced to construct a basic sentence, but today hadn't been the day. A tattered "um, I-, well my mother taught… I didn't-," leaving her. He had interrupted her once again, revelling in the way her hand wound into a fist on the desk in front of them, "err, I-, um," he stuttered mockingly, "I'll stop you right there, sweetheart. Wouldn't want you hurting yourself." 

He had twirled the stem of the fake flower between his thumb and forefinger, watching as the glint from the light hitting his ring blinded the girl in front of him momentarily, before popping it in the breast pocket of his silk shirt, turning around without acknowledging her again and winking at a cute red-head sitting on the desk across from Y/N's. 

Sarah hadn't been too impressed, always nagging him to be nicer to the analysts who were slugging their way through their jobs the same way so many of the associates in Harry's team had before being promoted. And well, Harry was nice to them, just maybe not to Y/N. 

"You were awful, H, god. I felt so sorry for the poor girl. Did you see how they all laughed at her as you teased her?" He actually hadn't, to be fair. His teasing wasn't for the entertainment of the office. If anything, it was for his own amusement. He hadn't even noticed them snickering, too busy focusing on the angry flush crawling up Y/N's neck as he spoke and the cute little crease between her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

"It's all friendly banter, Sarah. Bet she likes the attention." 

He watched as Sarah's lip raised in disgust, "you're such a pig." Harry was ready for the admonishment he was about to receive, now used to the boring lectures from Sarah, who cared a little too much about everyone around her. One time even going so far as to do thirty minutes of photocopying for one of the pricks on their floor because she felt bad his pet hamster had died. He had come to expect the service, though, going so far as to drop extra work on Sarah's desk each morning for two weeks until Harry had stepped in, too used to people abusing Sarah's kindness, tearing the paper in half right in front of the pricks desk and letting him know where the next lot would be shoved if it ended up on Sarah's desk again. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you liked giving her the extra attention in your own narcissistic and fucked up way." Harry scoffs, his own lip drawing to match the pose Sarah's was still stuck in. Sure he liked teasing her, and he liked when her cheeks would flush, and her lips would purse, but what Sarah was insinuating? Absolutely not. She wasn't his type, too vanilla and frankly dull for him. Plus, he usually liked his dates to be able to at least say a complete sentence to him without turning beet red. "Why the fuck would I be attracted to her? She's not my type in the slightest. Have you seen the ugly blouses she wears?" 

Sarah rolls her eyes in response, taking a sip of her steaming coffee and leaning forward on the table in front of him, "c'mon, Haz, she's pretty, and she's smart. I'm not buying into that report bullshit; hers are always the neatest and most accurate, and you know it." 

He did know that.

So what?

He had exaggerated a little bit while talking to her; sue him. "You know you're allowed to find her attractive, right? Even if she’s not your usual type. From what I've heard, she's sweet, a bit fiery even." Not in a million years could he picture the puppy-like girl who blushed when he came near her as fiery. She was too demure, too plain to strike Harry as anything but a quick entertainment fix, and he was beginning to become frustrated with Sarah's pointed stare. "I don't give a fuck. She could be the fucking Beyonce's long-lost sister, and I wouldn't give a fuck about her, so let's just drop it." 

Sighing, Sarah nods, picking up the magazine she'd bought at lunch and begins to read it, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. But now he wasn't so sure. Was she attractive? He guesses she always smelt nice and had a pretty smile from the few times he'd seen her giving it to someone else. She seemed a bit plain, but he knew he's only ever seen her fuming silently at her desk when he was around. While her clothes were often dated and also a bit ordinary, he does recall her wearing a nice pair of Gucci loafers into work one time, but Harry had quickly pounced on that, asking if she had robbed someone to get her hands on them, even though he had actually quite liked them and had gone out and bought a similar pair that weekend. 

Eh, what did it matter? He wasn't going to stop, and he hardly cared if the girl he was teasing was hot anyway. There were plenty of fish in the office for Harry to fry, and the knobby kneed freak wasn't going to be one of them. 

He opens his yoghurt cup, sighing slightly while he eats, thinking how nice his life really was and wondering if that red-head he'd winked at earlier today was single. 

——

Y/N hated getting called into the boss's office, she's not sure she knows anyone that likes it (maybe Harry if he saw it as another chance to manipulate their boss into giving him a holiday house in Prague or whatever his dickish tendencies allowed him to do,) but it reminded her too much of standing in front of her father's desk, receiving a scolding for getting a 'B' rather than an 'A' on her biology exam or for being home five minutes after her curfew. 

The long elevator trip up was spent with an anxious belly and Y/N trying to calm her breathing, each inhale and exhale laboured and unnatural. It's only made worse when the lift stops on Harry's floor, and the man himself steps into the elevator, all flared pants and suspenders, his telltale vanilla scent wafting over the other side of the lift where Y/N is desperately trying to keep her head down so as not to provoke him. 

She feels his stare through the mirrored walls and waits for the barrage of mockery to come, but it never does. Instead, when Y/N glances over at him, she sees him give her a once over, starting down at her brown boots and moving up to her face, where his gaze meets hers. He holds it for a moment, looking between her two irises and squinting his eyes some, prolonging the silence between them before the elevator dings. Without another word, he tears his stare away from her and walks through the open doors onto the associate's floor, a trail of vanilla left behind him. 

Y/N thinks that's the first time she's ever been so close to Harry without him making some comment on the fraying edges of her pants or how her hair was too messy. Why did he not this time? Maybe he was wondering why she was coming up to one of the upper levels, analysts usually not having much cause to travel above their own floor. Perhaps she just didn't look a mess today. She had a bit of extra time to get ready, waking up earlier than usual due to her new kitten tearing up her curtains a whole hour before her alarm. 

Or perhaps it was all a part of his game, which made Y/N even more upset. Was he that desperately cruel that he would allow her to believe she was free from his torture before attacking her again ten times worse? God, she hopes not. She was nervous enough already; the added anxiety of Harry's presence would do nothing to curb the stress frothing in her gut. 

——

Turns out, Y/N had nothing to worry about. While she had stood with her knees knocking in front of the oak desk that her boss, William Garner, leant against, he had delivered her with good news rather than bad. She was getting promoted. And while the initial announcement had sent her into a celebratory spin with her heart soaring and her fingers tingling, the more Y/N thought about it, the more she realised it might not be the best news. 

While it obviously meant she was doing her job well and would be moving from analyst to an associate, it would also mean she would be working on Harry's floor, and she's not sure she could stand his constant berating for the whole eight-hour work day. 

It was bad enough experiencing it for the five or so minutes he would spend on the lower level, but with their offices so close to each other's, she's worried he would take full advantage. So when she's instructed to bring some of her items up into the empty office space on the associate's floor, she does so with her head down and her gaze focused on the box of knick-knacks and folders in her hands, usually stored on or in her desk downstairs. 

The office is a decent size, with a plain desk in the centre and a nice window view down to the streets below. It's a vast improvement from the cramped space she had shared downstairs, with all 'offices' being a bunch of tables in their own two metres by two-metre area, with barely enough room to fit a rubbish bin beside the work surface. It also felt more private, and it worked well for someone like Y/N, who typically liked being alone. 

She briefly holds hope that maybe the enclosed walls would dissuade Harry from his taunting, but her wish isn't long made before he's stepping foot inside the space, the room suddenly feeling tiny and cramped, like both he and Y/N's presences we're bursting at the seams. He takes a moment to look around, his tongue pressing against his cheek before his gaze settles on the woman in front of him, reminding Y/N of a snake about to strike. "Who'd you fuck to get this?" 

Instantly Y/N opposes the notion, her mouth dropping and her eyebrows furrowing in part surprise and disgust, "what? I- no, I didn't… I wouldn't do that." 

He only nods, walking over to the box sitting on the desk behind her and begins to wade through her belongings as if he owned them himself. It almost pisses Y/N off more than the jab he'd delivered on his arrival. "Didn't take you for one to sleep around to get your way to the top, but I guess you continue to surprise me." He motions to the room around him, and Y/N has to actively remind herself to stop grinding her teeth, worried they'd be reduced to stumps within the month if Harry kept his behaviour up. 

She walks around to her chair, sitting down with a sigh and pulls the box away from his wandering hands, somehow managing to get out a complete sentence, something that Harry had not been privy to before. "I didn't sleep with anyone to get here." 

For a moment, he looks shocked, perhaps at the fact she'd actually managed to string together a complete sentence around him- even if it was basically whispered, or maybe he really did believe she had blown Garner to get an office like this. Either way, he drops a picture frame (one of Y/N's grandmother and herself on Christmas) a little too heavily for Y/N's liking back into the box and stands up, tugging on the lapels of his jacket, "I see. Well, that's disappointing, love, because I am quite the gossip." 

She picks up the frame that had just left his hands, checking the glass covering it wasn't smashed and to avoid his sharp gaze, which she's sure is pointed directly at her waiting for a reaction. When he doesn't get one, he continues, "got any secrets I can spread?" She scoffs aloud at that, struggling to contain the obvious reaction. As if he of all people would be the one she would tell her secrets to! She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. So she takes a moment to glance at him, almost physically recoiling at his expression. If she didn't know the conversation they were having, she'd think he was perfectly content, smirking with a devilish look in his ivy-stained irises. 

She shakes her head. "No? What happened to all that courage you had just a second ago, pet? Seem to be at a loss for words or summat." She feels the telltale heat of embarrassment rushing to her face and looks down at her hands, picking one of the hangnails on the side of her finger. 

He was enjoying this too much, his grin only growing as he realised how uncomfortable she was with his overwhelming presence, his casual lean against her desk feeling villainous and threatening. She really was just too easy. "Maybe you can stick by me. I'll show you the ropes around here and make sure you're nice and comfortable." Instantly her eyes flick up to his, the look of frustration and fear swirling dangerously inside them. For the second time in this little impromptu meeting, Y/N feels courage sweeping up her spine. "I don't want to spend any time with you." She spits. 

He laughs. He actually laughs, the sound hearty and genuine. It takes everything in Y/N not to give him a right piece of her mind, but she's too scared of the repercussions, knowing full well she'd probably end up twisting her words and sounding more like an idiot than ever. So she sits quietly, trying to breathe deeply as she sees him stand up and cross his arms in her peripheral vision. 

He leans even closer to her, and Y/N finds herself wanting to cower, but his alluring gaze and telltale vanilla scent leave her frozen in her place. "You wound me, sweetheart. Be careful what you wish for, love; you just might get it." 

He laughs again, leaving her office. There's a certain emptiness with him gone, and it's the first time in the five minutes he'd been here that Y/N feels as if she could actually breathe. His presence was suffocating, the sentiment he'd left her with almost sounding like a threat. 

Y/N doesn't even want to know what he has up his sleeve.

——

Be careful what you wish for? The more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off. Who did he think he was, the pompous bastard? He was nothing but a bully, and so to spite him, Y/N spends her weekend reciting exactly what she wished for like a mantra. 

In between meals, while she's feeding her cat, while watching TV, Y/N says the same sentence repeatedly, hoping the more she does so, the more likely it would be to come true. 

"I wish Harry Styles would leave me alone." 

—— 

Y/N came into work on Monday bright-eyed, feeling residual confidence from her weekend that would inevitably fizzle out and fade with each second spent in the office. Still, she was using it to her advantage while she could. She dragged her desk closer to the wall, set up her picture frames exactly where she wanted them, and dusted the shelves and filing cabinets that had been there when she'd begun to occupy the space. 

She's only interrupted by a cough behind her, and when she turns, she notices Garner and Harry standing in the doorframe. She immediately blushes, pulling the skirt that had definitely ridden up in her activities and coughs slightly. She notices Harry's eyes quickly avert their gaze to the ground when he sees her doing so (although she can’t imagine why, she doesn’t picture Harry being someone to purposefully protect her modesty like that,) before travelling back up to meet her eyes.

 "Sir! What can.. uh, what can I do for you?" 

While Garner was intimidating, he also had the same kind of energy as a father figure who was strict but kind when needed. For that reason, Y/N quite liked him. He was fair and well-liked, so much so that she'd heard Harry and himself were pretty close, so the sight of both of them standing in her office made her tummy begin to stir. She does her best to calm her breathing, choosing to completely ignore the more infuriating one of the pair and focus on her boss's kind eyes, now looking between herself and Harry. 

"I'm aware it can be a bit intimidating starting in a new team. Harry's brought it to my attention that you'll need to be trained up anyway. So for now, I'd like you to be following him along, attending his meetings and helping him complete his work until you get the hang of things here." Immediately nerves begin to shoot through her body, but she does her best to keep her face void of emotion, only nodding along as he speaks and replying once he is finished. "Sounds good, sir." 

He nods once, looking around her workspace quickly before heading towards the elevators on the other side of the building, leaving herself and Harry alone again. As usual, he's the first to speak, "I warned you, didn't I? You'd get whatever you wished for." He smirks at her, grinning at the disgust smearing across her face, "no, I- I didn't wish for this." 

He feigns shock, looking behind him like he was checking the coast was clear before leaning in slightly, "what did you wish for then, hm? To see me naked?" Harry can't stop the wolfish grin that spreads across his face as a splotchy red flush spreads against Y/N's. 

Y/N didn't think it was very fair. Day after day, she watched Harry waltz towards her, his insults and teasing falling easily and freely from his pink lips like he didn't even have to think twice. He'd drop each jab as if he was sprinkling flour onto Y/N's freshly washed clothes, and no matter how many times she tried to brush them off, it would only smear and leave ugly white streaks. It wasn't fair because she was left a stuttering mess each time she tried to combat his attacks. She tries to tell him she hasn't and would never think of him naked, but she can't. It's like the words are stuck to her tongue like glue; no matter how often she tries to spit them out, it only comes out in sputters, a mash of meaningless words. 

She hated it, she hated him, and she wanted him to leave her office, leave her in peace and leave her alone for good. 

—-

Don't get him wrong, Harry loved to prod at Y/N's exterior, but the way she deflates and looks at the desk in front of her blankly suddenly makes it seem a lot less fun. It was only exciting when he could see her flush and stutter, trying desperately to dispute whatever bullshit he was spitting her way. He didn't feel bad for her, far from, but maybe he didn't want to push her when she clearly didn't feel even up to replying (or trying to, for that matter.) 

So he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning forward to catch her attention and bring her gaze back to him, "I'm only kidding, Y/N, jesus." She nods, her eyes telling him that she probably didn't find it all that funny, but he didn't really care. At least she wasn't crying on him. 

"I'll send you the stuff for the meetings I have this week. Just try not to fuck it up." 

At this, he exits her office and leaves Y/N, clenching her fists underneath the desk, too angry to do anything else. 

——

The week had gone as well as it could have. Harry had been as friendly as Y/N believed he possibly could be, primarily by just ignoring her. He would drop reports on her desks without saying a word, not acknowledge her emails and simply did his work without bothering Y/N and well, she was relieved. She still didn't quite believe he wasn't capable of returning to his horrible tendencies, so she did her best to avoid him, dropping the work he had asked her to do on his desk when she knew he was out for lunch, sitting as far away from him during meetings as she could, keeping her head down while in her office, and embarrassingly even leaving the break room when she saw him and his little posse enter, scrambling to pick up her yoghurt cup and cookie from the table and eating the rest in her office. 

Which is where she sat now, mindlessly scrolling through her phone before she's interrupted by the sound of footsteps and an overwhelming smell of flowers. She looks up to see Lucy standing in the doorway of her office, a sandwich and an apple in hand. "I've been looking all over for you! Why are you hiding in here?" She looks around the room, her face mixed with confusion and slight disgust. 

While she wouldn't be Y/N's first choice outside of work, she was the only friend she'd made here. Y/N believed it was worth putting up with her obnoxious talking and sometimes questionable opinions if it meant she at least wasn't so alone, knowing full well Harry's teasing had put her on a list of people that her coworkers definitely did not want to make friends with. So, the fact that Lucy was willing to talk to her and help her out meant more than Y/N could imagine. 

As stereotypical as it was, the two women had met at the photocopier, where Y/N had been attempting to copy the notes Harry had sent her when it had jammed. The machine had whirred and whined, letting out a choked sound while Y/N avoided looking up at the rest of the office, knowing full well her face would be bright red as she tried to find the latch where the paper was. It was Lucy who had come to her rescue. While Y/N was shaking with embarrassment and frustration, Lucy had run over in her four-inch heels and quickly pulled open the drawer on the side of the machine, pulling out the jammed piece of paper and closing the drawer before Y/N could even say thank you.

Maybe it was because Lucy had only started two or three weeks before Y/N had and was fairly new herself, or perhaps she just pitied the poor girl, but Y/N appreciated the help nonetheless. 

"Oh, this damn machine, it's the worst! My whole first week, no one told me how easy it jammed- had to figure that out on my own." She'd turned to Y/N, scrunching the piece in one hand while holding her other hand out to Y/N, "I'm Lucy! It's nice to meet- oh, I love your shoes!" Y/N had stuttered slightly, a tad overwhelmed with her bubbly persona, but she'd quickly gotten used to her rambling and talkative nature. 

"Uh, I don't know, didn't want-"

She's interrupted by Lucy herself as she sits down on the chair in front of Y/N's desk, "did you see the shirt Harry was wearing today? You could practically see his pecs with how tight it was!" 

Y/N stops herself from rolling her eyes and fakes a smile. She had, in fact noticed. It was pretty hard to miss. He'd walked into the break room, his red flares catching Y/N's attention immediately and the blue and white striped shirt tight against his arms and chest, a few buttons undone at the top, leaving a peak of the swallows inked against his collarbones. God, she wishes she didn't hate him so much. She may have given herself the time to admire the gentle curve of his bum in the pants and the tuft of hair layered against his chest. She might have given herself the time to imagine licking against the wing tips of each of the birds plastered against his collarbones, and perhaps even the feel of his arms, which Y/N had never realised had any certain appeal until she'd seen the shirt rolled up around the thick muscles. 

What a shame he was such a prick. 

She focuses back on Lucy, nodding slightly in agreement, not even bothering to say something before Lucy begins to speak again. "I can't wait to see what he'll wear to the work drinks this weekend. Are you still planning on coming?" 

Originally, Y/N had no intention of going to the event, finding the eight hours in the office surrounded by the assholes in the workplace bad enough, and imagining spending even longer with them while drunk would be an absolute nightmare. It was only Lucy who had convinced her, telling her how much fun she'd heard they were and what she was planning on wearing. To be honest, Y/N still wasn't convinced, but she thought she could go for an hour or two and come home and change into her pyjamas if it was boring. 

Maybe this would be her chance to form connections with other workers and show them she wasn't just the bumbling idiot Harry reduced her to. "Uh yeah, I'll come for a bit, but-" she's interrupted by the devil himself stepping foot into her office; somehow, another shirt button had opened since she'd last seen him, revealing even more of his chest, which for some reason makes Y/N even angrier. Who did he think he was, flashing his toned chest like it was a fashion show? 

“Hello ladies, planning on coming to the drinks this weekend?” 

Y/N stares blankly as Lucy nods her head so hard, Y/N’s worried it may fall off, but when she looks back to Harry, his gaze is set dead on her, ignoring Lucy entirely. She’s taken back some, feeling the damned flush spoil her cheeks as per usual, “uh, I’m- we don’t-”

He interrupts her, his dimpled grin adorning his face as he lets out a chuckle, his hands sitting comfortably in his pant pockets. “Simple yes or no question, honey. Don’t tell me it’s too hard for your little brain to come up with an answer.” 

She feels frustration bursting in her chest at his rude exterior, the anger spreading directly outwards, warming her arms and hands. “Yes, we’re coming.” She wants to wipe the surprised but pleased look right off his unfairly attractive face, but she doesn’t, only sits with her hands in her lap as she always did. “Well, this will be interesting! won’t believe you can let loose and have fun until I see it.” With that, he stalks out, leaving Y/N to breathe through the anger threatening to bubble over and explode from her throat and Lucy, with her mouth dropped and brows furrowed. 

She turns to Y/N, her face a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, “you did not tell me Harry flirts with you? Does he act like that all the time? He’s never been like that with me!” 

It’s Y/N face that skews into disbelief now, “flirts with me? Lucy, he’s awful. What are you on about?” The woman in front of her is taken aback, and if Y/N wasn’t trying desperately not to offend her, she would roll her eyes at her dramatic tendencies, particularly the gasp she lets out as her hand comes to her chest, like she’s in a period drama or summat. “Awful? You think Harry’s awful? How? He’s so dreamy!” Y/N’s about to actually roll her eyes at this, the sentiment too ridiculous for her not to, but Lucy’s following statement only leaves her confused. “I thought you guys would’ve gotten on very well.” 

There isn’t a universe Y/N could conceive in which Harry and herself would get on ‘well.’ He was a right prick, someone who made every day she worked in the office miserable, all while walking around like he owned the place and all the people within it- and she guessed he did, which annoyed her even more. It was as if he had all of them under his spell, everyone basically kissing the very ground he walked on, and hanging on every accented word of bullshit he spat from his pretty mouth. 

“What? Why on earth would you ever think we’d get on?” Lucy looks at her in awe, confusion clearly muddled through her perfectly plucked brows and beautifully painted lips. “Well, he got you the promotion up here. Fought mighty hard to get you here too.” 

It’s as if Y/N’s whole world stops, and if she wasn’t in the situation she was in, she’d take time to notice how comically she had paused, her mouth agape and her eyes staring dumbly at Lucy. Harry got her the promotion here? Harry who never missed the opportunity to call her dumb or tell her the reports she submitted were sloppy. The same Harry who once told her she didn’t deserve this job and who told her at least once a week that not a thread on her cheap clothing was worth sitting in the building she was in. She didn’t believe it. It just wasn’t possible! 

“What- how do you know that?” 

Lucy looks like she’s lost interest in the conversation, the polar opposite of Y/N, who’s still stuck in the same stunned position- like a shitty street performer or something. “Garner wanted to promote Cheryl, but Harry said you’d be better. He stopped the whole meeting to convince him he was making the wrong decision.” 

Y/N could not believe it. It wasn’t like he’d passively agreed she would be a good candidate for her current position. He had stopped the meeting and directly opposed what Garner had already decided. Granted, their boss hung off Harry’s every word, but still. She didn’t know which she hated more, the fact she owed this job to Harry or this unpredictable side of him. Was this part of a bigger plan Y/N wasn’t aware of? Was he going to hold this against her, or was he just not as bad as Y/N initially thought? 

It was a shock, to say the least. Until now, she genuinely believed Harry thought she was hopeless, and if she didn’t know she’d clam up in front of him, she’d go to his office and ask him herself. 

She wasn’t brave enough though, so instead, she followed Lucy’s lead and slowly began eating again, using the silence between them to ruminate over what she had learnt.  

Her opinion of Harry hadn’t changed, but maybe her expectations of him had.

——

While Y/N’s expectations of Harry had perhaps increased, she was fully aware they may lower again, and she was just waiting for this to be the case.

Turns out she didn’t have to wait long. 

She had spent hours getting ready for the work drinks, changing her pants, her shirt, and then her pants again. Each time the mirror revealed another outfit that wasn’t perfect, and Y/N’s face slowly became more disparaged with each new ensemble. She’d spent much too long trying to perfect her eyeliner, giving up after the third time. Wiping it off and reapplying it, a huff left her as she grabbed a few dry biscuits on her way out to ensure her stomach held something and wouldn’t absorb the alcohol too quickly. 

Why did she care so much? Well, she really couldn’t tell you. She guesses she wanted to impress her coworkers, show them she could dress up a bit outside of work and exceed any low expectations Harry had created for her. Maybe she was just nervous and wanted to feel more confident than usual. Her attempts, however, had been dire. Sitting in the cab on the way to the bar, Y/N felt even more uncomfortable and out of her own skin than ever, the leather seats sticking to her just too hot skin, the wind flowing from the wound-down windows not nearly calming enough.  

It didn’t help that Lucy hadn’t replied to Y/N’s last text either. They had briefly agreed upon a time when leaving work that evening (an hour after the drinks were supposed to start, so they could avoid any awkward niceties), and Y/N had sent her a text to confirm their agreed-upon hour as she was leaving. Yet her phone sat quietly in her bag, the comforting ding of a reply not coming through- not even when Y/N had arrived at the bar and gotten out of the car, now awkwardly waiting in front of the building. 

After fifteen minutes spent battling the wind, Y/N is led to believe that Lucy wasn’t showing up any time soon, so reluctantly, she heads inside and up the stairs on her own. She shoots a brief text to the missing girl, desperately trying to keep her tone light and friendly when realistically, she wants to be anything but. 

Each step towards the upstairs area allows drips of anxiety to seep into Y/N’s tummy, the final step leaving her innards in turmoil as she thinks of what she will face when she arrives. 

When she opens the door, a wave of chatter and music washes over her, working to calm her none, especially as she sees her coworkers scattered around the building, some dancing and laughing, others simply talking. She instantly finds comfort within the bar, standing in front of the wooden panelled bench and ordering herself a drink, praying that Lucy would miraculously show up once she turns around. However, the lack of sound from her phone doesn’t fill her with confidence. 

What was Y/N supposed to do? She couldn’t very well cling to the bar like a lifeline the whole night, but the thought of joining a group already formed didn’t sound so appealing either. Instead, she walks towards the balcony, clinging onto the metal railing, cold against her flushed skin. The vibration of her phone against the banister startles Y/N, but she rushes to reach into her bag; at this point, desperate to know if Lucy is on her way or if Y/N should call it a night and go home to warm pyjamas and her kitten. 

“Sorry, babes! Got caught up, be there in 20 mins!” 

And well, the sound of Y/N’s kitten and a warm pot of tea sounds more appealing as the seconds tick by. What was she supposed to do for twenty minutes by herself? She turns around, the railing digging into her back and tries to find a group she could possibly join in tiding over her loneliness. To the left, it’s a group that Y/N doesn’t recognise, so instantly, she rules them out. Right ahead, it’s a group of men, one whom she recognises as Liam, who she’d hooked up with before he had moved up to the associate’s level. 

It wasn’t anything special, a sloppy blowie in one of the office’s bathrooms after hours, a blowie that led to absolutely nothing but awkward glances while working. Y/N was relieved when he had been moved up to the associate’s level a few weeks later, and to be honest, she’d almost forgotten it had occurred altogether, made easier with the way Liam would avoid her like the plague. Which he seems to be doing now, the man awkwardly glancing over in her direction before quickly averting his gaze when he realises she’s looking. 

Rolling her eyes, she turns to the right, where the melodic voice and full silk outfit are a telltale sign that one of the group members is Harry, facing away from her and chatting with the group in front of him, his broad shoulders slimming down into his narrow waist accentuated by the high waisted pants he was sporting. 

Y/N isn’t one to pry, and she’s about to draw her attention away from the group when the conversation they’re having catches her attention- only because her name is mentioned. 

“Well, I’ll have to keep her away with a ten-foot pole!” He chuckles, taking a sip of what looks like a gin and tonic. It’s Harry’s friend, Adam, who replies. “You really think Y/N’s interested? She walks out of the room every time you enter it.” Harry laughs once again, like every word Adam said was utterly irrelevant. 

Y/N would hug Adam if she could; although he wasn’t admonishing Harry for what he was saying, he was at least arguing that she wasn’t interested in him, and well, god, she wasn’t. 

“She’s just nervous around me, obviously. Although I hope you’re right, it’ll be a weight off my shoulders if I don’t have to worry about her coming onto me. She’s not that ugly, but I do have standards, yeh?” It’s then Y/N notices a woman next to Harry (she thinks her name was Sarah, but she couldn’t be too sure) slap his shoulder, motioning behind him to where Y/N stood, her mouth agape and tears forming in her eyes. 

Y/N couldn’t explain why her heart stopped in her chest or why it felt like she’d just swallowed acid, but it did. She can’t explain it because, for fucks sake, Harry had said worse to her face! But there was something different this time. Y/N was under the impression that Harry disliked her, but she also thought he had purposely antagonised her just to get a reaction. Thought he got off on her blundering and nervous flushes in his own sadistic way. But speaking about her in this way to his friends, when Y/N wasn’t even around to stumble her way through a defence, well, it just felt crueller. More real. More true.

He had no reason to lie, no reason to make this up. 

The very thought of Y/N even finding him attractive despised Harry. And Y/N feels every bit of confidence inside of her shatter. 

She feels herself well up even further as she desperately tries to say something, but all that escapes her mouth is a choked sob, the sound tearing from her chest before she gives it permission.

Quickly turning around, she drops her drink on the closest table and walks swiftly towards the stairs, wanting nothing more than to get away from this god-awful party with the even more awful people inside it. 

——

Harry had fucked up. 

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t interested in Y/N, not even close, but even he wasn’t so cruel to not feel guilty after she’d heard him speaking about her as he had. 

The look on her face had felt like a knife to the chest, the tears welling up in her eyes and the tremble of her chin twisting it deeper into his chest, bit by bit. She looked so heartbroken and helpless, and the second she turned around and jogged off, Harry followed her, calling out for her to stop. 

Maybe she was ignoring him, or perhaps she just genuinely couldn’t hear him, but she didn’t slow down in the slightest, running all the way down the stairs and out the front with Harry on her heels. It’s only when she steps outside does she respond to his frantic yelling, spinning around and scaring him with the intensity in her eyes as she practically yells at him. “What?” 

He takes a step back, shocked by the aggressive tone, which honestly Harry would’ve expected from anyone else, but not the puppy-like girl he loved to tease. He continues nonetheless, the guilt and sympathy in his eyes only working to make Y/N even angrier. 

The only solace for her is that this time, it’s Harry that’s the one stuttering. 

“I- Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” as Harry had so many times before, Y/N interrupts him in the middle of his pathetic attempt at an apology, the anger boiling beneath her skin, finally being released.

“How fucking dare you. I can’t believe you! Seriously, how old are you?” She pauses to run her hands through her hair, frustration overcoming her so much it feels as if it’s becoming her, the feeling overwhelming and unwelcome. 

“As a grown adult, I usually have a conversation with someone if I’m that concerned about being around them.” She takes another moment to take a breath, the feeling of finally speaking her mind to him allowing a sense of relief to flood her veins, but it’s quickly replaced by anger again as she watches him struggle to find words, as she so often had around him. 

“Y/N, listen, please.” 

She takes a moment to realise it’s the first time he’s ever called her by her name, previously under the impression that he simply hadn’t known it, but the fact he had and purposely chose nicknames he knew would piss her off, causes her to lose her temper once more. 

“No. You listen to me, Harry. You’re a prick who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone around you, particularly me. You’re rude and juvenile, and I can’t stand even being in the same room as you, let alone dating you! I wasn’t interested in you before I heard you speaking about me like a pig, and I’m certainly not interested in you now.” She watches as his face falls with each passing sentence, actively squashing the slight sense of sympathy she feels for him, before picking the strap of her bag up and placing it back on her shoulder.

“Seriously, Harry, don’t stress. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

At that, she turns around and walks away, leaving Harry standing in front of the bar. For the first time in what feels like forever, guilt wracks Harry’s body, the feeling so alien he clutches his hand to his chest and takes a deep breath. 

What the fuck had he done? 

——

The weekend felt grey. Heavy clouds covered the blue, leaving a dreary feeling to slink through the windows and into Y/N’s apartment. All colours felt muted and dull, even the pot plants she had dotted around the place looking droopy and sad. 

She wasn’t the type to feel sorry for herself, but there was something so heartbreaking about how Friday night had panned out. She didn’t necessarily care what Harry thought about her, she knew he was a prick, and his actions the previous night had only confirmed this. She guesses it was just a knock to her confidence, the same confidence she had spent so many years building and strengthening. She was sure of who she was, but sometimes it was hard when people would pick out the weak parts of her and use them against her.

Was she really that undesirable? 

Was the idea of her affection such a burden to others that the very prospect worried them? Y/N didn’t want to know, and she was trying desperately not to think of it but was failing miserably. Not even Moose, her little tabby kitten, could cheer her up. His mischievous and naughty nature made the little tike a right handful, but Y/N hardly cared at the moment, watching him tear at a loose strand of her carpet until even Moose had lost interest, choosing instead to lay on her lap, asleep. 

When she arrived at the party, Lucy had messaged her, but Y/N hadn’t replied. Too caught up and tired to explain the whole situation, and perhaps a little embarrassed, particularly when Lucy had messaged her upset that the man in question wasn’t present at the work drinks as he had promised. 

Y/N briefly wondered if he had gone home after their tiff, slightly surprised by the idea. She didn’t think he’d care, choosing to believe that his guilt-ridden tone was nothing but a ruse. Once again, she’s left wondering if her expectations of him were too low, but like kindling catching fire, the memory of his spiteful words roars into her mind leaving her skin burning and her eyes watering, doing nothing to put out the fiery anger broiling in her chest. 

Not even Sarah, Harry’s friend, could change her view of him. On Monday, when Y/N was waiting for the kettle in the communal kitchen to boil, a presence behind her had scared her. It was Sarah, with her warm smile and soothing voice, standing with her hands cupping her elbows, the gesture clearly an attempt to calm her nerves. And Y/N’s not surprised. The last time she’d seen the woman standing in front of her was when her best friend was exclaiming very loudly about how undesirable he found Y/N. 

She wasn’t sure what on earth Sarah could want with her. She didn’t know her all that well and was briefly concerned she would show the same tact as Harry and rub his teasing directly into her face. However, what Sarah says takes her by surprise. 

“Hi. I just wanted to apologise for what H said on Friday night. It was horrible and so unfair. I’m sorry he did that, and if it’s worth anything, I ripped into him after you left.” 

Y/N’s fully aware that the shock was written very clearly across her face, the only thing breaking her out of her reverie was Sarah herself, a small cough leaving her throat, her eyes filled with nerves as she awaited for any sort of reply.  

“Uh…” but what was Y/N supposed to say? She wasn’t inclined to say it was okay because it definitely wasn’t, and she was not about to let Harry off the hook that quickly. “Yeh, it was pretty awful.” Sarah’s quick to nod in agreement, her wide eyes earnest, leaving Y/N to believe she genuinely did feel bad. “I know. It really wasn’t like him at all. He’s not nearly as bad as he seems, I promise.” 

Y/N laughs now, in disbelief, uncomfortable in the current situation- with the woman in front of her clearly friendly and caring, apologising on behalf of a man who was anything but. Sarah smiles now, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand gently before crossing her own arms once again, “I know. You don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you.” She looks around as if she’s checking the coast is clear before she leans in, her voice dropping a decibel or two. “Between you and me, I think he was talking absolute shit when he said that stuff about you. In fact, I’m not even sure he had himself convinced.” Y/N’s about to ask Sarah exactly what she meant by that, but Sarah’s phone rings before she can. The woman excused herself and ran out, answering the phone with a gentle “hello?” As she leaves the room. 

It left Y/N alone with her own thoughts. What was she to make of what Sarah had told her? Honestly, she didn’t believe he didn’t mean what he had said. 

 If Y/N was being honest, this whole interaction told her everything she needed to know about Sarah but did absolutely nothing to change her opinion of the man in question. 

She hated the idea of him. She hated his voice, his disgusting way of speaking about her. She hated his stupid silk shirt and sparkly rings. She hated the way his voice wavered as he tried to apologise. She hated how his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth skewed around his lie. 

Y/N hated everything about him. 

Y/N fucking hated Harry fucking Styles. 

——

The morning felt grey. The black clouds in the sky matched the bags under Harry’s eyes almost perfectly, and if it wasn’t for the coffee burning Harry’s hands, he’s not sure he’d even be able to stay awake. It was one of those days when Harry wanted to return to bed the second he’d gotten out of it. The only thing that had motivated him to wake up and get himself here, in front of the lift in the office, was the idea that he could come back home and slip into the silk sheets again in the evening. 

He takes another sip of the coffee, the bitter brew burning his tongue, and if Harry was in a better state of mind, he might have even reacted. Instead, he stares blankly at the lift doors, waiting for them to open so he can begin his ascent. 

He wasn’t one to regret his actions, and he wasn’t one to ruminate over poor decisions he’d made, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty over how the events on Friday night had unfolded. It was almost impossible to forget the broken stance Y/N had shown when he had turned around, the same stance he’s almost sure he would’ve mirrored immediately. He didn’t necessarily like the girl, but fuck, he wasn’t a monster. The same scene had replayed in Harry’s head all weekend, and if he didn’t get it to stop soon, he’d go insane. 

Finally, the lift opens, and he steps inside, pressing the button to the associate’s floor and leaning against the back wall, his gaze trained solely on his Gucci loafers against the tiled floor. The sound of stilettos against that same floor catches his attention, as well as the familiar scent he often thought about, all clean linen and citrus. When he looks up at the lift doors closing in front of him, the gap showing the lobby is quickly replaced by the reflection of the same eyes he had watched well up Friday night. 

He almost drops his coffee in surprise, getting a grip again when her gaze meets his and then quickly shakes it, moving instead to the floor Harry had just been looking at. Following her line of sight, he takes a moment to realise exactly what she’s wearing, red bottomed heels (surely they weren’t Louboutins,) a professional-looking black dress ending mid-calf and a beautiful black jacket to match, black fur lining the cuffs and hem. She looked… good? 

Harry had never considered himself a psychic, but god, it didn’t take someone in tune with the metaphysical to feel the rage radiating off of Y/N. It was palpable, so much so that Harry’s sure if he reached out in front of him, he could feel it, perhaps even taste it on his tongue. He only realises he’s staring when he catches a look that could kill a weaker man than he, her filled eyebrows creasing in the centre of her face and her pretty lips being pulled into a snarl.

But Harry wasn’t weak, and he never claimed to be very smart either. 

“Y/N, I- can we talk about what happened last week?”

Well, if Harry thought the look he had received before could kill a man, this one could kill ten. The intensity of her stare almost causes Harry to flinch, but he stands firm, his hand reaching out towards her in a calming gesture, trying desperately to plead to her rationale. 

Luckily for Y/N, she’s saved by the bell; the obnoxious ding of the elevator had never sounded sweeter. She gives the man in front of her one final poisonous look before storming out of the lift. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

—— 

Y/N’s proud. She didn’t think she would ever even be able to string together a sentence around the prick consuming her thoughts, and now he was the one fumbling at her feet, struggling to form a coherent thought in her presence. 

If she wasn’t so upset by what he had said, she might have taken the time to bask in the power she wielded, maybe even used it to her advantage. Alas, she’s too frustrated, too angry to even be near him, let alone gloat at him. Instead, she takes for silent high-fives to herself each time she successfully avoids him, a quick pat on the back when she promptly ignores his apologies and a second to bask in the glory each time she feels him give her a look filled with guilt and regret. 

But her eminence is quickly overturned when Harry himself walks through her office door. He’d given up trying to apologise a few days ago, instead adopting Y/N’s tactic of avoiding every situation in which they’d need to be together, so his presence took her by surprise.

Instantly she goes to berate him, “get ou-,” but he interrupts her. 

“Relax, I’m just here for work. Garner has assigned us to look at the Andrews case together.” Harry has to grit his teeth at the look of absolute disgust that crosses her face, but he couldn’t very well chastise her for something like that, could he? 

“What?” She’ll never know why the world seemed to have turned against her in the last 72 hours. “Why do we both have to do it?” 

Y/N watches as he obviously attempts to stop his eyes rolling back into his head. “You handled the case when you were on the analyst’s floor, and it’s been dealt to me. Doesn’t make much fuckin’ sense, so he’s asked us to do it together.” 

She was a good person. She worked hard, paid her taxes, she volunteered at her local dog shelter each summer; why was the universe out to get her? 

“I don’t want to do it with you.” 

Harry can hardly help the fake smile that overtakes his features, his temper beginning to get the better of him. He’d fucked up, he knew that, but he was trying his damn hardest to be professional, and her teenager pity party really wasn’t helping the situation. 

“Great. Should you go tell Garner that, or shall I?” 

He had won. He knew he had, her shoulders slumping and lips tightening over her teeth. She may not have been happy about it, but she realised he was right- they didn’t really have a choice. 

Harry sits down on the chair in front of her desk that she pushes outwards with her foot, motioning with her hand for him to take a seat in a way so blasé it only works to bring Harry’s temper up further. 

It seemed Garner was the one that had fucked up this time- how they were supposed to work together on the project without killing each other, Harry didn’t know. 

——

Y/N didn’t think her day could get any worse. 

She’d been in a rush to get to work this morning, eating a tub of yoghurt with so much honey she had failed to realise it was very much out of date. While rushing out the door, she had pushed her favourite little pot right off her shelf, causing it to shatter into a hundred pieces on the floor- surrounded by the plant’s guts and dirt. The rush to pick up the sharp pottery so her kitten wouldn’t hurt himself on them and sweep up the dirt had left her to be late for work- rushing up the stairs and into the elevator with beads of sweat rolling down her back.

And what was to meet her when she finally got into her office, but Harry himself, sitting in her chair. 

“You’re late.” 

Y/N wishes she could say she handled this taunt with grace, but her shitty morning mixed with her growing comfortability around him, meant she definitely didn’t. “Fuck off and get out of my chair.” 

While Harry loved the way Y/N stuttered and stumbled around him, he almost loved it more now that she griped back at him. He wasn’t sure if the cruelty of his actions had led her so far past the edge that she didn’t care anymore or if spending time with him on the Andrews case had allowed a certain familiarity to form between them. Whatever it was, he loved that now when he teased her, she would come up with her own jab at him, asking if he’d looked at himself in the reflection of his overly priced and overly shined shoes when he’d asked what was wrong with her hair on Wednesday after she had unfortunately gotten stuck in the wind. 

He loved it even more, when she didn’t even bother to come up with a witty comeback, hissing a “fuck off” at him with a face that could startle a bear and so much venom in her voice that sometimes it even surprised him. 

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the crypt this morning!” He says as he stands up, walking around her desk and leaning against the side of it, forcing her to turn and face him directly to fit herself between him and the wall to get to her chair. 

As she passes him, she takes a moment to look him up and down, noting the white boots, lime green pants and blue wool jumper. “Is your stylist a small, untalented five-year-old girl or?” 

Harry can’t help the cackle that leaves him, watching the small smile fill her face that she tries to conceal as she places her handbag on the desk and takes a seat, turning on the computer without looking at him as he replies. 

“Uh, his name is Harry Lambert. He’s a genius actually- styles for Milan and everything.” Y/N didn’t care if she was being honest, the subtle flex not impressive in the slightest when looking at this outfit. However, what does surprise her is that he actually has a stylist, but well, of course, he fucking does. 

“You actually have a stylist?” 

Harry nods, “Yes. How else would you explain my model-worthy looks?” For the first time, Y/N cracks a genuine smile, thinking of all the awful things she could say to him. In the end, she says, “do you really want me to answer that?” 

Ignoring her, Harry walks around her office, flicking one of the fake plants on the corner of her desk, screwing up his nose. 

“Did you come into my office for a specific reason, or did you just want to annoy me?”

He turns to face her completely, waving the file in his hand towards her as if it was a trophy, “ah, yes. Although I do enjoy the latter, I came in to let you know I set up that meeting with Andrews tomorrow to present our recommendations.” 

Y/N feels apprehension drip down her spine and into her stomach. Her first meeting was always going to be a source of anxiety, but doing one with Harry seemed to make it worse. Unfortunately for her, Harry catches the look of uneasiness that crosses her face, briefly wondering if he should take it easy on her. He decides not to. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re scared. I would say you have nothing to be nervous about, but, well…” he motions to her with his hand, a look of dismay on his face. 

If he was being perfectly honest, Y/N had actually been pretty easy to work with, a bit nervous and confused, but that was to be expected- it was her first few weeks in the new position, after all. But she was intelligent and asked the right questions, taking the initiative to complete tasks Harry himself hadn’t even thought of yet. All of her reports were labelled and printed on lined paper, not a dot point out of place or a spelling mistake in sight. He didn’t know if she’d done it purposefully or not, but he could even smell a distinct perfume on each sheet as if she’d sprayed each one individually. 

Harry would never say anything like this to her, though, choosing instead to nitpick her work until she rolled her eyes or snapped at him or he would just blatantly ignore her- it depended on his mood. 

—— 

Y/N could feel anxiety rising in her chest, the feeling swelling and ballooning in her throat, causing each breath to be laboured and heavy. 

She forces herself to take them anyway as she sits on the floor of her office with her legs crossed and her hands resting on each knee. Slowly, Y/N forces herself to calm her breathing in an attempt to ground herself. Rather than focusing on the suffocating feeling within her lungs, she paid attention to her body, the way she was sitting, the way the cheap carpet scratched against her legs, bare thanks to the tight skirt that had rolled up in her position. Taking a moment, she notices how her hair is brushing against her back, how her clothes feel resting against her skin, and how the weight of each of her limbs presses her further into the ground. 

Counting each breath that enters her body and each that leaves her, Y/N feels her muscles relaxing, a sense of zen replacing the stifling worry that had previously occupied the space. 

Her first meeting with Harry was only twenty minutes away, and while Y/N knew she could do it, it didn’t stop the pressure from getting to her. Scenarios of her fucking up kept playing on repeat until she forced herself to leave the break room in a flurry, cutting Harry off as he broke down the brief she had already read ten times through. 

While meditating had allowed her mind to float outside of her body for a moment, the sound of her office door opening sends it straight back into place, her eyes flying open while she scrambles to stand- not prepared for Harry to ask why she was sitting on the floor of her office like a petulant child. But it’s not Harry that enters, but rather Lucy, the smell of flowers and cheap lipstick following her. 

She doesn’t even ask any questions, which Y/N silently thanks her for. Instead holds out her hand for Y/N and helps her up, brushing an invisible bit of lint from her shoulder as she does so. Lucy’s stare begins to become uncomfortable, her green eyes piercing as they wait for Y/N to say something, anything really. 

“Lucy, I- sorry.”  

Lucy’s perfectly manicured eyebrows twist in confusion for a moment, “for what? Think you scared Harry more than anyone else.” 

Y/N nods her head, imagining how it had looked from his perspective, “the meeting. I just, I’m not sure I can do it.” Shockingly, the red-headed woman in front of her only scoffs, “Jesus Y/N. I know you’re scared, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. We all know you deserved that promotion more than anyone. I know it, Garner knows it, and even Harry does. He wanted you up here for a reason, girl, and honestly, I think you surprised everyone.” 

Y/N feels herself smiling and shaking her head in confusion, “surprised you?” Lucy nods solemnly, “how?” 

She looks up, pondering her next words carefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but the most we’d heard from you was the shy and flustered muttering you’d say to Harry occasionally. The fact you came up here, more than capable, smart and confident, shocked everyone. You’re damn good at this job, Y/N. You should’ve been promoted long before half of us.” 

Y/N didn’t know this was how the others felt about her. While she wasn’t too impressed that people actually had seen her as Harry had tried to portray her, the fact that she had proven herself worthy of a position here made her ego inflate, a sense of elation filling her chest. This was the nicest Lucy had ever been to her and the longest she’d spent talking about anyone but herself, and Y/N couldn’t be more grateful. 

“Okay, I think I just need to relax. I can do it.” Lucy nods along, “if it makes you feel any better, I accidentally asked the client if he’d give me sex rather than ‘a sec’ in my first meeting. I’m still here, and while it was embarrassing, I got through it!” 

Y/N bursts out laughing, the idea of a bright red Lucy standing in front of a board of powerful people asking for sex relieving the tension she feels some. 

“Thank you, Lucy, really. I appreciate it.” 

She brushes it off, shaking her head, “you’ve got this girl. Now go find Harry before he has a conniption.” 

Y/N nods, pulling her skirt down and leaving the office, a renewed sense of confidence and serenity filling her. 

But who was to walk around the corner when Y/N was feeling the first shred of confidence she’d experienced in the year she’d worked here but Harry himself. Only it’s not his presence that surprises her most. No, it’s the instant burning feeling against her chest as his steaming cup of coffee is spilt down the front of her shirt, her freshly pressed, cream fucking shirt. 

Y/N stifles the pained yelp that threatens to leave her, only leaning forward and pulling the burning cloth away from her no doubt red skin, looking up to see Harry in shock before her, looking at the mess he’d made from his clumsiness. The surprise on his face was replaced by relief for a second, “Y/N!” 

Still in shock and now in pain, she doesn’t acknowledge him, “fuckin’ hell.” She groans, rushing towards the women’s bathrooms next to the elevators. 

She hears Harry following behind her, so close she almost turns around and scolds him for not giving her space when she clearly needed it. 

“Are you okay?” 

She feels as if he’s not just referring to the potential burn she was currently feeling the effects of. When he doesn’t receive a reply, he follows her straight into the bathroom, ignoring the startled yelp and dirty look Martha, whose office sat across from Y/N’s, gave him. 

Y/N heads straight for the paper towels on the wall, running some under cold water and rubbing at the substantial brown stain covering the front of her chest. As she does so, she watches Harry’s face in the mirror, still reflecting his own shock and, if she didn’t know any better, guilt. She jumps when he interrupts her, “no, no! Dab, don’t rub. This is silk. It’ll never come out like that!” 

Y/N doesn’t say anything, just gives him a quizzical look as she changes her strategy, dabbing gently at the stain rather than rubbing it. She was awfully confused. While she and Harry had been getting along better, he also isn’t the type to care so much about anything regarding her. In fact, she’s almost surprised he didn’t laugh in her face at the first drop that had left his mug. But looking at him now with his face in his hands, she’s left bewildered. “What’s wrong? It’s just a stain.” 

Harry looks at her as if she’s insane, his hands held out in front of him, his eyebrows screwed up in disbelief, and his pretty pink lips gaping apart like a fish. “The meeting Y/N! The fucking meeting!” He begins to pace, and Y/N realises her mistake. He wasn’t concerned for her well-being or even the well-being of the overpriced silk button-up she was wearing. No, he was only concerned with himself and the meeting they were supposed to present in less than fifteen minutes. Of fucking course.

“Uh, okay. I’ll… I’ll run home and grab a different shirt while you start the meeting without me.” 

He interrupts her as she finishes her sentence, “no!” She looks at him quizzically once again, waiting for some sort of explanation or a better idea from him. “I can’t do it without you.” Y/N watched as a light pink blush swept across his cheekbones, his gaze averted as his following words came out softer, “besides, we don’t have time. You’d never make it back before I finished the meeting.” 

Y/N feels her gaze soften slightly at that because, god, she never thought that the Harry Styles would be telling her he couldn’t complete a meeting without her, but here she was, in all her coffee-stained glory. “I might have a shirt or something in my car that you can use.” 

Well, he did have a shirt, a whole range of shirts, actually. From women’s blouses to men’s graphic tees, he seemed to have a sort of wardrobe in his back seat, the organised chaos a stark difference from what Y/N can see as a sparkling front seat. She didn’t want to know how or why he had some of the items he did. Still, none seemed to work, all a bit too small or casual for their business meeting, until Y/N is ushering Harry to stop looking, whining that they only had “five minutes left,” while the bottom half of him hung out the side of the back door, and the front half frantically searched for something that could work. 

“Aha! This is the one I was looking for.” He pulls out a linen shirt, similar to the one she was previously wearing in cut and style, only this was white. It was slightly crinkled, a symptom of being smushed in the backseat of his car, she imagines, but he was right- it might just work. There’s an awkward pause as Harry waits for her to try it on, and Y/N waits for him to turn around, covered enough from prying eyes in the corner of the car park and behind his door but completely exposed to his gaze. She looks at him expectantly, watching as the realisation crosses his face, and for the first time ever, Y/N believes she’s caught him off guard, an embarrassed red hue flushing his cheeks. 

As he turns to face the other way, Y/N unbuttons the spoiled shirt and replaces it with Harry’s, his cologne still weaved in the fabric as she tosses it over both shoulders and does the buttons up before trying to look in the reflection of his shiny black sedan to see if it looked presentable. 

To be honest, it was a little tight on her breasts, just toeing the line of inappropriate for a corporate workplace, but it would have to do. The only other option was her now coffee-coloured dress shirt or Harry’s ‘I’d love to fellate George Harrison’ tee, which she’s sure HR would be really interested in hearing about if she chose to wear into a meeting that could potentially bring the company millions. 

“Y’done?” 

Y/N sighs, trying to tame some of the flyaways that had escaped in their flurry as she replies, “yeah.” 

He turns instantly, his gaze immediately dropping to her breasts straining against the fabric, “jesus Y/N.” 

She takes a moment to look at him with admonishment, “it’s the best we can do. Let’s hope the board aren’t a bunch of fucking lechers like you.” 

He followed behind her, skipping slightly to keep up with her fast pace, set due to the time crunch they were currently under. “I am not a lecher! I didn’t mean it. They were just fuckin’ there! Why would I be staring at your tits anyway?” He exclaims, putting emphasis on the ‘your.’  Y/N promptly ignores the slight jab, entering the lift and turning around to face the front, pulling at the shirt away from her still sticky chest without much thought, unsure if she’s trying to lessen the amount of cleavage visible or keep the clean shirt away from her coffee-stained skin. 

He enters behind her watching her movements for a second, his brows furrowed and his mouth set in a frown, before reaching forward, surprising Y/N when he grabs her wrists lightly and puts them down by her side. The touch is so gentle and considerate that she has to check it was him that was still holding her wrists, “it looks fine, Y/N. I’m just bein’ a prick.” 

She looks him in the eyes, the most genuine and earnest she’d ever seen them, taking a moment to notice the darker green ring surrounding his iris and nods slowly. Harry wasn’t usually so kind to her.

They are so close to each and Y/N can’t quite place whether it was her or Harry who had moved to make it so. For a moment, they just stand there staring at each other, Y/N suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the tightness of his hands around her wrists and the way a flush is creeping up the smooth skin of Harry’s cheek. Y/N is struck by how pretty Harry really was, his top lip forming the perfect arch of his cupids bow, the tiny mole in the corner of his mouth, the gentle flop of his hair and his striking but gentle eyes, flicking between her own and to Y/N’s surprise her lips- so quickly she almost misses it. 

The air feels thicker, and as Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, Y/N feels the space become stifling and uncomfortable. 

This is Harry. She’s not supposed to feel a tightening in her tummy at the way the artificial light of the elevator makes his pink lips glisten, or the way his hands are beginning to feel sweaty due to how tightly they’re wound around her wrists.

She steps back slightly, breaking the intense stare they were sharing, and Harry does the same, dropping her hands, coughing lightly and turning awkwardly back to the lift doors waiting for them to open. 

Y/N actively avoids his gaze in the mirrored walls of the lift, only moving when the doors slide open. The energy in the confined space seemed to have momentarily slowed time, but the second she left, the urgency of their situation rolled over her in full force. 

Without a word, they both go to their offices, grab the files they need and meet back in front of the meeting room door. 

He looks down at her, the same gentle look in his eyes that was present in the elevator, the gentle slope of his nose and crinkles surrounding his eyes leaving her bewildered, not yet used to the tender gaze. 

“You ready?” 

With a silent nod from her, he opens the door, motioning with his ring-clad hand for her to enter, following close enough behind her that she can feel the lapels of his jacket brushing her arm. 

And suddenly, she finds herself in a room full of people, all holding the fate of her job in their hands- her only salvation, the painfully arrogant man standing behind her. 

——

The meeting had gone well. So well, in fact, that Y/N could hardly believe it herself. Everything still felt a little surreal. The way Harry had acted in the meeting was inconceivable, treating her as a partner. An equal.

He’d not once spoken over her or corrected her but instead would ask her for confirmation on their recommendations or her own findings on specific stocks. He even chuckled at all her (probably miserable) attempts at lighthearted humour, inciting rumbling laughter from the much older and much more experienced board sitting in front of them. 

Even the way Garner had entered her office with a smile bigger than she’d ever seen from him plastered on his face, and a new project for her to jump onto immediately felt unbelievable. 

Y/N would carry this weightlessness with her all the way to two weeks later, where she just happened to be sitting at her desk, the office the type of quiet you could only find when everyone had gone home while the blaring ten o’clock from her phone was mocking her for her foolishness. She hadn’t meant to stay this late; she really hadn’t. But god, she didn’t want to let Garner down after her first presentation with Harry had gone so well. And if she was being perfectly honest, this case was much more complex than the one she had just completed, only made more challenging without the albeit annoying but ultimately experienced and helpful eye of Harry watching over each decision she made. 

She felt like she’d been thrown into the deep end here. Was everyone expected to do one assisted case and then given another to do all by themselves? 

One that could potentially cost the company millions? 

Y/N was stressed. She’d long passed the point of caring, leaving her uncomfortable heels in front of her desk and letting her hair out of the way too-tight ponytail it had been occupying during the day, rubbing her eyes out of frustration. 

She could tell Garner how much she was struggling, but she didn’t very well want to do that. It was hard enough being the newbie on the office floor, let alone the newbie that complains the second something becomes slightly complicated. 

No. Y/N could do this. She knew she could. She just had to dig deep and perhaps get another cup of coffee to get her through. 

What she doesn’t expect when walking towards the kettle is the very man that had been occupying her thoughts since the meeting had ended to walk right around the corner. 

Harry looked as if he could be walking into the workplace at 8am on a Monday morning, his skin glowing, hair perfectly coiffed, and his clothes looking freshly pressed, a stark contrast to what Y/N imagines she looks like with her crinkled skirt, bare feet and messy hair. 

“Harry? What on earth are you doing here this late?” 

He looks as surprised as she probably did, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tilts his chin, looking behind her as if the reason she was also here at such a time was hidden behind her. 

“Could ask the same of you. Garner finally getting you to pay him back for that promotion?” She can’t help but roll her eyes at the statement, one she now would usually cop on the chin and reply with something like, “no, he said he was too worn out from his go with you,” but she was too tired. Instead, she lets out a humourless chuckle and continues her journey to the kettle, hoping that a fresh mug would give her the energy she needs to deal with the asshole now behind her. 

“What, not in the mood to play with me tonight, hm?” 

At this, she turns around, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of the hot beverage she’d just poured herself, “unfortunately not.” It’s then something clicks in her mind, and Harry watches as her eyes widen and she stands a little straighter. “Actually, I heard that maybe it shouldn’t be Garner that I should be thanking for my promotion.” 

It takes Harry a second to catch on, his mind whirring through possibilities of what she could be talking about before he realises, and then a teasing look comes across him, and Y/N knows whatever he has to say next, she probably won’t like. 

“Wait, are you offering me a blowie?” He says with faux shock, his eyes glinting with a playful look as pure shock (and annoyance) flits across Y/N’s face. 

“In your dreams, asshole.” Harry can’t contain the smirk that fills half his face. 

“How’d you know?” 

Y/N tries desperately to stop the flush that overcomes her but knows she fails when Harry only looks at her gloatingly. This new relationship she and Harry were walking into was dangerous territory- one full of flirty advances and looks that Y/N doesn’t know if she has the strength to decipher. 

It was like something had shifted in the elevator. Harry hardly ever made fun of her anymore, and if he did, it felt like he was inviting her to laugh with him rather than laughing at her. Each poke and prod followed by a look that for some inexplicable reason leaves Y/N blushing.

She chooses instead to ignore his jabs, and walk back to her office, sure there was plenty more she could do with her time than entertain his playful taunting. 

The quick pad of his footsteps behind her tells Y/N her plan may not work out. 

As she sits at her desk and focuses her attention back on her computer, she feels the overwhelming gaze of Harry, standing in the doorway and his low voice interrupts her once more. “What are you actually doing here this late? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, saving stray kittens or summat?” Y/N actually laughs at this, and Harry has to stop his own flush from spreading to his cheeks. 

“I should be, yes. But I’m stuck trying to figure out the Davis case. It’s all a bit up in the air, and Garner wants it done by Monday.” 

 Harry frowns, “so why are you here at ten pm?” 

Y/N scowls slightly like it should be obvious, “I can’t figure it out.” He nods, “well, lemme have a look,” as if it wasn’t a big deal. Like by doing that, he wasn’t putting himself out, doing extra work that wasn’t his at ten pm on a Tuesday.

She’s quick to refuse his help, not doing much as he gently pushes her chair away from the desk and occupies the space for himself, “no, Harry, you don’t have to do that! Really, I can figure it out.” 

Y/N fights away the feeling of déjà-vu as she’s taken aback by his proximity when he turns slightly, so close his breath tickles her lips as his eyes flicker down to look at them, “it’s fine, Y/N,” he rolls his eyes.

Perhaps if she wasn’t so stunned by his actions, she’d have the strength to refuse again. Instead, she merely nods, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. What on earth had gotten into her? Two times in one month, she’d thought about kissing him, and two times in one month, she’d actually wanted to. 

Y/N could smell Harry’s cologne as he typed away at the computer in front of her, each movement of his deft fingers sending another gust in her direction. Y/N feels her stomach tighten as he gently pulls at his lip as he reads the text infront of him, his eyes darting back and forth. The only thing that draws her attention away from his lips is the text notification from her phone. 

She forced herself to pull away from him, hoping whoever had texted her might pull her back into reality and knock some sense into her spinning head. However, the text she receives only works to confuse her further when she notices it’s from Liam. 

Why in the ever living fuck would Liam be texting her? He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d sucked him off in the office bathroom, their last interaction consisting of him giving her some paper towel to wipe the cum off her fingers, and now he was messaging her? He’d ignored her for months. What was she supposed to do with the ‘hey! I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink sometime?’ she’d just received. 

It’s then Harry notices the girl beside him, frozen and looking at her phone, puzzled. He directs his attention toward her, leaving the computer in favour of whatever seems to be capturing her attention. 

“What’s wrong?” 

How could Y/N explain this? Liam had asked her not to tell anyone what had happened, and she’d respected his wishes, but now she was just confused. Not just confused, Y/N was angry. He really thought he could treat her like dirt and then waltz back into her life, asking her out once the boss looked at her favourably? Fuck no. Why was she doing him any favours in the first place? 

“Uh, it’s Liam.” 

Harry pauses, taking a second to process what she’d said. “Liam? As in Liam Payne? You mean the wanker with the middle part and leather jacket, Liam Payne?” 

She can’t help but giggle, and Harry revels in the way the furrow in her forehead softens slightly. Nodding, Y/N confirms Harry’s suspicions and leaves him desperately wanting to know why a prick like Liam even had the chance to text her. Why did someone like that have her number when even he didn’t? 

“What’s he doing texting you? ‘Specially at this time of night. Don’t tell me you’re fucking him!” 

Y/N screws up her nose and shakes her head a little too quickly for Harry to believe he’s entirely off the mark, and he tries desperately hard to keep the judgement off his face. It wasn’t like Liam was entirely insufferable, just known for fucking girls around and being particularly lazy at work. 

And well, Harry didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on there, but at least no one could ever call him lazy. 

He waits for Y/N to speak again, can practically see the gears turning in her head as she thinks of what to tell him. “We didn’t have sex.” She glances up quickly to gauge his reaction, only being met with the indifferent look he usually sported, so she continues, “I just- we um. I sucked him off in the bathroom.” 

The last part is said quickly and so quietly that Harry has to pause for a moment to process whether he’d actually heard her correctly. 

He couldn’t believe it. This little innocent puppy in front of him was actually something of a minx. Y/N must see the look on his face because she quickly tries to backtrack, stuttering even more than she usually did. “No, it wasn’t like that! It literally- well, it only happened once, and we haven’t spoken since. He hasn’t said another word to me!” 

Harry’s brows furrow at this, a new, unfamiliar feeling leaking into the bottom of his spine. “He didn’t speak to you again afterwards?” Shaking her head, Y/N looks away, desperately trying to avoid any gaze Harry tries to initiate. “Well, it was just casual. I didn’t expect him to court me with flowers or anything!” 

There was something sort of sad about the way Y/N was speaking, as if she’d tried so hard to convince herself of this that she believed she was talking sense to him now. “Y/N, sweetheart. It’s not about flowers and all that, the least he could do was fuckin’ speak to you after. Especially after making such a pretty girl get on her knees in the bloody office bathroom, no less. Why would anyone go out of their way to ignore you after that?” 

And well, Y/N doesn’t know. It was true. She really hadn’t been expecting much from him. But Harry was right; she was at least hoping he’d acknowledge her existence when walking into the office kitchen and not run out like a startled rat. 

Harry doesn’t know why exactly, but he can’t stand the way her face drops, and he quickly jumps to stand in front of her, grabbing her soft hands in his own. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Forget about him, yeh? He’s not even worth your time.” 

What Harry really wanted to say was god, she could do a million times better than fuck face Payne. He wanted to tell her she deserved to be courted, to be surprised with flowers and to be asked about her day. But he didn’t know how and it wasn’t exactly his place to tell her this; they’d only just gotten onto friendly terms. 

Harry couldn’t pinpoint why this sudden possessiveness over Y/N had come up. All he knows is he didn’t want her anywhere near Liam, couldn’t bear the idea of them together. And don’t get him wrong, he knows Y/N was a grown woman that could make her own decisions, so why did the idea of Liam’s prick in her mouth send a pang to his chest? 

Looking at her now, Y/N is giving him that same puppy-eyed look she used to give him when he would make fun of her at her desk, and he briefly wonders how he ever saw her looking at him like that and didn’t instantly get on his knees apologising. It was so full of sadness, lacking the usual life and verve he’d gotten used to in her gaze during the past couple of weeks. 

Without thinking, Harry rubs his thumb along her bottom lip, “enough of that. Stop your poutin’.” Out of instinct, Y/N pulls back, Harry’s hand dropping from her face, and she cringes as she watches the wounded look that crosses his face. 

“I- sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He only nods, looking away and pulling back from her slightly to face the computer once again, but Y/N doesn’t want that. No, right now, Y/N wants him back close to her, she already missed the soft press of his thumb and the gentle puff of air each time he would exhale, blowing against her cheek. She couldn’t explain it, this want, this need. It was so pent up inside her like it had always been there, and she’d finally acknowledged and given it a reason to be let out, the two seconds without his contact suddenly becoming unbearable. 

So she grabs his hand and places it back on her cheek. His rings are cool against the flushed (and no doubt red) skin, but it feels good. A sense of relief and respite from the heat pumping through her veins and into her face, so she nuzzles gently into his palm, holding the smooth skin of his wrist. His eyes soften as he watches her. 

“Oh puppy, look at you gettin’ all soft on me.” 

Harry feels her jaw bob slightly as she swallows, the movement drawing his attention down from her eyes to her mouth, and it’s only when she speaks does his gaze meet hers again. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to pull back, just not quite used to this… uh friendliness, yet.” 

He only nods, this time in understanding, watching as her own line of sight dances between his pretty eyes and his even prettier lips. “What are you lookin’ at my lips for, hm?” The blush that sports her cheeks is instant and Harry can’t help but chuckle as her mouth opens and closes, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- “ 

“Oi, what’d I say? Stop with the pouting. I’m only teasing.” Harry interrupts, pulling at her pillowy bottom lip that had somehow become wedged between her teeth again. “If I didn’t know any better, Y/N, I’d think you were looking at my lips because you wanted to kiss me.” 

If Harry was being honest, he expected her to scoff and shake her head like she usually did when he teases her like this. But instead, he watches as her eyebrows scrunch up slightly as if she was just as confused by it, her gaze meek as she nods, looking down longingly at his lips once more. Harry has to stop himself from moaning, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at her uncharacteristic confidence. 

“Y’want to kiss me?” It comes out whispered and breathy unintentionally, originally meaning to sound blasé and unperturbed. 

Y/N hardly has to nod again before he pushes his mouth against hers. He pulls back, gently brushing his lips against hers, giving her time to protest, time to tell him this is the opposite of what she wanted. Instead, he feels as she pushes back against him with as much fervour as he had, moulding her soft lips against his own slightly chapped ones. 

The whine Harry lets out is nothing short of embarrassing. He just couldn’t explain it. Kissing had never felt like this before, like her lips fit perfectly in the slot between his own. As if his whole life, he’d been waiting for her mouth to fill the spot so many others couldn’t. 

It just felt right.

They continue kissing, their tongues brushing against each other’s, tasting of coffee and frustration and missed opportunities.

This whole time he was teasing her; this is what he was missing? If Harry could travel back in time, he would. He’d go back to the first day they met when she’d walked into the work elevator and promptly dropped her iced tea on his new white vans. He’d take back the dirty look he’d given her as she tried to apologise. He’d tell her it was okay, not ask her if she was ‘fucking kidding’ and telling her to leave him alone as he went to the bathroom to try to wash the sticky liquid out of the canvas. He’d do it all differently. 

Maybe Harry could’ve avoided a lot of unenthusiastic one-night stands and unneeded frustration. Maybe Harry would have jumped to this part a lot quicker. Just maybe. 

Y/N pushes Harry back slightly, giving herself more room to join him in kneeling on the ground, but it just wouldn’t do. Harry needed to have her as close as possible to him, and sitting next to him wasn’t nearly close enough. He pulls away from her mouth and stands up, scoffing and sending her his signature smirk when she instantly kneels up, trying to undo his belt. “Jesus Christ, you little minx, you’re trying to get your mouth on me already?” 

She laughs, but he doesn’t miss how a blush spreads across her face, a clear sign of embarrassment. Pulling her up to meet him, he kisses her again, taking his time to feel her pulse against his palm as he cups her neck gently before turning around and sitting in the chair she was previously occupying, pulling her to straddle him. “There’ll be plenty of time for that, trust me. Just wanna kiss you right now.” 

She nods against him, slipping her tongue against his before lightly nibbling at his lip between hers, soothing the slight sting with a soft brush of her tongue. She understood. She just wanted to be close to him, to feel all of him right away. But she knew that wasn’t smart. She was confused by the way she was feeling, and having sex with him at the same desk he’d teased her relentlessly at probably wouldn’t clear much up for her. 

He just tasted so good; each touch of his mouth to hers sent little zaps through her, straight to her inner thighs. He was addicting in every sense of the word, and she could finally admit to herself that the second he’d kissed her, there would be no stopping herself. Y/N felt out of control, and while she knows hooking up with Harry here probably wasn’t the brightest idea, she really struggles to find it in herself to care right now.

Instead, she leans between them and palms gently at the growing bulge in Harry’s slacks, rolling her eyes and moaning as she feels him hardening underneath her palm, “god, you really are a minx. Just can’t help yourself, can you?” 

He grabs both of her wrists in one of his hands (Y/N swallows at that image because fucking hell, how big were his hands to fit around both of her wrists), and she lets him hold them against her chest. Using his other hand, he plays with the button on her pants, wasting enough time that Y/N begins to buck up underneath him, silently begging him to do something, literally fucking anything.

He looks up at her, and she feels like she’s about to be scolded, so she stops the movements of her hips. 

“Good girl,” he mutters and Y/N pants like a dog. 

Undoing the buttons, Harry helps Y/N lift her hips until he can slide her pants off onto the floor, pulling her back down onto his lap. She jolts lightly as she feels his erection against her soaking pussy, even through his pants and her underwear. 

Continuing to play with her, Harry snaps the elastics of her underwear against her tummy; he smirks at the little whines she lets out each time he does it. He could already tell Y/N was gonna be vocal, and he couldn’t wait to pull as many sounds out of her pretty mouth as he could. 

“Please- Harry, touch m-” She’s cut off by him harshly pressing at her clit through the cloth covering her, and she lets out a moan, her toes curling at the pressure. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” She rolls her eyes, and for some reason, Harry doesn’t think it’s because of his fingers. He decides to humour her anyway, pulling back and slipping his fingers into her underwear before she can complain about the sudden stopping of his movements and presses a finger into her.

He groans as he feels her folds, already silky and wet, and he’d hardly even touched her. His middle finger meets absolutely no resistance, although he feels her walls tighten around him at the intrusion. She instantly bucks towards him as he begins to thrust in and out, the pleasure almost too much and yet not enough, so he slips another finger into her sopping cunt, her wetness dripping down his digits and making the silver of his rings slippery.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure his fingers were giving her, Y/N tries to grip her hand against Harry’s shoulder to ground herself. Unfortunately for both Harry and herself, her fervour to do so means she isn’t all that careful in getting her hand there and instead accidentally knocks his chin on her way past. 

The laugh that leaves her is comical as she watches his face drawn with concentration, instantly fill with shock as he looks up at her, curious to see if she did it on purpose. Y/N swallows at the look that simpers across his features and finds herself letting out a deep moan at the sudden harsh and deep strokes Harry’s fingers take on, almost as if he was punishing her for laughing, a smug grin filling half his face. 

Y/N couldn’t believe how stretched out she felt from just two digits. She never would have described his fingers as thick, but feeling them inside her now, stretching her open, she began to wonder how his cock would ever fit inside her. 

While Y/N’s moan reverberates in the air in front of them, Harry’s eyes don’t dare leave her own, watching as hers crease in pleasure while holding the challenging gaze. When Harry looks down to watch his hand moving beneath her underwear, Y/N grabs onto his chin, pulling his gaze back to her, almost as if it was out of instinct. The small intake of air he takes in shock would usually make Y/N giggle if she wasn’t so focused on getting his gaze back to hers. 

It’s dominant in how she grips his strong jaw, so tight her thumb slightly indents into his cheek and so completely unlike her. Usually, she preferred to take on a more submissive role, particularly in the bedroom- but the way Harry is pliantly moving his head, whichever way her hand directs him to, sends a shiver up her spine. Slowly, and while still maintaining her grip, she brings her forefinger to gently trace his spit-slicked lips, the cupid’s bow slightly swollen from Y/N’s teeth nipping at it while they were kissing. 

She’d never thought of herself as dominant, but when Harry obediently opens his mouth, Y/N feels a rush between her legs, noticeably wetter at the sight of the man usually so cocky and smug, docile at her touch, like putty in her hands as he waits with his mouth agape, his tongue pushed out and his eyes fluttering in pleasure. Gently she traces the tip of her pointer finger over his tongue, watching as he jolts at the tickling feeling before slipping her finger into his mouth completely. She can’t control the whimper that leaves her as he closes his lips around her, sucking gently at the digit and nibbling at the sensitive pad of her finger. 

It’s erotic and filthy to watch his arm move beneath her skirt while her index finger gently ruts back and forth into his mouth, Harry accommodating to the intrusion, licking and sucking it as if it were a cock. 

She watches as Harry’s eyes flutter, rolling backwards as she slots her middle finger in his mouth too, no doubt the fluttering of her hole at the erotic scene in front of her making him even weaker. 

Y/N can hardly believe it when she pulls her hand back, hooking her thumb onto his lower jaw to keep it open, and Harry obediently follows her lead, unsure what she wanted to do but sticking his tongue out dutifully like his body could read her intentions even while his mind couldn’t. 

She leans forward and watches as the realisation clicks in his eyes as she purses her lips and spits lightly into his mouth, the saliva sliding to the back of his mouth and disappearing as he swallows, a broken moan leaving him. 

And with that, it’s like something snapped.

Harry’s standing up, her precarious position on his lap meaning she was pushed backwards as he did so, her spine landing roughly on the desk behind her. Y/N can hardly bring herself to care as he begins sliding his large hands up her thighs, pushing the material of her shirt further upwards and out of his way while leaning over her, rubbing his lips gently across her stomach. 

He glances at her briefly before standing back up straight, the submission he was sporting long gone as he sees the wet patch on the front of her underwear, a smug grin sliding onto his pretty mouth to replace it.

At the first touch of his thumb against her cotton-covered clit again, Y/N hisses, the contact not nearly hard enough to give her any pleasure but enough that she felt his presence there, slowly rubbing over the soaked material. 

“Messy, messy girl. What are we goin’ to do with you, huh?” Y/N whines, meeting his gaze again, and Harry almost drops down to his knees then and there at the pleading look in her eyes. He prevails, too hellbent on teasing her and chooses to pull the material taught against her swollen lips by the hem, his eyes glazing over as he watches her hips driving up, riding the seam of her underwear. 

A light groan leaves Y/N’s open mouth. Harry takes the opportunity to slip his middle two digits onto her tongue, crooning praise as she immediately begins sucking the remaining slick from her weeping hole, lapping at the salty taste. “Tha’s my good girl, look at you. Such a whore when you want to be, aren’t you? Were you this enthusiastic sucking Liam’s cock?” 

Instantly she’s shaking her head, her eyes meeting his own, pleading as if she was desperate for him to believe her before they roll into the back of her head, the right amount of pressure on her aching clit sending a zap of pleasure through her. 

“No? Well, aren’t I lucky then, s’all for me” 

He pulls the material to the side, sliding his fingers through her silky folds, ignoring her protesting groan at the pressure on her pussy being removed. Instead, he tuts his tongue, “to think you were trying to be all dominant. Looks like you were born to be on your back for me.” With that, he slips the wet fingers from her mouth into her hole once again, curling them upwards on each stroke back into her sopping cunt. 

His fingers just felt so good, reaching further than her own could ever, tapping gently at the sensitive spot inside of her, his thumb gently rubbing against her clit, but Y/N needed more. She needed his mouth on her. She grasps at his bicep, pulling him further down, closer to her mound and watches as he pulls his fingers out of her and slips them into his own mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the heady taste of her.

“God, you were so greedy licking all this before, not letting me have a taste or anything.” She wanted to tell him to shut up, to get his mouth on her, but all her confidence had slipped away once she was thrown onto the desk, Harry reducing her to a stuttering mess like usual. 

“Plea- Harry. I- come on, I need….” 

The feeling of Harry slapping her pussy sends a jolt through her, the pain mixing so deliciously with the pleasure that any trail of thought she had was long gone. 

“Spit it out, Y/N. I won’t do it unless you ask me.” She huffs, and he gives her a warning look, one that tells her that being a brat would get her the exact opposite of what she wanted. 

“Please, Harry, I need you.” A cocky grin fills his face, and he stands up taller again, leaning his elbow against her knee that was bent on the desk. “Need me to what?” 

She growls, “lick me. Make me cum, please.” She’s hardly finished her sentence before he’s on his knees and finally putting his tongue on her, sucking her clit into his mouth. 

“Fuck Harry, yes!” She pulls him even closer, feeling his tongue exploring her folds, dipping into her hole and back up to the most sensitive part of her again and again. 

Y/N can hardly stop herself from grabbing his hair and pushing his head into her, the tip of his nose rubbing right against her clit as he uses a flat tongue to lick into her.

She’s confused for a brief moment when she feels him stop moving, sticking his tongue flat against her again before she realises what he wants.

He wants her to use him. 

Using her hold on the back of his head for leverage, Y/N begins grinding onto his face, directing him exactly where she needs as she moves her hips back and forth, each time pushing his mouth onto her a little rougher.

The groan that leaves Harry sparks the beginning of Y/N’s orgasm. He sounded so desperate, so turned on by the thought of her using him this way, she has trouble believing he’s not a switch. Sure he was dominant; the last ten minutes alone had proven that, but Y/N could see as clear as day that he enjoyed being manhandled too, that the brief moment he had allowed her fingers and spit into his mouth was not a one-off. 

Harry Styles was as submissive as he was dominant. 

The thought brings Y/N’s climax to the edge, and Harry’s arm wrapping around her thigh to rub her clit with his thumb sends her plummeting.

She feels her whole body stiffen before waves of pleasure soar, each wave sending another spasm through her legs. Harry’s mouth and thumb are relentless through it. Each time she thinks her orgasm is ending, he sparks another jolt of pleasure. By the time she finally calms down, her legs are shaking around his head, and her thighs are closing around him as the stimulation becomes too much.

Y/N watches as his face emerges from between her legs, the bottom half of it smeared with a smug grin and her cum. A shudder is sent down her spine as he uses his thumb to wipe some from the corner of his mouth, sucking the pad of his finger like it was a bit of ice cream that had missed his mouth, the groan that leaves him from her taste sending the shiver deeper, to in between her legs.

Like he hadn’t had his tongue nestled in her cunt for the last ten minutes, and like she hadn’t just had a mind-shattering orgasm.

If she was being honest, Y/N could go again right then and there. In fact, she feels the need doubling as she looks down at the apparent bulge nestled between Harry’s legs, straining against the fabric of his slacks. She hears the man above her clear his throat, and her face instantly flushes as she realises she’s been caught staring at his crotch. 

Harry laughs, the sound travelling through her tummy and straight to her cheeks, she hadn’t even seen his dick, yet she was acting this cock drunk? What was wrong with her? 

Last time she checked, she was supposed to hate Harry, but she knew that was no longer the case. You don’t ride your enemies’ faces, and you definitely don’t crave their cum down your throat. 

Harry must see the confusion flitting across her face because he takes her chin in his hand and guides her face upwards, leaning down and brushing his lips against hers. 

“Hey, come back to me, yeah? What’s got my pretty girl all confused, hm? Talk to me.” 

My pretty girl. The statement shoots through Y/N like a rocket, each nerve ending sparking at the indifferent way he had claimed her as his. 

She chuckles lightly, “god, I’m supposed to fucking hate you.” He grins back, the stretch of his lips tickling her own as he moves. “Yeh? Why are you so wet then?” At this, he drags his ring finger through her puffy lips, pulling back slightly to show the slick practically dripping from the digit in front of them. 

Y/N briefly wonders if it’s healthy to blush so much as she feels her cheeks heating up once again. Harry revels in how she ducks her head shamefully, the colour on her face deepening as he pops the cum covered finger into his mouth and sucks off her sweetness. Leaning in, he kisses her gently, groaning as she opens her mouth and sweeps her tongue against his, licking off the remaining taste of herself. 

If Harry’s honest, he wants her tongue against his cock. He wants to thrust inside her mouth until her throat’s constricting around his weeping head; he wants to split her open. He wants to hear her cry his name as he thrusts inside her again and again, but he doesn’t want to ruin this. He wasn’t exactly sure what ‘this’ was, but he was fully aware that no other person had made Harry so gooey inside. 

This felt so different from anything Harry had ever experienced, and what was he supposed to do with that? He wanted to protect it, take Y/N in his hands, hold her close to his heart and never let go. Not that he was going to tell her that, not yet anyway. So when she deepens the kiss further and reaches down to stroke him through his pants, he pulls away, holding back the whine he instinctively wants to let out as her hand stops its movements immediately. 

She looks confused, and Harry’s heart aches.

“Are you okay?” He nods and watches as her gaze drops to his adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. She leans up and presses a gentle kiss against the side of his throat, pulling back and looking him in the eyes, and she holds his head in her hands. Inadvertently, Harry leans into the touch, enjoying how her thumb stroked against the smooth skin of his cheekbone. “We should get you cleaned up.” Instantly Y/N frowns, her mouth forming a delicious pout that Harry has to drag his gaze from. “What about you? I wanna make you feel good too. Please let me.” 

He shakes his head, dropping it against her plush chest. Instinctively she smooths her hands through the tufts at the back of his head, gently stroking and tugging. “What’s wrong, Harry? Talk to me, please.” 

He lifts his head, resting his chin against the bone of her sternum, careful not to rest too much weight on her. “Nothing, I promise,” his signature grin plastered on his face. “I’m happy, just want to be with you now. Don’t want anythin’ else from you.” 

She doesn’t quite believe him. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever met a man who would willingly turn down a blowjob, but she would always respect boundaries, even if she didn’t believe the intention behind them. Perhaps he was just uncomfortable, or hadn’t shaved and was self-conscious about it or summat? Maybe he just didn’t want to, and Y/N was more than okay with that. Thinks at this rate, she would do whatever Harry wanted, even if the rational part of her brain was screaming at her to do the opposite. 

So she only nods along and pushes a few loose strands of hair away from his face admiring the gentle slope of his cupid’s bow and the flutter of his eyelashes against the curve of his cheekbone. 

“Okay. That’s okay.” 

The smile he gives her makes Y/N’s heart flutter tenfold. 

She was utterly fucked. 

—-

Y/N didn’t know why she felt nervous. She definitely shouldn’t. It was just Harry; she’d spoken to him thousands of times, dropped bits and pieces into his office a million times over without hesitation.

It was just Harry. 

Just Harry, who had his face buried in her pussy not twenty-four hours earlier, that is.

 Y/N couldn’t help it. While she could’ve confidently explained why Harry had made her restless and fidgety a few months ago, words escaped her to explain why that was now. If anything, she should feel more comfortable than she was before. He had seen, felt, tasted parts of her that not many people had been privy to, and he’d made her feel good, at ease. 

So why did she feel so nervous now? 

The very thought of entering his office, seeing those eyes staring through her and those perfect lips shaping around her name, sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N was still trying to figure out if this was good or bad when she forced herself to walk through the door anyway. 

Instantly the smell of vanilla and patchouli overwhelms her senses. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, she feels her iron grip on the folder in her hands loosening slightly. It was calming, so familiar and intimate. It brings her back to lying on the desk last night, pleasure overwhelming her while she eyed the water-stained roof, Harry’s fingers tightening around her own. 

"Y/N, hey!" The voice is definitely not Harry's; she only notices Sarah's presence when she looks to her left. She jumps slightly, she hadn't anticipated company and her mind quickly ranges through emotions of comfort and then disappointment. 

Sarah's presence meant there was another person to help ward off any awkwardness and also significantly increased the chances that the topic of last night would be narrowly avoided. But it also meant Y/N couldn't take Harry in exactly how she just this moment realised she wanted to.

Shamelessly, without hesitation and perhaps with a kiss to kick it off, though she shakes her head, trying to rid herself of that thought. 

Sarah's voice brings Harry's attention upwards, away from his computer screen, and he physically has to tear his eyes away from Y/N's legs, bare and in a black mini skirt- just toeing the line of inappropriate for the workplace. 

He coughs, his cheeks heating with the knowledge that Y/N has definitely noticed his indiscretion if the uncharacteristic smirk is anything to go by. 

"Hi, pretty girl." 

If Harry struggled with her bare legs, Y/N is battling for her life. She knew she was completely and utterly fucked. Those few words had nearly brought her to tears, her thighs instantly squeezing together at his voice's raw and raspy tone. He knew what he was doing; he had to. 

And, of course, he did, referring to her the exact way he had last night after coaxing her back from her orgasm. 

He was such a tease.

Standing up, Harry walks towards her, motioning to the folder in her hands, "what's this?" 

The return to Harry's regular cadence of voice seems to wake her up, her eyes visibly opening from the hooded daze they had been in, no doubt remembering the events of last night.

"Uh, just dropping this file off. Tom said it might help you with your client." Harry squashed the brief fluttering of jealousy in his tummy at the thought of Tom (an admittedly attractive coworker he had overheard talking to his friends about how he thought Y/N would be good in bed) with Y/N. They worked together; of course, they'd need to talk eventually. Besides, it wasn't Tom's tongue that was buried inside of her last night. 

"Hm, how kind of him." He lets Y/N assume this is the end of his sentence and watches as she nods in agreement before continuing, "can I ask why Tom himself isn't delivering it?" 

Busted.

It wasn't as if Tom hadn't asked her to supply Harry with the folder, but it technically wasn't as if he had either. Y/N had overheard him chatting with a friend in the breakroom about when Harry's lunch break was so he could ensure he was in his office when he delivered it, when Y/N had stepped in and, well, lied. 

"Oh, I have to take something to him as well. Did you want me to just grab yours too?" 

And well, Tom didn't hesitate. She guesses one less task for him to complete. But she couldn't necessarily tell Harry that, and she certainly didn't want to, knowing it would inflate his poor ego even further, and with how big it already was, she feared it would float away. 

Harry knows that whatever was about to come out of her pretty little mouth was a bold face lie, thanks to Tom coming into his office about half an hour before attempting to pry any details he could about Y/N's willingness to see him out of Harry. 

"Uh- not sure! He just asked me. I guess he's probably… well, he's seen us around, assumed we were friends or summat? Not sure! You'd probably have to ask him yourself." She finishes with a smile. To anyone else, it would probably look unassuming, but Harry can see right through her. 

He nods, stepping even closer to her, about two steps away from invading her personal space- not that she'd mind, but she'd noted it, with Sarah being in the room and all. Harry watched her gulp, her throat bobbing as her eyes trained upwards to accommodate the height difference between them. The image of her on her knees flashes in his mind, and he has to consciously expel it, although his voice comes out raspy and bothered due to its effect. 

"You're cute when you're flustered. Lying to me already?" He pulls his arm in between them, pointedly checking the time on his watch, his wrist brushing gently against her covered chest with the movement, "and it's only 11 in the morning." 

Her eyes flash to Sarah, still sitting unassumingly in the corner on her phone and blissfully unaware that the territory Harry was walking in was quickly overstepping the line from professional. 

What with his 'fuck-me’ eyes and his bottom lip tucked safely under his top two teeth. 

"I'm not… I'm not lying." 

His eyebrows raise in question, an amused but intimidating smirk stretching across the bottom half of his face.

It's then that Y/N realises he definitely knows she's lying and that she hasn't even nearly gotten away with it. 

She rolls her eyes, "okay, so I offered to bring it to you. What's the big deal?" 

His grin reaches cheshire status, his eyes fully alight, and they take on an air of teasing. "Did you just want to see me, hm? Miss me already?" 

The smell of mint wafting off him almost causes Y/N to roll her eyes for a different reason, but she smiles nonetheless. "Maybe," she shrugs. 

Reaching up to twirl a strand of her hair around his ringed finger, he leans in even closer, "you only saw me last night." She swallows, his proximity affecting her more than she could ever admit, her gaze flicking between his unwavering eyes and his plush lips, "I know." 

Her voice is hoarse, and she hopes to god Sarah is seriously engrossed in whatever is on her phone because anyone who heard it would immediately be able to tell it was laced with a certain desperation for the curly-headed man before her. 

Harry feels happiness soaring through his veins at her admittance, her hungry eyes causing blood to rush through his veins and between his legs. Sparing a glance at Sarah, he presses a gentle kiss on Y/N's cheek, leaning closer to her ear and whispering, "I missed you too," before he leans back, taking the folder in his hands and walking back to his desk. 

"Thanks for this, Y/N, and tell Tom I said thanks too." 

Y/N feels the need to clear her throat, the brash difference between his low intonation while whispering in her ear and the bright and cheerful way his professional facade returned, leaving her dizzy. 

"Uh- I will. Thanks." 

Slowly, she begins to back out of the office, unable to entirely take her eyes off the man who now sat in front of his computer, his attention on an email he definitely did not need to read at that very moment, but what could Harry say? He liked to make her squirm. She loved how he could feel her attention on him, begging him to return her longing gaze. 

He only glances up when she says a quick but friendly goodbye to Sarah, the yearning look in her eye disappointing him none. 

Harry allows himself a mere three seconds of silence before it's abruptly interrupted by Sarah. 

"Huh." 

Harry forces himself not to roll his eyes, trying desperately to keep his attention on his computer screen and not on the very annoying woman pointedly looking at him from the corner. 

He lasts all of five seconds before her stare causes him to turn to her exasperatedly, "what?" Sarah laughs at his theatrics, holding her hands in front of him in surrender, "nothing, nothing! I just don't think I've ever seen you be so friendly with Y/N before."

This time Harry does roll his eyes, "and?" 

She laughs again, her eyes holding a certain curiosity Harry really wasn't interested in addressing currently, "nothing!" She repeats. "Just if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were interested in her." She drops her voice and very badly tries to mimic Harry's slow british drawl, "Hi, pretty girl." 

 Harry takes a moment to wonder how hard he'd have to roll his eyes before they popped right out of his head. Whatever the answer, he imagines he'd be pretty fucking close. "Fuck off, Sarah." 

"C'mon, Haz, I'm only teasing you!" She waits for him to look up at her again, a suspiciously innocent look overtaking her face before she adopts her ridiculously inaccurate imitation again, "what? Miss me already?"

She's cackling as Harry's growling at her, "get the fuck out of my office!" Before she makes her way out, taking great pleasure in the way he was crossing his arms and huffing like a petulant toddler. 

And it wasn't like Sarah was wrong, which is perhaps why he's so annoyed. He was interested in Y/N; of course, he was. In all honesty, he's surprised he didn't immediately confide in Sarah about the events of last night as soon as she'd stepped foot in his office, but something about it felt different. It felt private, a secret between just he and Y/N, something he felt would be breaking her trust if he told someone, even his best friend. 

He didn't know if perhaps he was worried it wouldn't play out exactly how he hoped or if he was just concerned that sharing the experience with anyone else would water down its saporous taste. Harry felt greedy. He wanted it all to himself, he didn't want anyone else to know how Y/N sounded when he suckled lightly against her neck or how soft the skin of her wrists was. 

No, he thinks for now, he'll keep Y/N all to himself, let the taste of her settle on his tongue and slip down the back of his tongue, intoxicating him through and through. 

—-

The thin paper of the coffee cup does nothing to stop the liquid inside burning Harry's palm, but in all honesty, he hardly feels it. No, the burning of something much deeper licks up his spine. 

It's the sight of Liam Payne standing in Y/N's office, his Y/N. 

And don't get him wrong, Harry wasn't necessarily jealous, but something about Liam's stance in front of Y/N's desk pissed him right off. So cocky and confident, why was he leaning down and towering over her like that? 

Harry walks closer, leaning into the door so he can hear what the pair are saying, but even with his closer proximity, Harry has to strain to hear a thing.

"So that's just it? You're fucking him now?" The low drawl of Liam. 

"Li- I don't know, why are you even... Who told you that?" Harry's furrowed eyebrows naturally soften at the confused and upset tone of Y/N. Who on earth were they talking about? Surely not him? How would Liam, of all people, know what had happened between them?

"No one had to tell me. It was a pretty easy guess," the man snarls, "you do see the way he follows you around like a lost puppy nowadays, right?" 

Okay, maybe he was referring to Harry, although he definitely didn't appreciate the unnecessary comparison. 

"He does not! We are fri-friends. I like spending time with him." Harry hears the way Y/N's voice cracks on the word 'friend', and he has to ignore the flush of pleasure he gets from her referring to him in this way like he didn't have his fucking tongue between her legs last night! What was he becoming? Maybe he was like a lost puppy around her, for god's sake.

It's Liam's following words that cause Harry to jump in, the instant anger boiling in his blood causing him to swiftly step inside the office and shoulder check Liam as he walks by, coming to sit on the desk in front of Y/N. 

"That's what you said about us, and next thing you know, my cock was down your-" 

"Oi wanker, what are you doin' here?" 

Liam's mouth drops open in shock, and if Harry wasn't so angry, he would've laughed at his dumbfounded expression. 

The man in front of him fumbles slightly, unsure how to handle the clearly disgruntled Harry sitting in front of him, whose stature- even when sitting down- was nearly as considerable as his own. "Uh, nothing, just chatting to Y/N." He tries to flash her an annoyed look, but Harry merely leans slightly to the right, blocking his view of her and replacing it with his less than impressed simmer. 

"Huh. Didn't realise you two were that close?" Immediately Harry can see Liam become defensive, his arms moving to cross his body and his posture leaning back slightly. "Could say the same about you two." 

When Harry's gaze doesn't even flicker away from his own, Liam continues, desperately trying to fill the silence in which he felt his confidence drowning in. "Look mate, can ya move? We're just chatting."

Harry almost has to laugh; chatting was one way to put it. Mildly harassing was how Harry was more likely to phrase it. 

"Chatting, huh?" It's for the first time now that Harry glances back at Y/N, humour in his eyes. "Did'ya hear that Y/N. Chatting!" She still has a slightly worried look in her eyes, one that Harry had very much begun to love, but it's mixed with a sense of hilarity at Harry's very clear teasing. 

He turns back to the man in front of him, "what is it exactly that you were chatting about, huh, Li? I do love a good gossip!" 

Liam's nose scrunches at the unfitting nickname, but Harry can sense his hesitation to answer the question. He probes even further, "didn't sound too light-hearted and fun to me, but maybe I'm misinterpreting your fascinating attempt to 'chat,'" he emphasises the word, the 't' leaving his mouth sharply. Liam flinches like Harry had slapped him, his brusque manner of speaking more poisonous than he'd realised.

Good. 

He hoped Liam was scared. 

"Move it along, Payne, back to whatever hole you crawled out of." 

The man in front of him snarls, "fuck off, Styles." He backs away anyway, moving towards the door while maintaining eye contact with Harry, only dropping it once he was over the threshold. 

Harry is quick to turn back to Y/N, "y'alright, babe?" She nods, although the uneasy look in her eyes tells Harry that she's not being entirely truthful. "Yeh, I think so. How- um, how much of that did you hear?" 

Y/N watches as a grimace flits across the handsome man's face, "enough. You sure you're okay?" 

Nodding again, she swallows, the sound uncomfortably loud in the silent office. "Yep. I mean, we knew he was a dick, right?" A shallow laugh leaves her, and Harry knows she's more upset than she's leading on. Instead of pushing it, he leans over the desk, taking her face in his and gently pressing a kiss against her plush lips. Pulling back slightly, he whispers, watching the way she shudders against him, "that is an understatement." 

He leans back, and Y/N scolds herself for instantly missing his presence so close to her, "I um, I brought you a coffee." 

And maybe Y/N's heart swelled in her chest; perhaps she had worried that things would change after the nature of their relationship did.

She takes the cup he's holding in front of her and takes a sip, the warm liquid instantly easing the anxiety present in her stomach.

  ——

The next few weeks are one of pure amazement. It was honestly like a switch had been flicked inside Harry's mind. He was kind and considerate, gentle and understanding and loving, so so loving.

Y/N can't say that he was necessarily cruel to her ever since they'd become closer working on the Andrews case, but it wasn't like this, nothing like this. 

Every morning he would drop a coffee at her desk, whether she was there or not. Usually, if she was occupying the office, the delivery would come with a gentle kiss on the cheek or a squeeze of her hand, but if she wasn't, she would be greeted with the cup and a note left right on top of it. One morning he'd even taken the time to draw a little flower with sunglasses and a smiley face. 

Y/N had to consciously stop herself from cooing out loud. 

He'd begun to pick up her printing when she got distracted after sending it to the printer (which, if she was honest, happened more often than she would like to admit. Her head was always too busy! She'd click print and then get distracted by a new email that had come in or an advertisement for some shoes that she had been looking at on Instagram the night before because obviously, that meant that the universe was sending her signals that, yes, she absolutely needed them.) 

But Harry wouldn't get annoyed or tease her when he'd noticed her telltale orderly and colour-coordinated meeting notes sitting in the tray of the printer. He would just laugh and drop them off at her desk, entertaining her mindless rambling about fate or kismet or whatever the fuck she was talking about and simply tell her the shoes would suit those green pants she loved. 

He'd sit with her in her office with his laptop while she did her own work, answering her with ease each time she asked how to spell 'receipt' or 'chauvinistic,' although he had no idea what that had to do with her work, and ignoring her mindless muttering at her computer screen. 

He'd basically scared Liam off forever, sending him a vicious glare each time he even stepped a foot closer to Y/N than he needed. One time, Y/N had even told Harry to back down. He looked like a dog ready to attack at any moment, and Y/N swears to god she was worried he would start barking at the terrified bloke in the middle of the elevator, but Harry had just brushed her teasing off once Liam had left, the same fondness he always held in his eyes when looking at her returning. 

Harry had even cemented Lucy and her own spot in the cliquey office food chain, inviting them to lunch with his group daily. It was quite cute, Y/N thought. Mitch and Sarah were together, Lucy had taken a particular interest in Harry's friend Xavier, and well, Y/N and Harry were a couple of sorts, not as evident and official as Mitch and Sarah, but she often caught him looking at her when she was distracted talking to Lucy and Xavier often rolled his eyes and teased them about how soft Harry was around her. 

Harry would go out of his way to invite them both to social events that, three months ago, Y/N literally would have thrown up at the very idea of going to, but the thing was, she had fun! She was happy at her workplace for once, and she finally felt like part of a group.

It wasn't that Y/N didn't still get nervous around them, she definitely did, but she'd stopped stuttering as much when asked direct questions- Harry's presence probably helped a lot with that. 

It still didn't mean that Y/N didn't need at least three standards before she could openly talk to Sarah about her preference for home-cooked over ordered-in meals or answer Mitch's blunt questions. (She'd really thought he'd disliked her before she realised that Mitch kind of spoke to everyone like that, even Harry, who had known him for at least four years.) Harry had invited Lucy and herself out for drinks after work on Friday, and while Y/N felt anxiety tightening through her tummy, she could hardly say no to Harry's puppy dog eyes and overexcited smile.

And well, now Y/N was drunk. Not so drunk that she couldn't walk, but drunk enough that the world was slightly fuzzy, and the light shining onto Harry's soft skin made him look akin to an angel. 

He was so pretty, his brown curls swooping perfectly across his forehead, and his candy-coloured lips looked soft and kissable. And perhaps he'd noticed Y/N staring all doe-eyed at him, but he hadn't said anything, only squeezed gently at her thigh that was resting comfortably against her own before returning his attention to Mitch. 

It was only when she'd begun to let the sleepiness plaguing her for the last half hour win by leaning against Harry's shoulder did he acknowledge her properly. "Y'alright?" She only nodded in response. "Just sleepy, hm?" His heart constricts in his chest as she sleepily blinks up at him, rubbing her eyes like a toddler and nodding again. "Hmm yeah, haven't been sleeping well. Moose's been keepin' me up." 

Harry had fallen in love with Y/N's little tabby cat, probably because of his big green eyes that Y/N said looked exactly like his, but probably more likely because the second he'd stepped foot in the door of Y/N's two-bedroom apartment, Moose was rubbing against his legs and purring like it wasn't Y/N that fed him and kissed him and loved him daily. 

He could barely contain his laughter at Y/N's disbelieving face as she stood staring grumpily at the loved-up pair, exclaiming, "it took him two weeks just to let me pat him!" And then turning to the purring creature, "traitor," before rolling her eyes and making Harry a cup of tea while glaring at them both from the kitchen. 

"My boy being naughty again?" 

She glared at him through her lashes, and Harry had to will away a stiffy, the look she was giving him had quickly become one of his favourites. 

"What?" He knows what. 

"You know what. He's not your boy," She sways slightly as she says this. 

They're interrupted by Sarah cooing from across the table, "aw, you two are too sweet!"

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend's antics, and Y/N briefly wonders if this wasn't the first time she'd teased Harry because of this, "fuck off, we are just friends." 

And well, Y/N didn't know any other friends who ate each other out on their desks and spat in each other's mouths, but she wasn't going to say anything. These were Harry's friends, and she guesses it would be his decision about when he would tell them- if he ever would at all, although the thought of her being his dirty little secret forever made her a little sad.

She notices he pulls away from her slightly, and it makes her even sadder. 

—-

The fuzziness of the world had become slightly clearer now that most of the alcohol had flushed from her system, but Y/N still felt giddy. Maybe it was Harry's hand resting on top of her leg, or perhaps it was the way that, regardless of his friends garnering his attention for most of the night, he had steadily moved closer over the last three hours until they were pressed right against each other. 

Y/N felt each inhalation and exhalation he made, every laugh rumbled through his body into her own, and when Y/N would trail her hand up the back of Harry's neck while he was busy chatting and twirl the curls at the base of it, she felt the way his breath would hitch. 

They'd outlasted everyone, Harry's friends saying goodbye one by one until it was just them at the table stuck in their own bubble. But Harry just didn't want the night to end. It wasn't like they'd never be able to hang out like this again; hell, they'd see each other on Monday at the office, but he couldn't bring himself to untangle their limbs, not just yet anyway.

That is until Y/N had looked up at him with these doe-like eyes that he knew she was trying to make look sexy and whispered in his ear, "wanna go back to your place?" 

Y/N watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed until he grabbed her hand and pressed a light kiss to the back of it, "I'd love to," leading her gaze right back to his stupid kissable mouth. 

She could hardly stop herself from kissing him right then and there, so she really has to applaud herself when she manages to control herself all the way into the hallway of Harry's apartment, which is finally where her composure snaps. 

Just as he gets the door shut, Y/N is leaping against him, pressing her mouth against his own and groaning at the taste she'd only experienced once, weeks ago now. 

It had been so fucking long, and she knew Harry was a gentleman, and she knew they were just spending time with each other without sex getting in the way. But if she was being candid, tonight, she wanted Harry to treat her in every disrespectful way he knew how to. 

She didn't want the romance right now. She didn't want the sweetness- she knew Harry could be like that. No, right now, she wanted his tongue down her throat. She wanted him to fuck her, hard. She wanted to wake up tomorrow and feel exactly where he'd squeezed, pushed and pulled. 

She just wanted to feel every bit of him. 

So when he lets out a grunt of surprise but almost instantly deepens the kiss, Y/N moans throatily. 

He pulls back, still close enough that their lips brush as he speaks, "finally," he mutters. "Been waiting all fucking night for you to do that." Then he's leaning back in again, no sense of hesitation as he slips his tongue between her lips and brushes it against her own immediately. 

Had she really been that obvious? She hadn't thought so, perhaps she'd been looking at his mouth more than she usually would, but that was it! She hardly has time to feel embarrassed because Harry is everywhere, grabbing her cheek, her jaw, her throat. He's pulling her so tight against himself that it's impossible she could be any closer, but she can feel his desperation. Feel it in the way his hands grasp different parts of her so quickly like he wanted so badly to hold all of them at once but couldn't find the time or patience to do so. Her breast, her cheek, her waist. Only when his thumb brushes against her nipple through her shirt does he slow down.

The sharp inhalation she makes draws Harry's attention to his actions. He pulls back, looking down between them and brushes her nipple again, slowly tracing the tip of his thumb against the bud, visible even through her bra and shirt. Y/N's almost embarrassed at the shaky whimper she lets out. 

“Fuck,” Harry whimpers under his breath. She was so fucking hot. The way she’s biting her lip, with her brows furrowing and fuck me eyes boring into his own. He had never gotten so hard, so fast. She had barely even touched him, and he was already leaking from his tip, and he has to swallow down the embarrassment, he wasn’t a fourteen-year-old boy, yet she’d reduced him to acting as such in mere minutes. 

“You need- please, get this off.” He’s yanking at her shirt, trying desperately to pull it over her head, and she complies, pulling the fabric up and revealing the plain bra she had on underneath. She smirks (actually smirks, god, she really was a minx) at the way Harry’s gaze drops down and scans back up to her face, his pupils blown out and his lids heavy against them. 

He really needed to pull himself together, he’d already had his tongue between her legs before, yet the sight of her in a bra made him pull uncomfortably at his jeans, trying to get the fabric to feel less suffocating on his cock. 

They make their way to Harry’s bedroom, the movement a little awkward since Y/N had only been in his apartment once or twice. She would rather have opened her eyes and walked there herself, but each time she would try to pull back, Harry was pulling her closer to him twice as hard. She gives up after the third time, letting him blindly lead her to his room, only bumping into a corner once. 

The way they’re kissing is messy, all tongues, teeth, and noses bumping against each other, and when he lays her down and presses his weight on top of her own, she has to hold back her groan. He was so warm and sturdy above her that she could feel the muscles of his shoulders even through his clothes. 

He pulls back, smiling down at the woman beneath him, taking a moment to appreciate the way; even in the moonlight streaming in through his partially opened blinds, her eyes still look so bright and lively. It was corny and all, but it looked like they were sparkling. Harry takes a moment to imagine they only ever looked like that when she looked at him, even if he didn’t quite know if that was true. 

“Ya look so pretty right now, like a goddess or somethin.’” She rolls her eyes and laughs, shoving his shoulder lightly, but Harry doesn’t miss the gentle hue of pink that spreads across her cheeks. 

“Cos’ I’m underneath you, right? Only time I look this good?” It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “Certainly helps, but no. You’re this pretty all the time.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to respond before he’s leaning down with his mouth open against her neck, each breath tickling the skin there. “Must not tell you enough if you don’t believe it.” 

Y/N closes her eyes, enjoying his closeness against her and how it tickles even more when he speaks. It’s only when he scrapes his teeth against her pulse that she rocks up against him, haphazardly meeting Harry’s hips which were grinding down against her. 

The friction is so sweet after so long, and they moan in unison, Y/N’s back arching as Harry continues to rock his hips against her. He was so fucking close, she could feel the heat of him pressed against her, each thrust nudging her clit perfectly, and she grabs the curls at the back of Harry’s head, tugging his head so his mouth met hers again. 

Harry's surprised gasp when Y/N unexpectedly flips him over is music to her ears. He’s unsure how she even had the strength to do it, but he doesn’t have time to wonder as her soft lips dragging against his slightly rough neck works to distract him. She nibbles at the skin, taking time to soothe each bite with a swipe of her tongue, working her way down to the gentle jut of his collarbone against his skin, licking against the laurels present there too. 

He’s torn between letting out an emasculating giggle at the tickling feeling and groaning at the sensual way she’s sucking and nipping; each kiss getting lower and lower till she’s pushing at the unbuttoned lapel of his shirt to teasingly lick at his nipple. He jerks at the feeling, a whispered, “fuck,” leaving him. 

He felt so wound up, so tightly strung that each touch, no matter how hard, was slowly working to undo him. Harry felt as if he was about to burst, but god, the way she was unbuttoning his shirt and pressing gentle kisses against each newly presented slither of skin was sending shivers down his spine. 

Finally, she gets to the waistband of his pants, and embarrassingly, Harry is already bucking his hips up against her, whining when she stubbornly pushes them back down each time. She’s killing him. Gently licking at the stripe of hair trailing up his lower tummy, kissing along his hipbones and biting amorously at his fingers as they keep trying to undo his belt until he's a whimpering mess beneath her. Each touch that doesn’t serve to satisfy the ever-growing and painful bulge in his pants brings him closer to flat-out begging- and he realises with a start that it’s exactly what she wants. 

“Plea-fuck. Please, Y/N.” 

She grins up at him as if he’d just asked about how her day was, not like she’d been torturing him for the past ten minutes. “What?” Any other time he really would find her little nose scrunch endearing, but currently, it's the last thing on his mind. 

He throws his head back on the pillow behind him in frustration. “Fuckin’ hell, please just do something!” 

Instantly she’s tugging at his belt, pulling it through the loops and undoing the button of his slacks. “Okay, you just had to ask, jeez.” And he really is about to kill her, thinking of how exactly he could get her on her back and choke her while his fingers are slamming into her when his thoughts are abruptly interrupted when she nuzzles and sucks at the tip of his cock through his underwear. 

“Fuck!” He cries out. He couldn’t help it, the touch so unexpected and so, so fucking good he felt his legs already shaking. The little vixen is smiling up at him, tonguing his slit and humming around him, rolling her eyes at the salty taste of his precum. 

Harry pulls her by the hair, pulling her back long enough to grab his cock out of his underwear, hissing at the relief it brings and instantly groaning as she’s tugging against his hold, desperate to get her mouth back on him. 

Sucking his head back into her mouth feels ten times better without the cloth between them, the smooth and wet surface of her tongue sweeping against his slit and the sensitive skin of his frenulum causing him to push her head rather than pull it, silently begging her for more friction. And thankfully, she obliges, taking more of his shaft down her throat and sweeping her tongue against the underside as she goes, bobbing her head back and forth in a rhythm that leaves Harry breathless. 

He can feel how her throat tightens and constricts each time she pulls him down further, and he seriously struggles not to buck up each time, instead letting her do her own thing and take him in her own time. 

She pulls back, saliva dripping from her mouth and her voice croaky and broken, “can you fuck my mouth? Please?” She really doesn't have to give him those silly puppy dog eyes. Harry thinks he’d do just about anything she asked him at this point. 

He moans and grabs her head, pushing her down as far as she can go. He feels her nose smush against the tuft of hair on his pubic bone before he pulls her back up, repeating the process and gasping out each time her throat squeezes around his sensitive head. 

“Fuckin’ hell. You’re so good. You’re too good for me.” 

She’s moaning and gasping for air each time Harry pulls up long enough to let her, giving him those fucking eyes and Harry just about loses it, yanking her hair until she’s completely off him. She’s sucking in air so quickly that Harry starts to feel a little concerned, although it works to stave off his impending orgasm. One more second of her mouth around him, and he absolutely would’ve been cumming down her throat. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

She glances up at him, and it’s only a second before she’s pouncing on him, opening her mouth and sweeping her tongue against him, Harry moaning at the taste of saliva and cum lingering there. She’s muttering in between kisses, “so fuckin’ good. You’re so hot.” 

Laughing, Harry throws her against the bed, turning her over onto all fours and yanking her hips up; Y/N moaning at how he was treating her like a ragdoll. Harry takes a moment to admire the soft curve of her waist, she really was sexy, and Harry feels his prick throb at the thought of her soft cunt sucking him in. 

It’s like he can’t get her clothes off fast enough, unbuttoning her jeans from behind and yanking them down her legs, grinning at the giggle Y/N lets out at his haste. They meet eyes as he pulls her pants and underwear around her ankles and onto the floor below them. While this whole experience had felt rushed and passionate, he took a moment to revel in the soft look of humour in her eyes. The way her hair is mussed up from him throwing her around and the gentle smile pulling at her lips. She must be noticing these things about Harry too, because her gaze softens as they hold each other's gaze, Harry pressing a gentle kiss to the swell of her ass and squeezing her hips gently. 

He really, really likes her. 

The thought scares him and makes his heart swell all at once. 

The wiggling of Y/N’s hips brings his attention away from his mushy feelings and into the scene in front of them. He feels slightly bad as he realises Y/N has gotten almost no pleasure herself from this experience yet, choosing to focus solely on his own pleasure, and well, that just won’t do. 

Using his thumbs, he parts the puffy lips of her pussy, biting his lip as her slick clings to each one. Like she knows what insane view he has in front of him, she groans, wiggling her hips in protest of Harry admiring her and not doing anything about it. 

He dives in and listens in pleasure as her low groan transforms into a high-pitched whine, her face buried into the sheets before her, her hands clutching to them like a lifeline. Without even looking, Y/N can tell her knuckles are white with how hard she’s grasping at the duvet; each lick of Harry’s tongue against her hole forces her to rut forwards and for her whole body to tense in pleasure.

He’s eating her out like a lifeline, sweeping his tongue around and into her pussy, leaning down and suckling her clit, his nose rubbing against the sensitive opening of her hole. Y/N squeals with delight when he even licks around her tighter puckered hole, pressing the tip of his tongue inside and sucking at her rim.

He wants desperately to keep tasting her, but his cock is screaming at him from below, begging to be sucked in by her slick slit. So he stands, pushing her forward until he can fit behind her on the bed on his knees, and gently presses the head of his dick against her budding cunt; groaning deeply at the feeling of her walls contracting around him already.

“Fuck Harry, gonna stretch me out.” She moans, reaching behind and squeezing at the hand on her waist, her heart beating a little faster when he intertwines their hands and squeezes back. 

“Yeh? Think you can take it all?” She nods, mewling and trying desperately to look behind her and see his cock entering her, to no avail. “Yeh, I can. C’mon, Haz, give it to me, please.” 

And well, Harry can’t say no to that. He slams into her. So hard that Y/N has to push her hand back onto the bed to support her weight, each press of Harry’s hips lurching her forward. Again and again his tip hits the bottom of her cervix, the feeling just budding on the edge of too painful, but for now the pleasure outweighs it. 

She’s so loud it sends shivers down Harry’s spine, “shh,” he soothes, although it completely negates how the front of his thighs slam into the back of hers. “It’s alright, y’alright”, he reassures, trying to quiet her upsetting cries as he slows his movements. The loss of friction was too much, and she reached back around her legs, blindly grasping at Harry’s hip in an attempt to get him to keep moving. 

She cries out again when he grabs her hand and squeezes lightly but makes no attempt to push back into her, “oh babe, you crying for me already?” he tugs at her until she realises what he’s trying to do, slipping onto her back and gladly accepting the kiss he presses against her panting mouth, “just wanna see your pretty face, yeh?” 

She nods, unsure what else he wants, but she understands. She wants to see him too. 

He resumes his movements, although this time, his pace isn’t fast as it had been, no. It was slow but hard, pushing her forward with each press of his hips, his tip nudging so deep inside her she felt dizzy. 

“God, just listen to you. Such a whiny whore, fuckin’ hell,” he’s met with more whines in response, the effect of them tenfold now he can actually see how her face screws up in pleasure each time he thrusts into her. Her fingers grasp down at the hand he has splayed against her waist, and he mindlessly lets her guide it wherever she wants. 

It’s only when he notices that she’s bringing his hand up to her throat do his thrusts falter, a low moan leaving his chest as she places his fingers and thumb on either side of her neck. He recovers and squeezes lightly, “maybe this will shut you up, yeh?” She nods desperately, the only thing on her mind being Harry, Harry, Harry. He feels her tightening around him at his words, and he has to consciously stop himself from choking her too hard as he loses himself in the pleasure.

Each thrust feels harder and deeper than the last, and Y/N struggles to keep up with what Harry is saying; it goes in one ear and straight out the other. “Look at you, god,” he laughs condescendingly, “you’re that fuckin’ cock-drunk.” She nodded and whined because god, he was right, she could hardly focus on a thing he was saying, the tiny remnants of alcohol in her system and Harry’s proximity making her absolutely dizzy. 

He laughs again, feeling drunk with the power she was giving him. She sat plainly in the palm of his hand, letting him twist her body this way and that, letting him grasp at her throat like a lifeline and taking it all and loving it at that.

Harry can feel how much she loves it, and it makes him want to scream.

He gives her another rough thrust, pausing to grind deeply into her once he reaches the hilt and watches as tears spill from her clenched eyes. She had tried so hard to keep them in, had felt the burning sensation begin to well as Harry’s cock grinded roughly against the sensitive spot inside of her. 

She feels him slow, “hey, hey, you alright?” She sniffles gently, “Y/N take a breath.” He watches as another tear slips down her cheek, gently wiping it with his thumb, “do you usually cry?” 

The look she gives him makes his heartbreak. He honestly couldn’t read it- didn’t know if it was pain or longing, desperation or despair. He begins to pull out, but her hand grasping at his waist and her cry of dejection makes him pause some. He’s close to begging her at this point. 

“Please talk to me. Is it just with me? Do you want me to stop?” She sniffles again but shakes her head, “please don’t stop. It’s just- so,” her voice cracks, a small sob leaving her, “it’s so much, feels so intense.” 

He nods and kisses the corner of her mouth so gently that Y/N feels like crying for a completely different reason. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re alright.” He holds her tightly and begins slowly pushing into her once more. She meets his eyes again, and Harry feels a pang of longing deep in his chest at how absolutely wrecked but desperate she looked.

And god, he gets it. He didn’t know if it was his feelings that were making this feel so intense, but he had never experienced anything like this before, and he completely understood why Y/N was in tears below him. It was like every nerve ending was alight; each tiny movement caused jolts of pleasure through him, like the simple fact of her body being against his was enough to make him close to cumming. 

He feels every squeeze around his prick, feels every gasp and groan she lets out deep in his chest. Even now, as she throws her head back, Harry knows she’s close to her peak- though he’d never had sex with her like this before, it was like he could tell what she needed before she could even begin to voice it herself. 

He wraps his hand around her jaw, his fingers pressing hard enough that the soft skin of her cheek is dimpled underneath them. She opens her mouth, and Harry doesn’t hesitate to slip fingers inside it, pressing down on her tongue as it laps desperately at his fingertips. 

“Harry, spi-,” she cuts herself off with a moan. Harry cocks his head, “what was that, sweetheart?” 

She tries again, “spit- spit on me,” he can hardly make it out, but when she pulls back slightly, opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out, Harry almost passes out. 

She was gonna fuckin’ kill him. 

He doesn’t hesitate, letting a string of saliva slip from between his lips and into her awaiting mouth, watching her throat constrict as she swallows it down with a moan. 

Harry begins to sloppily rub at her clit, and Y/N grits her teeth, grabbing at Harry’s wrist and squeezing tightly as the sensation of her impending orgasm sweeps through her. She throws her head back as the feeling finally overcomes her.

“Oh my god, are you fuckin’ coming?” He laughs condescendingly. “Fucking hell, you’re even sluttier than I thought. Just need to rough you up and spit on you a bit, and that’s it?” 

She honestly couldn’t comprehend what Harry was actually saying to her. Her orgasm was just too overwhelming. It was all-consuming, white heat burning through her and Y/N could hardly stop herself from bucking up underneath him. It felt like it was never going to end, this feeling, and honestly, Y/N’s not sure she’d mind. The idea of getting lost in Harry, his smell, his taste, his touch, forever, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

As the light show behind her eyes finally begins to fade, she feels Harry’s hips falter, once, twice, three times, before he’s pressing inside her as far as he can, leaning over her and letting out the prettiest little moans Y/N had ever heard. She ignores the mild discomfort at Harry pushing inside of her oversensitive cunt. Instead, she wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer, holding his torso against her heaving chest as he works through his orgasm. 

Finally, she feels his breathing even out, and he begins to hold her back, slipping out of her gently and cooing at her when she hisses at the feeling. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry.” 

Y/N’s heart pounds at the feelings welling up inside her, she feels overwhelmed by them, and her chest begins to hurt. It was like a fire inside of her, so much passion and… love. Y/N shudders at the idea of that, and just as quickly as she feels it burning inside her, she feels it fades when she remembers Harry referring to her as his ‘friend.’  

She didn’t have to read into this. The rational part of her can safely assume that he didn’t want his friends asking too many questions, particularly when she and Harry hadn’t had the chance to answer them between themselves yet, but there's a tiny part of her that keeps niggling away. Keeps screaming at her to run before she gets attached to someone who doesn’t want to commit back, but she’s not sure she could believe Harry wouldn’t want that. 

He had been so charming and caring these last few weeks, going out of his way to spend time with her, even if it meant he had to sit on the floor of her office during lunch and even if it meant he would grouch at her about how much his back hurt because of it. 

She can’t imagine the man still wrapped around her would be so malicious to purposefully lead her on. He’d tell her if he wasn’t interested in her like that, right? 

He begins to run his hands through her hair, carefully detangling the knots he runs into on the way. It feels good, and he huffs a laugh at the shiver that wracks through Y/N’s body.

Leaning back, he gently holds her jaw, rubbing his thumb across her eyebrow, down the bridge of her nose and over her cupid's bow before kissing her lips gently. 

It truly felt as if he could read her thoughts and had purposefully tried to quell them, the kiss so careful and full of tenderness. 

“Like you a lot, ya know.” 

Harry’s heart clenches at the look she gives him, and he has to press another kiss to her lips. She’s already smiling when he pulls back, a blush spreading over her cheeks in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked her within an inch of her life for the last hour. 

She was too stinkin’ cute. 

“I like you too,” she giggles. 

“Yeh?” He laughs back, attacking her neck with kisses, grinning at the tinkling laughter it pulls from her. 

Harry’s not sure how many times he had to say it, but fucking hell, he truly was fucked. 

—-

The cool air of Harry’s living room causes goosebumps to pimple along Y/N’s bare legs. Her oversized shirt from the day before doesn’t provide any added warmth, and she briefly wonders if she should turn around and rummage through Harry’s draws for something to cover her legs. He’d left enough items of clothing at her house over the last month they’d been sleeping together, always claiming to forget them after they were thrown off ‘in a fit of 'passion’ (his words, not hers) but didn’t seem to mind when Y/N happened to wear them.

He said they looked better on her anyway.

Perhaps she could steal a pair of sweatpants or his oversized basketball shorts. (She’d been gunning for a specific pair of sweats Harry had, grey with a soft fleece lining, but Harry had caught on pretty quickly after the third time they’d gone missing from his apartment and magically ended up at hers. Somehow these didn’t make the cut of things she was allowed to steal. She was sure the little prick had purposefully been hiding them from her, and she wondered if now would be a good time to look for them, while Harry was distracted by the warmth from the shower.)

Alas, the sound of the front door opening completely derails Y/N’s sneaky plan, sending her in a panicked frenzy instead as she watches Mitch and Sarah walk through the door. Y/N’s pretty comfortable with nudity, but right now, with two of Harry’s best friends (both utterly oblivious that the two were fucking behind their backs), looking at her bare legs makes Y/N shrink inwards slightly. The only action her scrambled mind can think of doing is pulling the hem further down her legs, fully aware that she probably currently looked like a stunned mullet. Hair sticking out all which ways and her eyes so wide they had started to water from the breeze the air conditioner had created. 

“Y/N?” Mitch and Sarah looked just as shocked as she did, standing in the doorway, mouths open and feet frozen in their spots. Mitch has the decency to avert his eyes slightly as he sees Y/N’s pantless predicament while Sarah is stuck looking between the half-naked girl in front of her and her own boyfriend, fully knowing if Harry had told anyone but her about his secret relationship, it would be him. 

“Fuck- Mitch, Sarah. I’m so sorry.” That’s the only thing Y/N can think of. She’s sorry. So fucking sorry. And she doesn’t even know why! Sorry, she’d gotten caught? Sorry, she’d gotten involved with someone who wasn’t interested in telling his two best friends? Y/N doesn’t know. All she can process is the shame squeezing at her tummy with an iron fist. 

They’re interrupted by Harry walking out of the bathroom in only slightly more clothes than Y/N, the very sweatpants she had been planning on stealing sitting low on his hips, and his toned torso glistening with water from his shower. 

“Y/N! Do you wanna make french toast for break- Sarah? What the fuck!” He stops dead in his tracks, looking between the beet-red Y/N and his two friends, who seem to have been frozen in the doorway. 

“We could say the same to you, Harry. What the fuck is happening here?” 

—-

The table is awkwardly silent, all four of them sitting in their own thoughts, watching the french toast cool. The only sound echoing through Harry’s dining room is Mitch’s fingers, nervously drumming at the table. 

He’s interrupted by a frustrated Harry, “can ya stop that?” 

Y/N instinctively places her hand on Harry’s thigh in a soothing gesture, and she watches as Sarah’s eyes follow the movement. 

She removes her hand. 

Honestly, she didn’t know why she felt so weird. Y/N and Harry were touchy-feely all the time. It wasn’t like how they were acting was completely opposite from normal, but she guesses it was different this time. This time Sarah knew Harry had been lying to her. 

And look, Y/N and himself had spoken about this a few times, Y/N thinking the sooner they told them, the better, while Harry was firm in believing it wasn’t their business and he would tell them when he felt ready- so much for that plan.

Y/N was supportive of his decision, though. They were his friends, and if Harry felt more comfortable with their relationship (whatever that relationship was) being a secret for now, well, Y/N would support Harry in that. She thinks she’d just about do anything Harry asked of her if she was honest, and she’s still not sure if that was necessarily a good thing- look how this had turned out. 

“Uh, look, I’m sorry for lying-” 

“Why? Why would you both lie about this?” The look Sarah gives him makes his chest hurt and his stomach turn in anxiety. He gets it. He really does. They never lied to each other; Sarah was the one person he told everything to. He imagines if she had been seeing Mitch for months without at least telling him she was interested in him, and his tummy tightens. “I’m happy for you both, I really am. I just don’t understand why you felt you had to hide it from us.” 

“Yeh, does this mean you weren’t actually going to that pottery class?” Harry forces himself not to roll his eyes at Mitch’s contribution because, of course, that's all he cares about. (He’d been so excited when Harry had fed him that excuse, claiming, “shit man, nice ceramics aren’t cheap, this is great!” Harry had felt a little guilty when he’d actually gone over to Y/N’s apartment, but he got over it pretty quickly when she pushed him against the wall and sucked him off in the front hallway the second he arrived.)

He turns to Sarah instead, “Look, I am really sorry. I- time just got away from us. I wasn’t ready for the whole office to know, and I wanted to just keep it between us while we figured it out. I’m sorry.” Y/N stops herself from noting that she’s not sure they even had figured it out just yet. She was still a little lost as to whether they were friends who liked sleeping together or what but didn’t say anything. 

Instead, she grabs Harry’s hand, squeezing it in solidarity and sending a small smile over to Sarah. “I’m sorry too.” 

“I wouldn’t have told the whole office, Haz. I wouldn’t have done that.” She looks so sad. Harry hates seeing her like this. “I know, Sarah, I’m sorry.” 

She nods and sends a tight smile across the table, slowly becoming genuine as she notices Harry’s fingers slotted between Y/N’s. “So… are you together now, or?”

They share a glance, and Y/N feels anxiety slither up her throat. She leans in, almost as curious to hear his answer as Sarah seemed to be. Harry grins and nods slowly, “uh yeah. I think so. We haven’t necessarily discussed it yet,” he sends a pointed glare at Sarah, who has the decency to look sheepish, before turning back to Y/N, “but um, yeah. I’d like to be.” 

Y/N nods, bringing his hand to her mouth and pressing a kiss against the soft skin of his knuckles. God, she wanted that so bad.

He had to know. If the starry-eyed look was anything to go off, he had to have some kind of clue. 

And of course, he did, Harry had been trying to find the time to have the conversation with Y/N for weeks, but they always seemed a little busy, either too deep in conversation or too enraptured with each other and he figured she knew how he felt after his hazy post-orgasm confession.

But Harry couldn’t imagine sitting with anyone else at lunch or watching criminal minds with someone that wasn’t Y/N. He couldn’t picture anyone else reading through his meeting notes and retyping them after he fell asleep because they were too messy or teasing anyone else in the office. He couldn’t imagine touching anyone else the way he touched Y/N, and he couldn’t picture anyone reacting to him the same way she did. It didn’t seem possible for anyone else to fit him the way she did or for anyone else to make him feel so fucking lost in how much he liked them. Their lips just slotted together a little too perfectly, and she just happened to challenge him in the exact right way.

He turns back to Sarah, “yeah, we're dating.” 

A gentle flush settles against his cheeks, his teeth gnawing gently at his bottom lip. Y/N really couldn’t believe how beautiful he was and how lucky she was that he was hers.

God, she really was fucked. 

----

Follow up can be found here :)

TAGLIST

@ndunad @eddiestyles-harrymunson @thhsbitch @michellekstyles @captainchrisstan @styles-weasley @chubby-cheek-calum @yourhsficsplug @chanelhearts777

[confused-pyramid]

It's Always Been You

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x fem!reader

summary: As Iceman's daughter, you and Rooster grew up together, but your friendship transforms when you are assigned to train for a dangerous mission that's never been accomplished before.

word count: 5.7k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (f!receiving), Top Gun: Maverick spoilers, mentions of illness

a/n: I watched Top Gun: Maverick twice (once for the plot, once for Miles Teller lol), so here's the Rooster fic that emerged from that

You push open the door to The Hard Deck, wiping away the droplets of sweat that are forming along the back of your neck in the dry California heat. Two weeks ago you got the call that you were being sent back to North Island to train for an urgent mission with an elite group of aviators, and you were excited for the opportunity to see pilots from your class at TOPGUN again. 

The Hard Deck was the place you went for a cold beer and a hearty game of pool when you were still in training, and you knew that this was the best place to look if you wanted to find the rest of the team. You don't see them at first, but you immediately hear the arrogant timbre of Hangman's voice, carrying across the busy bar. Smiling to yourself, you stroll up to the pool table that Phoenix and the guys are crowded around, announcing your entrance with a "So who's winning?"

Fanboy and Payback grin at you from across the table as Hangman shoots you a cocky smirk, "Who do you think, darlin'?"

Rolling your eyes, you grab the pool cue from his hand and line up a shot, feeling his presence still behind you. Taking a breath in, you slide the cue back, whacking him in the gut, before shooting it forward and sinking your ball into the pocket. 

You hear a groan behind you and you smirk, holding out the cue for him to take back, "Call me darling again, and I'll stick this somewhere you'll never find it."

A series of ooh's ring out around you, but you barely notice because another voice cuts through the chaos, "Come on now, Falcon. That's no way to make friends."

You spin around at the sound of your call sign, your jaw dropping as you take in the aviator-clad man grinning at you. 

"No fucking way!" you gasp, launching yourself forward and into his arms for a barreling hug. "Rooster!"

He looks good, you think, when did that happen?

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw wraps his large arms around you, squeezing you tight before letting you go with a husky laugh. "Good to see you too, y/n."

"Well, if it isn't the other half of the nepotism duo," Hangman quips, souring your mood almost immediately. "You know, some people had to actually work their way here, instead of being handed everything."

Rooster doesn't react, but you don't have the self-control he does, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"We'll certainly see about that, won't we?" he smirks, cocking his head in a condescending tilt. "Admiral Simpson assembled us all here for a reason, and there's no way in hell he needs all of us for one mission."

You know he's right, but before you can think of a witty response, you hear a bell ringing, and cheering erupts from around the bar. You turn back to see Rooster grinning at Hangman, his finger pointing at the sign hanging above the bar, "You disrespect a lady and you buy a round for everyone."

Phoenix smacks Hangman on the back, laughing as she ushers him towards the cash register where Penny is waiting, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

You're still trying to shake off Hangman's comment when Bradley sidles up next to you, his hip checking yours as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Don't let him get to you. Iceman was a legend, but we both know you did this all on your own."

You would think that having an Admiral for a father would have made your life in the Navy much easier, but the moment you showed any interest in flying, your dad, Iceman, had stopped supporting your dreams. When the diagnosis came in, everything else fell to the back burner and the only thing you could concentrate on was how much you loved him and wanted him to fight. But sometimes, the hurt was still there. You knew he was just scared for you, especially after what he had seen with Rooster's dad, but his efforts to keep you away from the career he had successfully built had strained your relationship. 

It was Bradley who pulled you two back together. After his dad died, he became a staple at the Kazansky household, always welcome for holidays and pretty much every other day too. He managed to toe the line between pushing you to become the best pilot you could be, and helping you regain your relationship with your father. He was your best friend growing up, and even though you split off in the naval academy, he was still a pillar in your life that was never going anywhere.

~~~

With Hangman buying, the night passes quickly, and the next morning you are sitting with the rest of the team, waiting on your instructor to show up. You tap your foot on the floor of the hangar, impatience building up inside of you, until the sound of footsteps alerts you.

Turning around, you spot the man walking towards you and your eyes widen with surprise and then concern. You sneak a glance at Rooster, trying to gauge his reaction to seeing Maverick for the first time in years, but the only response you get is the tightening of his jaw. The lesson starts off well, but when Mav begins the air drills, the tension between him and Rooster comes to a head.

He starts you off first, giving you a few minutes to get settled in the air, before he's right on your tail. You try to shake him, but your wingman is too far back and you don't have eyes behind you, so it only takes him a minute to "shoot you down". Payback and Fanboy's excellent idea to get some skin in the game has the three of you on your hands with Hondo, sweat dripping from your face onto the tarmac as the California sun beats down on you.

After what feels like an hour, you are hobbling back into the control room, listening to the radio as Rooster takes off. He starts off strong, managing to evade Maverick's maneuvers, but you don't miss the quiet snipes that shoot back and forth across the comms as they zoom through the air. You zone out for a moment, but you must've missed something important, because the next thing you know, Mav and Rooster are engaged in a dangerous maneuver that has been spinning towards the ground.

"They passed the hard deck," Phoenix gasps while everyone stares intently at the radio, as if hoping that this will somehow convince them to pull up their control sticks. You feel like you're under 10 Gs of force with how heavy your body feels as Bradley spins down to the earth, neither of them giving up even an inch of their pride.

It feels like a million years before he finally gives in, the nose of his jet a mere kilometer from the ground as he pulls out of the downward spiral. The weight on your chest finally lifts when he lands back on the base, and you don't wait for him as you head back to your cabin. No doubt Admiral Simpson will be chewing him out for his idiotic stunt today.

~~~

You're heading out to grab dinner that night when you run into Bradley, who is just getting back from the hangar. You're so angry that you can barely look at him, but he stops in front of you, forcing you to confront him. 

"I get that you're mad at Mav," you grit out, "but why the hell would you put yourself in danger just to prove whatever the hell you were trying to prove to him!"

He's all you have, your thoughts spiral against your will, doesn't he know that it would kill you to lose him?

His brows furrow with frustration as he straightens his back in an unconscious effort to size you up. "Don't patronize me. You wouldn't understand, y/n." 

You scoff. "The hell I wouldn't. We grew up together Bradshaw, I know you inside and out." 

"Yeah, well your dad isn't fucking dead."

You stop in your tracks, his words a slap in the face. Fluorescent hospital lights flash across your mind as you are unwittingly brought back to the early days of your dad's cancer diagnosis.

Rooster's expression falls immediately and you see pain flash across his eyes as he takes a step forward and says, "God, y/n, I'm so sorry, you know I didn't mean that. Iceman was like a father to me. What he's going through now is killing me too." 

He pulls you into a hug and after a moment, you reciprocate, your arms winding around his waist. You take a deep breath, breathing in his familiar musky scent that reminds you of home.

You both stay in the embrace for a minute before he whispers, "You were right. What I did up there today was stupid. I won't do it again." 

You can hear the sincerity in his voice as he says it, and you believe him. Bradley Bradshaw has never lied to you, even when it hurts. But you would take his steadfast honesty over all else any day.

~~~

You wake up the next day to a note on your door that says to 'dress light and head to the beach behind The Hard Deck'. You pull on a sports bra under a tee shirt and denim shorts, before meeting up with the rest of the team outside of the base. You all head over to the beach and find Captain Mitchell grinning, two footballs in his hands. 

"Welcome to dogfight football!" he yells over the lull of the waves crashing against the shore. "Form two teams and line up." 

Hearing his directions, you and Rooster look over at each other, an implicit agreement in your eyes. You both line up on one side with a few of the guys, as Hangman and Coyote grab the rest and form a line in front of you. Rooster and Hangman take the balls, crouching down into position as they get ready to start the game. Mav whistles, signaling the beginning of game play, and suddenly the makeshift field becomes a flurry of motion.

At first, you lose track of where your team is compared to the other guys, but as the game progresses you slowly realize Maverick's genius. This game is perfect for honing your precision and focus, which will be absolutely vital when a select few of you are bombing the uranium enrichment plant in a couple of weeks. 

Rooster catches the ball as Fanboy hikes it to him, falling back to get a better view of the beach and find open targets. He sees you slanting out to the side, but Coyote keeps getting in the way, so he turns his attention over to Payback, who sprints across the shoreline, losing his defender in the process. Bradley slings the ball across the sand, but just as it's about to reach Payback, someone from the other team swats it down. 

Clapping his hands to shake off the initial defeat, he swings his finger in the air to round up the team for another shot. He is scanning the beach, trying to locate everyone on his side, when his eyes land on you, all the way across the sand. He opens his mouth to call out to you, but then your hand grips the hem of your shirt and every thought flies out of his mind. 

You lift the edge of your shirt, pulling it over your head, and he knows he should probably be looking away, but he can't take his eyes off of you. He's barely paying attention as Phoenix presses the ball back into his hands, but then he regains his focus when you start sprinting to the opposite side. You swing around the side and dodge Hangman's arm as you yell, "Rooster, over here."

Blinking a few times to get re-oriented, Bradley zings the ball over to you, relishing in the satisfying thud as it lands in your waiting hands. Cheers break out all around him, and he grins at your success, but his mind is still stuck on the smooth expanse of your tanned skin that glinted at him under the harsh sunlight. 

The game continues for a while, and eventually you see a ball flying way over your head, zooming into what looks like no man's land. You start running but then it thunks into Bob's hands. Everyone pauses for a moment of shock, before you all erupt into cheers that end up in Bob being lifted into the air like he just shot the winning goal in the World Cup.

You pat him on the back, laughing at the proud look on Bob's face. As if pulled by a magnet, your eyes travel down the pile until they land on Rooster's. His eyes meet yours instantly, a bright grin plastered on his face. You're already sweating buckets under the hot sun, but one look from Bradley has a warmth spreading across your chest that you haven't felt since you were young. 

This was Bradley Bradshaw, the valiant knight who graced all your childhood dreams. He always is and always has been the face you search for in a crowd. He's never been fearless, but he's your rock. Whenever you look at him, you feel like the world is at your fingertips.

Stepping back as the boys jostle him around, you can't help the grin that crosses your face. For the first time since you started here at TOPGUN, you actually feel like you're part of a team. A family.

~~~

Everyone heads back to the cabins covered in sweat and sand, and the showers are filled up before you can even grab your clothes. As you're waiting for one of the stalls to open, you get a call from Mom that sends a jolt of panic down your spine.

"Mom?" you answer, trying to keep the apprehension from your voice. "What's going on?"

"Oh, honey, it's nothing sudden," she says kindly, clearly sensing your worry from miles away. She always knew what you were thinking, even when you tried your best to hide it. "It's just what we've seen coming for a while now, sweetheart."

You can hear the wetness in her voice and you know she's been crying. The image sends a dagger through your stomach. "It's getting close to the end. You should come see Dad."

Mom hid a lot of things from you growing up - always to protect you - but the one thing she never could was your dad's illness. The signs of his weakening state were ever-present and although he tried to ignore them, you never could.

"I'll come today," you say, your voice hoarse from the tears building in your throat. "See you soon, Mom."

The call ends and you open your phone again, the need to text him almost a gut instinct.

You going to see dad. come with?

His response is immediate.

Bradley🐓 always. i'll meet you outside in 20

You take the fastest shower of your life and head out front to see Bradley already outside on his motorcycle, helmet in hand. He must see the look in your eyes because he doesn't say anything as you hop on behind him and wind your arms around his waist. Your fingers dig into the hard ridges of his stomach as he zooms down the quiet streets of Fightertown. The cool breeze brushing past your face helps clear your head as you pass by the houses neighboring the glistening water. 

Bradley takes the turns carefully, but you were never much of a biker, and your arms stay tightly wound around his hard abdomen. You can feel the muscles in his back flexing against your chest, and not for the first time, you are struck by how much of a man he has become. You grew up with him, so you never really noticed how he was changing, but all of a sudden, he has become this gorgeous, hardworking man who's a far cry from the young boy who used to pull your pigtails on the playground.

It's not long before you arrive at your childhood home, Rooster's bike pulling to a stop by the front lawn. You haven't even made it fully up the porch when the door swings open, your mom's melancholy expression greeting you from the doorway.

When you two make it inside, she pulls you both into big hugs, remarking on how glad your dad will be to see you both again. The walk to Dad's study feels like a marathon, and by the time you get the door open, you can barely breathe. But then you see him, and the weight on your chest disappears. 

He looks worn down and tired, but he's here. He's alive, and he's okay, and even though it's taking everything in him to fight this illness, he's doing it. You fight back tears as he smiles at you from his desk, bundled up in a sweater even though the sun is shining brightly through the bay windows. 

"Hi, Dad," you smile, kissing his forehead and pulling out a chair, before Bradley shakes his hand and takes a seat next to you. "You look great."

"You really do, Admiral," Bradley nods, meeting your eye for a moment in a quick show of moral support. Just the one look from him settles you, and you turn back to your father, excited to fill him in on your mission.

You and Rooster tell him about the grueling training you've undergone this past week and he listens intently, smiling brightly as you talk about Maverick and how he pushes every boundary and limit he can find.

After about an hour, the sun starts to set and you know you have to get back to the base before it gets dark.

"It was great to see you again, Iceman," Bradley says, giving your dad a quick hug that you can tell means a lot to the both of them. 

When you guys start to leave, your dad beckons for you to stay back a moment. Bradley murmurs that he'll be waiting for you outside, and pulls the door closed behind him.

You take a seat again, turning to face your father, who has a look on his face that you don't recognize. He opens his mouth to speak, and you try to stop him, knowing that it just hurts him, but he waves away your concern, pressing your hand into both of his. 

"Y/n, you know I didn't want you following in my footsteps in the Navy after I saw how it affected my closest friends," he whispers, his voice raspy with disuse. This isn't what you wanted to talk about with him today, but since he brought it up, you can't help the nerves that bubble up inside of you before he continues speaking. " But you have become such a strong, beautiful, independent woman, and I am so grateful that I got to see it." 

You had long since come to terms with the notion that your father wasn't going to be in support of your life choices, but to hear him finally express what you've been trying to show him for years makes up for everything. Your eyes well up with tears and you exhale slowly, "I love you, Dad."

He stands up, and you rise with him, pulling him into a big hug that makes you feel like a kid again. You're about to pull away, when you hear his gentle rasp by your ear. "He loves you, too. I can see it."

~~~

You are still thinking about your father's words when you walk out front and see Bradley on his bike, waiting for you with a bittersweet smile on his face. He hands you your helmet and helps you onto the motorcycle, before turning back to look at you again.

"He's fighting so hard to stay here for you and your mom," he says, his voice bringing a welcome warmth to the pit that is slowly forming in your chest with each strained breath your father takes. "I'm so lucky that I got to know him as well as I did."

Leaning forward, you pull Bradley into a hug that he reciprocates immediately. Your body is small and warm against his, and he presses his face into your neck, enjoying the subtle scent of vanilla and hazelnut that wafts up from your skin. He lost both of his parents before he even got into the naval academy, but when he was with you, he never felt like he was missing his family. Over the years, you had become the family he needed, and with his arms around you, he knows he could stay like this forever and it wouldn't be long enough.

~~~

When the Pentagon receives new intel that the shipment to the uranium enrichment facility is coming early, the mission gets moved up, increasing the already monumental odds that are going against your team's ability to finish this and come home.

The intensity of your training is amped up and every night you are so exhausted that you sleep like a log. The week passes by too quickly, and before you know it, its the day before the mission. Maverick assembles all of you back into the training facility and takes a few moments before finally opening his mouth.

"You all have worked incredibly hard, and the choices I had to make when selecting the pilots for this mission were difficult ones."

You've heard this kind of speech what feels like a thousand times, and you find yourself tuning him out as you try to calm your nerves. After a minute, you pull yourself back into the present and realize that he's naming the teams.

"Dagger 1," Mav announces, "Payback and Fanboy."

You nod, agreeing with that pick completely. Fanboy was an amazing WSO and he complemented Payback well. 

"Dagger 2," Mav continues, "Phoenix and Bob."

Another great pick. You shoot them a small congratulatory smile, before turning your attention back to the Captain. This is it. Who's it gonna be?

"And my wingman will be...Rooster."

The air feels like its being sucked out of the room. A spike of fear jolts through you as his name ping-pongs inside of your skull, unable to fully sink in. This mission would take not one, but two miracles, and only then was there even going to be a consideration of trying to get home in one piece.

You barely hear Maverick explain that the rest of you are on standby, before everyone is standing up and filtering out of the room. You feel like you're sleepwalking, your feet moving of their own accord as they take you back to the cabins to turn in for the night. 

You take your time getting ready for bed, but even as you lay down, the exhaustion so strong you can feel it in your bones, sleep doesn't come. You try everything from counting sheep to meditation, but something nags at the back of your mind, keeping you from falling asleep.

It's not just something. It's Rooster.

Groaning with exasperation, you throw off the covers and pace around your room, trying to calm your racing mind. You try to turn your thoughts away from the mission tomorrow, but after a few minutes of walking back and forth across the small room, you know you have to get out of here. 

Desperate for fresh air, you push open the door and step into the hallway. Just as you are considering breaking curfew, another door opens down the hall and Rooster's head peeks out from behind the doorframe.

He's shirtless, only clad in a pair of cotton sweats, and you almost forget to feel ashamed as you ogle his beautiful body. He looks back at you, amusement filling his eyes, before its quickly replaced with something that fills you with the urge to wrap your arms around him and squeeze until you are bonded as one.

Deciding against the fresh air, you cock your head towards your door and leave it open as you walk back into your room.

The door shuts behind you and you sit on your bed, legs crossed under you, as Bradley plops down next to you, his head hitting your pillow as he makes himself comfortable. You are both silent for a while before he whispers, barely audible, "I'm scared."

You turn to look at him, and he sees the understanding in your eyes. In that moment, he immediately knows that you are his person; the person he always wants with him when he gets bad news or good news or whatever else life throws at him. He knows you like he knows the inside of an F/A 18F Super Hornet, and that will never change. Not if he can help it.

"I'm ready," he continues, finding his voice again, "but I'm still scared of what could happen out there. I trust Mav, I do. I mean, I didn't always, but I think I finally see what my dad saw in him, you know. But..."

"It's okay to be scared," you whisper, your voice low as if you're afraid that being any louder will break this spell. "But you're the best aviator I know and if anyone can complete this mission, it's you, Rooster."

He sits up slowly, his eyes never leaving yours and you become acutely aware of how little clothing separates the two of you. The thin material of your shirt is light against your skin and you can barely breathe as Bradley lifts his hand, threading his fingers in your hair as he cups the side of your face with so much care you think you might melt right there in front of him.

Neither of you says anything as his thumb lazily runs down your jaw, stopping right at your lips. "Bradley." your voice is a soft sigh that makes him stiffen.

His hand doesn't move as he looks at you intensely, his eyes seeing you in a way that no one else does. "I can go. Just say the word and-"

"Don't," you whisper, scooting forward slightly on the bed as confidence fills you again. "Don't go." 

You would be lying if you said you weren't afraid of the consequences of what was happening between the two of you. Of how this could affect your long-held friendship and your ability to function properly as a team. But in that moment, all you can think about is how his lips would feel against yours.

You lean into him, your palms flat on the mattress beneath you as you press your mouth to his. The moment your lips meet, sparks crackle behind your eyelids, and you let out a small whimper that has his fingers tightening in your hair. His mouth is warm against yours and the prickle of his mustache against your nose feeds the ache between your legs at the thought of it bristling somewhere else.

Bradley's hands move from your hair to your waist as he lowers you down onto the bed, his body hovering over you. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches down to the hem of your shirt, toying with the edge in an implicit question that you answer with a frantic nod. He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it to the ground, before peppering kisses down your jaw and across your neck. The wet heat of his tongue against your skin has you gasping beneath him and you dig your fingers into the ridges of his back, your eyelids fluttering closed with pleasure.

You grip his shoulders as he returns to your mouth, sliding his tongue along the seam of your lips in a teasing pattern that has you squeezing your legs together to get some relief.

"Bradley," you gasp, feeling him pull back slightly, "stop teasing."

He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around your back before lifting you up and forward until you're straddling him. "Yes, ma'am."

With one deft movement, he unhooks your bra and sends it falling to the floor. You don't have time to be impressed, because the next thing you know, his mouth is on your breast, his lips closing around your nipple with awe-inspiring precision. The warm wetness of his mouth on your sensitive skin snaps something inside of you and suddenly your hips start rocking against his, desperate for some sort of release. Bradley switches to your other breast, and when his teeth brush against you, a sound you don't recognize rips from your throat.

Your hips grind against his faster, the rough material of his sweats creating a delicious friction that has you gasping. He's rock hard against your core, and although there are multiple layers of fabric between the two of you, the feeling of his arousal under you sends waves of pleasure rolling up your spine.

"Y/n, darlin', you gotta stop doing that," Bradley groans, lifting his face from your chest. "I'm not finishing until I'm inside of you."

His words leave you breathless, and you nod frantically, making him laugh brightly. He tugs off his sweats as he moves down your body, kissing down your abdomen until he's at the waistband of your sleep shorts. Bradley takes his time pulling them down your legs, delighting in the small noises of impatience you make from above him.

"Bradley, hurry up," you complain, the ache between your thighs getting worse with each second.

He just flashes you that infuriatingly perfect smirk. "Patience, baby. We have all the time in the world. I'm savoring you tonight."

You can't ignore the jolt of heat his words send straight to your core, but that doesn't make you any less eager for him. When he yanks your shorts and panties off, you're finally bare in front of him, and the sight of you here, with him, has his mind dizzy with desire.

He opens his mouth to make some witty quip like he always does when he's with you, but instead what comes out is, "You're so fucking beautiful."

You've always been beautiful and strong and stubborn, and if he's being honest, he's always loved you. He just didn't realize it.

He wants to be inside of you more than anything, but with your dripping heat right in front of him, he would be remiss to not have a taste. His tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your core, and you gasp loudly, feeling the ache start to dissipate with each ministration. 

The sounds that escape your mouth encourage his movements and he presses your stomach down to the mattress as you try to arch off the bed. Your body is overheating and you can't seem to get enough as his mustache scrapes infuriatingly against your thighs. When his lips close around your clit, you're already so close that you come barreling to your release, crying out something that sounds like his name as he works you through your orgasm.

His lips find yours again and your fingers dig roughly into the hard ridges of his muscles as he doesn't wait before entering you slowly, the stinging stretch quickly turning to hot pleasure. You moan into his mouth as he pulls out fully before sinking back into you, his hard length reaching the deepest parts of you.

Bradley's body shakes with a pleasure that overwhelms him as your slick heat tightens around him like a vice grip. His thrusts get faster and faster and your head falls back, arching off the pillow as his name rolls off your lips.

"Y/n, fuck," he grits out as you contract around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to finishing.

Your body starts to shudder, signaling your impending release, and Bradley quickens his thrusts to get you there first. His hand reaches down between the two of you, and he rubs fast circles on your clit that send you flying over the edge in seconds.

You cry out with the force of your release, and the tightening of your pussy around his cock has him following you soon after. 

~~~

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed and a note on your nightstand that reads 'you're it for me. I'll be back in no time.'

You smile to yourself, but then your expression falls when you remember where he's gone. You quickly change into your gear and head up to the base to join Hangman and the rest of the reserve team.

Admiral Simpson has you all waiting by the tarmac, supplied with a radio that allows you to listen in to the mission. The flight over to the canyon is largely uneventful, but when the aviators reach the inverted dive, your heart seizes in your chest. They manage to achieve the first miracle, and then the next, and with each piece of good news, the tightness around your heart loosens up, but then you hear Rooster's frantic voice and your lungs refuse to work again.

When Maverick's plane gets hit by the missile, the whole base falls silent, except for the anguished sounds of Bradley's voice over the radio. When Rooster's comms go silent too, Hangman is sent out to do an assist and you can feel your heart in your throat, beating wildly as your lungs try to force air in and out.

You and the rest of the reserve team wait for what feels like a year, but then you see an old F-14 Tomcat enter the skies above you and all the tension finally leaves your body. When Rooster and Mav land, you let everyone else rush forward to cheer for them, seeing as how your feet can barely move because of how relieved you are. 

But then Bradley steps out of the plane and finds you in the crowd. You smile at him, tears glazing your eyes as he saunters over to you and stops in front of you. "Told you I'd be back." 

You let out a watery laugh before he lifts you into a big hug, your feet flying off the ground as he pulls you tightly against him. It feels like no time at all before he puts you down, and you're about to put a professional distance between your bodies when he plants a big kiss on your mouth.

You're staring at him, mouth agape, when you hear Hangman's voice behind you, "I fucking knew it!"

[hitechlatte]

Game On - Rise!Future!Donnie X GN!Reader

All 4-1 Challenge Fanfiction

Prompt: Reader continually uses TERRIBLE pick up lines on your choice of turtle, trying to drop the hint.

(I may been VERY lenient with the prompt, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless)

Warnings: Lots of Swearing

This is based in future timeline, several years after start of Kraang Invasion.

Saw some entries for this and got invested so I wanted to whip something up real quick for it lol.

ALSO WARNING! My fic is SFW and so anyone can read but a lot of the other fics in this contest are not, so just wanted to give peeps a heads up if they look at other entries, which you should if you are of age because they are rad, but warning has been given.

Challenge Hosted by: @turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch @leosgirl82 @nittleboo @tmnt-tychou and @post-apocalyptic-daydream

Also stole puns from here: https://thedarkestroast.com/coffee-puns/#Jokes_About_Drinking_Coffee

FIC UNDER KEEP READING

Game On

Clutching tightly to the mug in your hand, your steps echoed in the corridor. It had only been your second day in the NYC safe haven and some lady named Cassandra had already found you a job on base.

And of course, even in the apocalypse, you were still working as a barista.

But at least this way you could be helpful and show your gratitude. If the recon team hadn’t found you hiding in that decrepit Stock & Shop when they did…

Well... You didn’t want to think about what could have been.

As you reached the end of the cave’s offshoot, you found a large metal door built into the natural structure of the tunnel. With a perplexed look, you gazed at the panel towards the right of the entrance and pressed the ‘call’ button.

“What.” A voice curtly snapped.

“Is this uh… Derek? Your brother Mikey said to bring you some coffee.” You told the panel.

“Ah.” The voice spoke back, “And did this brother of mine tell you to play into the role of barista by perpetuating the stereotype that those who handle coffee somehow lose their ability to correctly recall a name? If this is his poor attempt to simulate normalcy when I’m already stressed out, you can inform him I’m not amused.”

Fuck... You groaned in your mind, ecstatic to be making such great first impressions.

“Did you at least get my order right? Or is that part of your performance as well?” The voice continued.

“It’s just a double espresso. It’s kind of hard to fuck that up” You commented.

“Well at least you’re not entirely inept.” The voice groaned, “Bring it to my desk.”

As you harshly cursed at yourself, you could hear the whirls of an engine. To your left, the metal door slid open, showcasing a large cavern filled with machines and wires.

Slowly stepping into the space, your eyes tried their best to take everything in. Machines flickered and buzzed all around you, while monitors stretched across the walls. The large screens lined out routes of the kraang activity and the recon teams. As you walked deeper into the room, you could hear the clattering of a keyboard. 

Following the noise, you could see one of the turtles sitting at a desk with several monitors. Numerous windows were scattered across the screens as he fervently typed away.

“Here’s your double espresso.” You flatly commented.

“Doppio, you mean?” The turtle corrected without looking away from his screen.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m surprised you actually know what it’s called.”

“I, unlike many residing in these halls, have class.” The turtle commented, “Besides, I’m the reason we even have an espresso machine.”

You let out a soft chuckle as you turned to head out of the room. However the turtle spoke up again, stopping you in your tracks.

“Has anyone walked you through how to use your communicator yet?” The turtle asked, his nose still buried in the monitors.

Turning back with a confused look you nodded, “Yeah, I got the rundown.”

“Good. I’m adding your device to a pager. Do whatever your typical duties are unless you receive a ping from me. The kitchen should already know this, but prioritize my orders. If I pass out when I’m supposed to be monitoring missions that will not end well.”

“Is that… uh… healthy?” You inquired.

“No, but what other choice do we have?” The turtle flatly stated as he seemed to read through something on his screen.

“Touche.” You shrugged your shoulders.

You went to take another step towards the exit, but then stopped once more.

“Oh guess I should apologize about the name mix up. What um. What is it actually?”

“It’s Donatello, or maybe I should have you simply refer to me as Donnie or even D. Since that may be easier for your poor mind to remember.” Donnie mocked with a devious tone in his voice.

Two can play this game. You thought.

With a snicker you commented back, “Ah Dennis? Cool. I can remember that.”

You could hear the turtle groan as he turned his chair around to glare at you. He seemed like he was going to chew you out until he saw the grin plastered across your face.

“Oh... You were kidding.” Donnie said, as he roughly rubbed his forehead, “Just go and let me get back to my work.”

“Sure thing, Daniel.” You called back as you made your way out of the room. 

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Over the next several weeks, the purple turtle seemed to slowly warm up to you. Your quick order drop off with whatever name you chose to call him that day, eventually turned into longer chats. You’d stick around for a bit, asking him how his work was going or to share gossip you’d heard from around the settlement.

One particular morning, you walked with a pep in your step. The prior night's recon team returned with a bunch of fancy coffee grounds from a nearby Whole Foods. You couldn’t help but bask in the smells emanating from Donnie’s mug.

Typing your code into the panel of the lab door, the metal whooshed opened and you swiftly headed to Donnie’s desk.

“Morning Deiphobus. Got a batch of fancy new grounds this morning and I have a feeling you’ll really like them.” You smirked.

“I’m sorry, Deiphobus?” Donnie asked as he turned to you with a grin on his face, “What is this 1250 BCE?”

“I’m running out of names!” You exclaimed, “It’s not my fault you drink like 4 coffees a day. Besides, how is that any worse than Donatello?”

“Donatello is a classic.” The turtle said, puffing out his chest as he turned back to his monitor, “Besides, where did you even find that name?”

“Some Shakespeare book.”

“Someone’s getting desperate.”

“I’m sorry it's not like we still have google and I can look up one of those stupid 3 billion baby name lists.”

“Oh if anything I commend your research.” Donnie snickered, “I’m just surprised you can actually read Shakespeare. I thought baristas were notorious for their illiteracy.”

“You’re awful.”

“Or maybe you’re just jealous you’re not as witty as myself.”

“If anything you’re jealous! I’m hella whitty.” You quickly defended.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh it’s Game On, asshat.” You laughed, “Just wait, next time you see me you won’t know what hit you.”

A few hours passed when you heard your pager ping again. With a smirk, you whipped up his doppio and proudly made your way over to the lab.

As you reached his desk, you loudly cleared your throat. The noise caused the turtle to turn his chair and meet your gaze.

“Yes?” He asked.

“I, as I’m sure you’re well aware, am incredibly witty.” You said as you held the mug close to your chest.

“Uh-huh.”

“And someone as witty as myself, knows when a schtick has to end. So here is my new proposal.”

Donnie gave you a look of disbelief as he waited.

“Hello there, Donnie.” You began.

“Ah, my actual name. How witty. He said sarcastically.”

“Shush. That’s not it. Let me finish.” You flailed.

The purple turtle rolled his eyes as he leaned his elbow on his desk and propped up his chin.

“I just wanted to say… I made this cup of coffee, espresso-ly for you.”

The purple turtle stared at you, his eyes going wide.

"No." He said.

"Yes." You smirked.

“Oh god please no!” Donnie groaned loudly and buried his face in his desk. 

Your laughing echoed throughout the room as you nearly spilled his drink. Placing the mug down on the desk, you clutched onto your stomach and tried to stifle your laughter.

“Oh- oh that was too perfect. Leo was so right.” You cackled.

“Of course he’s in on this.” Donnie mumbled into the desk.

“Hey, he's the hero of this story. He’s the one who gave me the book.”

Donnie sat up straight and gave you a perplexed look, “Book?”

“Oh yeah, you know that run to the library last week? Leo found a book of ten thousand puns.”

“T-ten- THOUSAND?” Donnie could barely choke out.

“Yep!” You smirked, “And there’s a whole chapter just dedicated to coffee.”

Donnie groaned as he planted his face back down onto the desk.

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Each pun got progressively worse as you made your way through the list. Occasionally a joke would elicit a slight chuckle from the aloof purple turtle, but the other 90% of the time, he would simply groan or threaten to have you kicked out of base.

However, as the next few days turned into weeks, you began running out of material.

Or well… Material you felt comfortable using.

One section in the coffee chapter was titled Coffee Puns About Love and Romance. Every time you searched for a line to use, you always quickly skipped past that portion of the list. 

But, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Selecting the least aggressive pick up line from the options provided, you made your way over to his lab.

As you reached his desk, you placed the mug down on the surface without a word and sighed harshly.

“Ah, has the day come? Have you finally exhausted that grotesque list?” Donnie chuckled as he turned to you.

“No. But we are scraping the bottom of the barrel now.”

“Oh?”

Shaking out your hands and taking another breath you stared at the turtle. Your lips were reluctant, but you were able to form the words.

“You’re brew-ti-ful.”

His eyes went wide and his face blushed a harsh red.

“Oh god.” He groaned, “Please tell me ‘bottom of the barrel’ doesn’t mean the only puns left are awful pick up lines.”

“I mean I could tell you that, but then I’d be lying.”

Donnie groaned as he roughly slapped his own face.

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The pick up lines were much more entertaining than you expected. Seeing how madly he’d blush or stammer at your commentary was adorable, and you proudly played your part. For the days you were feeling extra adventurous, you‘d even pair the line with a wink or by blowing him a kiss.

However, when the list of lines was depleted, you did everything you could to keep the game going. On your offtime, you’d sit for hours, trying to concoct more coffee based pick up lines to try on him. You even found yourself practicing in the mirror to make sure you got the words just right.

And as this next chapter of the game continued on, you soon found yourself perplexed.

You don’t know when or how it happened…

But you started meaning what you said. 

To no avail, you kept trying to pinpoint when everything changed. Was it when your generic lines became more personalized? Or was it when your supplemental teasing went from playful winks to gentle fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

Although you couldn’t find the answer you were looking for, you did know this.

It wasn’t your fault. 

If he didn’t have such vibrant reactions, you wouldn’t have become so obsessed with the game. 

It still would have been just a game. 

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Late one night, your pager beeped at you. As you tapped on the device you groaned.

“He knows it’s 4am right?”

After slowly trudging out of bed, you lethargically made his drink and headed over to the lab.

Rubbing your eyes, you mistyped your code a few times before finally opening the door.

The turtle was hunched over his desk. The taps of the keys sounded slower than usual.

“Dude, you owe me for making me get my ass out of bed.” You yawned.

“Blame Leo.” Donnie groaned, “The idiot winded up setting off a Kraang patrol unit.”

“Everyone, okay?!” You exclaimed.

“Thankfully.” Donnie sighed, “But I lost some of my search drones. Had to play distraction for a while so they could make an escape. Everything seems calm now, but I want to stay up for a bit longer just to make sure they return safely.”

“That’s good to hear.” You sighed, “Well... here’s your drink.”

“Ahh finally run out of lines?” Donnie groggily mocked as he continued to look at the screen.

His snarky attitude woke something up inside of you. 

Leaning forward, you gently grasped his chin, turning his face to meet yours. His cheeks burned vibrantly as he stared at you. With a devious gaze, your lips curled up slightly. 

“Oh I’m sorry. I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me.” You snickered as your fingers still softly held his chin.

But while you tried to search your mind for the pun you had thought up on the way over, you couldn’t help but continually drop your gaze down to his lips. Silently cursing your tired stupor, you tried to regain focus. 

Donnie just sat there, barely breathing, as you continued to filter through your thoughts. He too, struggled to meet your gaze as his eyes continued to fall upon your lips.

However after a few more breathless moments, the line finally returned to your mind. With a slight blush on your cheeks, you smirked as you spoke.

“Words cannot express how much you mean to me.”

Both of you sat there frozen. Your eyes widened as the words left your lips. 

“Fuck I said it wrong! Sorry it’s late and-” You began to splutter.

But you were cut off by Donnie’s lips crashing into yours.

Game Over.

[queervulturecreature00]

You what now?

sagau hearing you rambling and then just hearing a "i love ya" from you

Ok but like I have this habit of saying the stupidest things so heres a lil thing based off of somthin that happened to me in game lol

You had entered into your teapot not long ago, and had quickly made a few furnishings for a room. As per usual, you were running around the place and talking to all your characters since you were bored once again, and wanted to hear their voice lines.

There was a small and flower-filled area that you were in currently, and in there was one of your characters, Albedo. You, of course, were going through all the conversations you had, but mid sentence, your phone rang.

It was one of your friends, and one that you haven't gotten the chance to talk to in a while. So naturally, you were going to pick up. With genshin still open and Albedo still talking, you quickly blurted out while grabbing your phone

"Bedo I love you but i gotta take this call so shush-"

And suddenly your game went silent. For some reason he had stopped talking mid-sentence. Confused, you looked at the game to see if you accidently skipped his line.

You hadn't.

As confused as you were, you took your friends call and ignored the "glitch", but your characters had quite the opposite reaction.

There Albedo was, standing in a mixture of surprise and confusion. Why did you directly talk to him? you usually didn't do that. Also, did you just say that you... loved him????

you weren't looking at the screen, but if you were, you would see Albedo out of "character" and standing with a confused look on his face and a slight blush creeping up.

The rest of your team sat there, listening to this, and knowing exactly what Albedo's thoughts were. Lets just say that seeing you say that to somebody that wasn't them made them a lil annoyed.

(they hate albedo's guts now. and always will.)