#until this year it felt impossible to imagine me living beyond that

[fungisteri]

the mood for tonight

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 4: Reader Suggestions

Previous Chapter: Lore Dump

Summary: Things start to get a little strange when The Writer hits the dreaded Writer's Block and looks for some inspiration.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Chaos, SMUT?, Cockblocking?, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Probably a little more lore (just assume that theres gonna be bits of lore everywhere), Criticism of Fanfiction, Analysis of Fanfiction/Fandom, Meta Fiction

Note: This is more of a "filler episode" to establish some of the rules of Eddie and Reader's predicament than anything specifically plot-driven, until the end. You could say that I myself felt a little bit of Writer's Block...not necessarily because I couldn't get anything onto a page but that it wasn't happening for this story in particular. (Coincidental that it happened at this specific chapter. Almost like I planned it that way. Maybe I did.)

So please forgive me if anything feels a little rusty; I'm getting back on this bicycle after a few months of letting it sit in the garage. But I'm happy I get to take it for a spin again. We're in it for the Tour de France now lads! Or we die trying.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You know, in a previous life, if someone told you that you'd be laughing in the face of a bloodthirsty, murderous vampire, you would probably think it was impossible.

That was, unfortunately, the reality you lived in right now.

Red, veiny, monstrous eyes. Sharp fangs. Hissing and roaring.

And you just snickering like an idiot with a death wish.

Probably because you knew it wasn't actually a death wish.

Your arrival in Mystic Falls was an interesting and exciting one. Mainly because of how normal it was.

It was a small town and everyone seemed friendly enough and you were truly ready for it to be a break in the action. Despite it being another so-called "modern" or "futuristic" setting.

Futuristic to you, at least. Still a bit stuck in your 1985 mindset, 2009 seemed beyond your imagination. More than the 90s had been, or 2004. Still not as bad as when one of the Writers shoved you onto the USS Enterprise so you could woo Bones McCoy. And certainly not 100 Trillion years in the future, at the end of the Universe with The Doctor.

Still, you were happy for a change of pace. So you chugged into town with your trusty Beetle like you usually did, until you made it to the large house on Maple Street that was the new residence of your supposed "college best friend," Jenna Sommers.

You liked Jenna, actually. She was sweet and funny and hated the hoity-toity elites of the town's Founding Families. She dragged you to all the Historical Society events just to have an ally, and those nights were always a hoot. You'd gossip about the mayor's affair with so-and-so, drink free booze til you saw double, and stuff your tiny handbags with their expensive hors d'oeuvres.

After years of traveling through various universes, and over analyzing your friendships back in Port Geneva, she was a breath of fresh air and someone you truly cherished.

She also set you up with her boyfriend's best frenemy--her words, not yours--Damon Salvatore.

And he seemed fine.

Great, actually.

A normal, sarcastically funny, suave, handsome sort of guy who took you out a few times and always behaved like a gentleman, and kissed better than anyone you'd ever kissed before.

Until this very moment, where the penny dropped, and he roared in your face with his fangs.

And you just laughed in his.

Because of course he was a vampire.

Of course you couldn't have a nice, normal thing.

Once.

Ever.

December 1986

If Eddie thought his life had been out of control before, it was safe to say that the moment he realized that it was being controlled by some Writer in another universe, it only got worse.

For a few days, there had been a break in the madness.

Well, there were some things that still fucked with Eddie's head.

Some of the posters on his walls were for bands he didn't like, his collection of exclusively DC comics became an array of Marvel titles, and his stash of porn...needless to say it was full of shit he'd never even thought about before.

He still jerked off to it, though. What else was he gonna do? Not jerk off?

But there were no out-of-body feelings, no wacky spectacles in class, no unexpected emergencies. The trailer even stayed clean for a whole week; it was a godsend.

"Does that mean it's all over?" Eddie asked when you'd arrived at his trailer for a night in.

"Unfortunately not," you sighed. "I don't know the ins and outs of it. Sometimes the story proceeds as planned. Sometimes you get long stretches of time where nothing happens. You've heard of Writer's Block? Maybe they're having trouble trying to figure out what's next for us."

"Why don't they just give up?" he huffed. "Leave us alone."

"Would you give up if you were trying to figure out some complicated plot for Hellfire?"

"Yeah, but that's different. It's just DnD. These are our lives that this asshole is playing with."

"And what if, somewhere, Agrithor the Invincible is real and getting mad because Jeff rolled a Nat 1 on a medicine check and now he has dysentery."

Eddie didn't know if he was cranky because you were right, or a little more in love with you because you had been listening to him rant about Hellfire.

"It's a learning curve," you continued. "It gets weird when you start to think of your life like a story someone is writing, waiting for the next thing to happen. Trust me. I learned that the hard way."

"So what should I do? Just go with the flow?"

"You need to, otherwise you start second guessing what's real and what isn't with everything."

"Hmmm..." He tilted his head from side to side considering your words. What's real and what isn't. A loaded statement in this predicament the two of you found yourselves in.

"So let's just enjoy our night in," you said with finality. "What's the plan? Fraggle Rock and fooling around?" You glanced around him to the setup on the coffee table. VHS tapes and cans of soda and a bowl of popcorn.

Eddie felt his cheeks getting hot with embarrassment.

"Speaking of what's real...I, uh, thought it might be fun for us to watch a few episodes of Port Geneva?"

You looked at him like he'd grown a second head; your brows raised in question, mouth dropping open in shock.

"I just...have some questions about things that didn't really make sense," he was quick to explain. "Continuity errors. Who better to ask than someone who was there?"

It took a second, but you broke down into laughter and you threw your hands up in defeat.

"You know what, as long as you order us pizza too, fuck it. Fine! Let's see what all the commotion is about."

That had been the last truly fun night for a little while--

His tapes were paused more than they played because you kept getting up to rant about scenes you disagreed with, or stories that the producers of the show simply got wrong, or key scenes that had been cut altogether.

Every time you'd get up and shout and talk with your hands and point at him to get him to understand...he loved you more and more...

--and Eddie felt bad for not taking advantage of the normalcy for as long as he could.

Because things started getting weird.

First Christmas had come, and it had been a joy.

Munson Christmases were simple affairs. More of a day for hearty food and relaxation than for any traditions or celebrations. You'd of course joined in, along with Granny Ecker, who lamented over Ronnie not being able to come home for the holiday.

Both Granny and Wayne had conspired to get you and Eddie under the mistletoe though, and had ooh'd and ahh'd when your lips met several times over the course of the night.

But Eddie looked forward to New Year's a little more than Christmas; he and the guys typically shot fireworks at the quarry and TP'd all of the jocks' houses in the middle of the night. You'd had similar New Years celebrations with your friends back in Port Geneva, so he figured it would be a treat for you to join them.

Except New Year's Eve never came.

On what was supposed to be the 31st, Eddie slept in, anticipating he'd be up all night with you and the guys. He got his backpack ready with supplies and walked out of his bedroom, only to find Wayne in the kitchen cooking.

"Did we have plans I forgot about?" he asked his uncle.

Wayne crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him.

"You getting sick, kid?" he asked. "Don't know how you could forget about Christmas."

Christmas?!

"But it's," Eddie scoffed, "it's New Years' Eve."

Wayne opened his mouth to respond when there was a knock at the door, and after a beat, you walked in with several grocery bags in hand.

"Hey guys," you greeted cheerfully. "Merry Christmas!"

Wayne repeated the sentiment and motioned for Eddie to go and help you.

"M-Merry, uh, Christmas sweetheart," he said with heavy sarcasm as he reached your side. You shot Eddie a very pointed stare. "What's going on?"

"Just go with the flow," you muttered to him, leaving no time for explanation before you and Wayne started chatting.

So that's exactly what he did.

And truly, there wasn't anything wrong about having a second Christmas.

You'd baked cookies and he'd helped you decorate them; you kissed icing off the tip of his nose and then he'd serenaded you and Wayne with carols on his guitar while It's a Wonderful Life played in the background. He honestly had so much fun, all of his complaints and questions got put to the wayside

It was the fact that the following day brought yet another Christmas.

"Alright," he demanded when you'd arrived to make popcorn garlands with him. "What the hell is going on?"

"A time loop." You explained. "A request loop, actually. The Writer must have asked for Holiday-themed requests from their readers to get themselves out of their slump. Not the first time I've been through this."

"And everyone chose Christmas?" he scoffed. "Damn, these people are boring. Halloween is the best holiday, obviously!"

"Obviously," you laughed.

"Or April Fool's Day!"

"It must be December in their world too." You cupped his face in your hands. "Listen, request loops suck and they're boring. But trust me, you got lucky that it's just holidays. It could be worse."

So of course it got worse.

Because Eddie Munson could never get so lucky as fate taking it easy on him.

The requests didn't stop with Holidays--although, it had been a nauseating gauntlet of Christmases and Thanksgivings, with one Valentine's Day and a 4th of July thrown in for good measure--they extended to other things too.

Eddie had woken up one morning with the word "faucet" stuck in his head.

No rhyme or reason.

Just "faucet."

He suspected that The Writer had something to do with it, especially as he felt a strange anticipation to interject the word into conversation at some point in the day. Like he was compelled to say it in every sentence and every conversation, but none of them felt right.

Only when Dave had gone to get a drink from the water fountain and had stuck his entire mouth on the spigot did Eddie get any relief.

"Fuck Dave, you don't know how many germs are on that faucet?" he practically gasped as the weight on his chest and his mind finally alleviated.

It happened again a few days later. An insatiable need to talk about "root beer floats" all throughout the day, until the evening when he picked you up for a date.

It had been a great date, sure, but he hated root beer.

Finally, it was the word "alluring." Not one that was usually a part of his vocabulary, but this Writer seemed to want to teach Eddie a lesson by using some fancy word.

This time, the key word was said to you during a steamy make out session on your couch. Eddie's lips traveled down the column of your throat, sucking at your pulse, and he told you how alluring you were. Your moan was delicious, and no matter how true the statement was or how much he wanted to continue, he simply couldn't find the desire to.

The moment felt tainted. All of them did. No matter how funny or sweet or hot they were; the knowledge that he was just a puppet on the Writer's strings was a sour feeling and he just couldn't shake it.

You held him in your arms as he lamented about the lack of control he felt.

"I'm sorry," you whispered into his hair as you rubbed soothing circles over his back and shoulders. "I wish I could make it better. I wish I could make it all go away."

Eddie was just so overcome with emotions and feeling so unlike himself that he asked, "what if you could?"

You paused your movements and strained to look at him, confused.

"What...what do you mean?"

"I don't..." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't know what I mean."

Yes he did.

The thoughts had begun to form the moment the words exited his mouth, until they were a tempest swirling in his mind.

"Ok," you simply dismissed, and then continued your attentions.

"Actually," he couldn't stop himself then. He pushed himself away from you and stared directly into your eyes. "I...this all started because you came to Hawkins. So maybe...maybe if you tried to leave."

He immediately saw the heartbreak in your eyes, and he knew he fucked up.

"Do you want me to leave?" you questioned softly.

Everything inside of him screamed no. Of course he didn't want you to leave. In fact, he wanted the opposite of that; he wanted you to stay with him forever. He'd been willing to sell his soul to the devil just for the chance to have you, have someone who understood him the way you did.

He was just...so...tired.

So tired in that moment, he could only focus on his own desperation. His own feelings. He hadn't even thought to consider yours.

"I just...have you ever tried to leave?" he wondered. "You said you get in your car and you come to all of these worlds; that's how you travel into these stories. Have you ever tried to get back into your car and leave? Back to Port Geneva?"

"I don't," you shook your head rapidly, hands held up in front of your face as though you were trying to manifest a physical version of the idea just so you could conceptualize it. "I don't even know how I could. Or where I would go? How to get there?"

"You said that there were times when you got to go back."

"But I'd just end up there," you explained. "I've never decided on my own that it was time to go. I don't have a map."

"Maybe that'd be the end of it all," Eddie grabbed your hands in his. "That's the key to breaking the cycle. If you decided that you wanted to leave, if you tried to go home, the Writer would be compelled to give up and our lives could both go back to normal."

Your eyes darted between his, and you calmly repeated the question, "Eddie do you want me to leave?"

He hesitated so you continued.

"You said we were in this together. You said you'd help keep me grounded and I would do the same for you." You took a deep breath and repeated yourself for a third time. "Do you want me to leave?"

It was an eternity of waiting before he finally answered.

"No, of course not." You pulled your gaze away from his, your face crumpling in a way that made his heart ache. "I just figured...it was just an idea. And it couldn't hurt to try."

He tried to talk, tried to explain himself, and went on rambling for minutes on end. He even stood up and started pacing, hands running through his hair anxiously.

He cursed the Writer for doing this to you, cursed the Writer's Block for putting the two of you in this kind of a position in the first place. Cursed the Gods and Devils for making such an inescapable Hell in the first place.

He hoped the more he talked the more you'd see his frustration, his side of things.

Or at the very least, you'd try to fight him. Yell at him. Tell him he was wrong.

But you just nodded along, refusing to look at him.

It's a learning curve, you'd told him.

Because you'd been through this a million times before, lived this nightmarish life that he was now getting to experience for the first time. Shit, you'd even loved people before you'd come here and started having feelings for him.

Loved and lost and left. Whether you wanted to or not.

He thought he'd understood that. You had thought that he thought he'd understood.

But maybe he didn't. If he thought that getting you to go was the magic solution.

He realized, in that second that he stared at you and you stared at the floor, that this life wasn't the only learning curve for him.

And he wasn't the only one with something to learn either.

You both needed to adapt.

It's a learning curve.

He decided, with a soft kiss to the side of your head and a "see you later sweetheart," that it was better to leave and give you both the space to think and adapt, instead of just standing there digging himself into a deeper hole.

It would get better.

It had to.

But who knew what tomorrow would bring?

He was on a stage playing for a crowd of thousands.

It wasn't the biggest venue they played but it was the only sold out show on the tour.

They were all singing along with him, cheering. His friends, his bandmates, surrounding him and supporting him.

The lights were blinding, he was sweating, and his fingers tapped against the fretboard rapidly until it felt like they would bleed.

He played the last few notes of the song and then threw his arm up in the air with a flourish, all to the backdrop of their cheers.

He saw his face on shirts in the crowd, saw his name, heard them chant his name.

"Eddie...Eddie...Eddie..."

He basked in the majesty of it all, so far from his meek beginnings, so far from Hawkins. If he really thought about it, he didn't even feel like himself anymore. He felt like more.

It felt great.

It felt powerful.

And it was everything he ever wanted.

He pulled the earpiece from his ear and spoke into the microphone as Dave and Jeff threw picks into the crowd.

"Thank you guys...you've been great." He laughed as they cheered for him again. "Port Geneva is one of our favorite places to play. It feels like a little bit of home away from home. The best shows, the best crowds. The best food. Anyone else going to Bonnie's after the show?"

There was a roar of applause again.

"Maybe we'll see you there. It's the main reason we keep coming back here. I always get the Number 7 on Rosemary Bread."

There was a lone boo from the pit; he pulled the mike from the stand and took a few steps to the edge of the stage, eyeing the people for the source of said boo.

There was a couple; a handsome, conventional-looking guy with very neatly combed hair, who wore a flannel over a tee from their first tour. And a girl, pretty--main character pretty--with a hand-written poster in her hands...scolding her boyfriend under her breath.

Bingo.

"We don't like hecklers at our show but if you have a better order than mine I think you need to share it with the class," Eddie grinned at them. There was something familiar about the guy...and the girl...he just couldn't place where he'd seen them before. He shook off the feeling. "Come on, I won't bite."

"If you're not getting the Bonnie Special," the guy shouted up at him, "then you're not doing it right."

The crowd around them boo'd but Eddie stopped them.

"No, no," he chuckled. "I like a guy who knows what he wants. Very metal of you man. What's your name?"

"Patrick."

"Nice to meet you Patrick. I'm Eddie." The crowd laughed. "But seriously no Rosemary bread? That's ok. More for me."

He put the earpiece back in and turned back to the guys, ready to do what he did best: keep playing.

---

Once the show was over, he and the guys indeed made a stop at Bonnie's.

The little sandwich shop was overrun with fans wanting to meet them. He shook hands and signed autographs, as people snapped pictures of them at the counter, ordering a veritable feast to-go.

Then when they got their food and Eddie's hunger got to be too great for him to wait anymore, they were sped back to their hotel.

He wished his bandmates and their manager a goodnight before ducking into his room and bolting the door behind him. He took a few steps in and flipped the light switch on.

And there, sprawled out on the bed, was a different sort of feast.

The true object of Eddie's hunger: you.

You in perfectly paired, borderline scandalous lingerie, hair and makeup impeccable, staring at him with a mirroring hunger in your eyes.

"Hey rockstar," you greeted with a predatory grin. "Kept me waiting long enough."

"Wouldn't you believe it," he smirked at you and gestured to the takeout bag in his hand. "They were out of Rosemary bread."

"That's what happens when you shout your order to a crowd of your biggest fans."

"Funny I didn't see you there."

"How else would I know that you told them your sandwich order?" you teased.

"Didn't hear you either."

"I'll scream your name tonight," you batted your lashes at him. "You'll make sure of that, big boy."

Oh yeah, it was always a boost to his ego when he got you to sing for him, scream for him.

He tossed the bag onto the dresser--for later--and then closed the distance so he could devour you.

His lips went straight for your collarbone, hands exploring your curves, eager to make you squeal; meanwhile, you made quick work of his clothes. His belt was gone instantaneously with a sharp snap, your fingers made quick work of the fly of his jeans, then you reached up to shove his jacket from his shoulders.

God, he'd been fantasizing about you for years--knew your body better than he knew his thanks to countless hours wasted on the tapes from the adult section of Family Video--and it had been a surprise to see your familiar face in the pit at that very first show in Port Geneva.

Or maybe a gift from whatever god or devil was out there.

He'd sought you out after the show and it had been instant chemistry. You both couldn't stop fawning over one another, even though it might've been a little bit more awkward on your part. But you certainly weren't shy about it.

"The rockstar and the porn star," you joked as you split that infamous Number 7 at Bonnie's after your first night together. "A real power couple."

But now it was a handful of years later, and that's exactly what you were. Names forever entwined together in gossip magazines and on each others lips--not to mention the lips of every man and woman who wanted to fuck both of you, even though that likelihood was a big fat zero.

Yeah the sex was great, but it was more than that.

It was knowing one another. Caring for one another. Especially when you were both in an industry where there was little-to-none of either of those things at all.

You'd known for a while; Eddie had found out the hard way.

That's what kept him coming back to you, coming back to a small town with a venue barely-big-enough for the band's rising fame.

Because it was your home, and you were Eddie's.

Home.

It was exactly what he thought as you pushed your panties aside and he sunk into you, wet and waiting and oh-so-deliciously tight.

"Fuck," he swore against your mouth, "I missed you."

"M-missed you too," you panted right back, squirming beneath him, waiting for him to move.

Of course, Eddie was an asshole and let you wait. Let you suffer. Shit he let himself suffer, just to savor being this close with you.

He knew once he got started, he wouldn't stop until it was over.

So he'd hold out for that one last little bit, because he knew before long, he'd be leaving home behind once again.

He wasn't a man known for patience though, and before long he began to move.

He bucked into you, kissed you, squeezed you, lavished you with attention until you were one.

It was a crescendo of feelings when he got to have you like this, his lips spilling promises before he spilled himself inside you.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love yo--

Eddie woke up with a gasp, heart racing and a wet spot growing in his boxers.

There was heavy pounding at the side door, someone slamming thier fist against it over and over again.

"Shit," he cursed. "Shit, shit, shit."

He jumped out of bed, and looked down at himself, wincing at the mixture of his embarrassment, his cum-full underwear and his rapidly-softening cock.

"Eddie, it's me," you called through the door and he froze in panic. "I know you just had a wet dream. Can you open up? It's cold out here."

How the hell did you know that?

He waddled out of his room and to the adjacent door and then let you in. You--coat thrown over your pajamas, feet in fuzzy slippers--pushed past him and headed straight for the kitchen.

"We need to talk!" You told him urgently.

"Uh," he called after you. "Can I, uh..." He gestured down at himself.

You pivoted on your heel, and then glanced from his face, down to his crotch.

Your face cycled through an array of warring emotions before it settled on bashfulness.

"Sure," you squeaked. "I'll...uh...make coffee."

Eddie locked himself in the bathroom for several minutes, listening to you bang around in the kitchen as he cleaned himself up and changed.

By the time he walked out, you were sitting at the little table, biting your nails, as two mugs sat in front of you invitingly.

"How did you know about my dream?" he asked immediately as he fell into the seat opposite you.

"Because I had one too," you said in an obvious tone.

He immediately felt his cheeks get hot, and he grabbed the steaming cup of coffee to take a sip, the scalding liquid not nearly as bad as the feelings that burned through him.

"I know...things weren't great last night," you stared once his attention was back on you, "but if shit like that's going to happen--"

"And what exactly was that?"

"That was our Writer finding their inspiration again," you explained. "Probably from one of those pesky requests. For an alternate universe. We can't exactly be...in other places. Yeah sometimes it happens, but when there's already an established world like this one...where I'm here in Hawkins...alternate universes happen in dreams."

"And are they always..." He waved his hand as he looked for the word.

"Pornographic?" The tension between you broke and two of you laughed, all worry melting instantly. "No...not always. But, uh, I guess it doesn't exactly bode well if our Writer found their inspiration for us in that AU."

Eddie swallowed hard and felt his face heat up again, for a different reason this time.

"It wasn't that bad," he muttered and you shook your head at him with a fond chuckle.

"No," you replied. "It wasn't. But, uh, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't see me naked without...I don't know, me being the one to show you."

The realization hit him too, that all of that...was all of that...was that all against both of your wills?

Sort of?

Kind of?

"It's ok," you assured him, seeing the conflict taking over his features. "I, uh...it happens a lot differently for us if either of us didn't actually want to have sex."

"Got it," he nodded, a little relieved that meant you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. But then he paused as he realized the implication...and what that meant for you in the past.

He was about to ask, to check and see if you were ok, but you quickly moved back to the original topic.

"If the Writer has found inspiration again," you began. "That means we need to be on the same page. We need to work together and support each other, because who knows what they have in store for us.

"There are a million types of stories out there. Daring adventures, fluffy romances, angsty heartbreaks. It's a bitch to deal with, honestly. We already know that this Writer wants us together, and they've already thrown wrenches into our relationship. With Steve...and Chrissy...plus the sheer unpredictability, if this dream was anything to go by...it's going to be difficult.

"So you need to be prepared," you said with a tone of finality. "We can't...you can't do what you did earlier. You've gotta keep your cool. There's no escaping this. For either of us. And you can't really fight it, but if you try to, there's definitely ways that it could make things worse for us. There's no way we can stop this until it's over. Until the story this Writer wants to tell is complete."

You reached across the table and covered Eddie's hands with your own.

"I know it's hard and I know it sucks for your world to be turned upside down," you told him gently. "But you need to hold it together. You need to listen to me, trust me. Otherwise there's no telling what might happen."

Your eyes were full of desperation, full of care, and as much as he wanted to question things--question everything--he knew now was not the time or the place.

So he assured you, without a hint of doubt or question in his voice, "I trust you."

Then he turned his hands so your fingers could twine together, and he squeezed.

"And don't worry," he smiled. "You can trust me too."

Next Chapter: Friends to Lovers Coming Soon

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[staycalmandhugaclone]

Ode to Artists Pt 1

Part (1) of Ode to Artists, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Am I well past when I was supposed to finish my Bingo sheet? Yup. Am I still counting this one toward the "Bed" prompt? Also yup. I meant for this to just be a one-parter, but I just can't write those... so it'll be 2 or 3 parts of mostly (emphasis on mostly) fluff before we get into the next whump-tastic arcs I have planned. (Also, after my appointment today, the midwives say I could literally go anytime from tomorrow to 5 weeks from now, soooo if I vanish for a bit... well, you'll know why)

Warnings: This arc will mostly be fluffy stuff, but there will be references to past torture here and there. This one has some flashbacks, profanity, and loads of emotions like guilt, fear, anger, and general angst, as well some brief mention of wanting to die (not SI - with relation to ending torture), and I supposed some dependency

WC: 3,405

Rough Mando'a translation:

hut’uunla chakaaryc - coward and a rotten, low-life, (considered worst possible insult)

When we’re children and we first learn that the sky is endless, when we’re told of the countless lives beyond that stunning blue and the thousands of planets that we’ll never visit; when we’re first taught that the impossibly distant stars who’s lights danced in the darkness of night had died and been reborn long before we’d ever glimpsed them, and we discover just how small we are amidst an existence that would live on unchanged in spite of our hopes and dreams and fears, unmoved by our short lives and inevitable deaths; when we’re children and these harsh truths rob us of that innocent sense of invulnerability and infinite potential innate in the brilliance of youth, there is a wound that is dealt in the wake of that revelation regardless if the words are spoken with unapologetic honesty or gentle wonder, and those wounds may scar or they may fester, but they never fully fade.

I remembered when I learned how big the galaxy was. I didn’t feel that loss then. At the time, I’d felt inspired, enamored by the vast stretches of possibilities I’d never before considered and lightened beneath the new sense of freedom granted by those possibilities, but I felt those scars now.

Used bandages lay forgotten in small piles atop the medbay counter as my eyes stared blindly at the still pink bands encircling my wrists, fingertips just whispering over the newly knit skin. The freshly formed nerves shuddered beneath that delicate touch, unaccustomed, yet, to even gentle sensation. I hadn’t seen the damage wrought by how violently I’d thrashed against those restraints, not until after Comet had done his best to clean and sow them back together, and bacta gel had regrown most of what surely still dirtied a floor already coated with too much blood, but I could imagine it. For the scars to still shine so starkly against the unmarried flesh beside it, I didn’t doubt how near I’d come to severing tendon and exposing bone, and the simple fact that I could remember no sense of pain beyond the panic of drowning held its own morbid wonder.

It was as I stared unseeing at those scars, thoughts coming and going absent a moment’s true consideration, that I felt small. I’d never known fear could cut so deeply, that the body was capable of such terror, and yet I’d suffered beneath it for so long as the worlds around me continued in blissful ignorance. Children played as I screamed. New lovers relished the touch of another as I died. Stars were born as I begged for everything to end, and yet I now stood in the same room of the Marauder that I’d lived in for well over a year. The air still held the stale taste of too many rotations through the recyclers. The engines hummed with that same subtle rumble fading into the ambiance of the occasional beep of an alarm, and beyond the door, if I bothered to listen, I was sure I’d hear Wrecker’s boisterous voice or catch a sharp retort from Crosshair.

Even in that haze of wandering memories, my heart still leapt at the thought of him. He’d refused to let me so much as change my own bandages during the week we’d remained on the Negotiator. What arguments I’d tried to offer failed beneath the gentleness of his touch, the way his eyes hardened and his lithe body curled over mine. It didn’t feel possessive. It felt safe, and that was far too precious to refuse. Between those moments, however, I’d rarely seen him.

Only after noting his absence for several days did I learn that he kept vanishing to the training rooms, seeking anyone foolish enough or brave enough to spar and ensuring what minor injuries he sustained had been tended long before returning to my side. I wanted to talk to him about it but found myself unable to force the question past my lips, too worried that I already knew the answer to risk asking, because what could I say if he was fighting as a means of distracting himself from everything I wasn’t yet willing to speak of? If he felt driven to escape a helplessness I knew too well, a helplessness he only felt because of me? It had been something of a relief to get word of our latest assignment if only to break that routine.

With my wounds now all but healed and the lot of us en route to Alderaan, some semblance of normalcy was finally beginning to return. Friendly bickering again flowed between the brothers, free of that tension that had made my heart twist since Devaron, and no one shot away to hide the instant the medbay door opened or purposefully avoided eye contact if we were in the same room. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. That return to normalcy, however, brought with it a quiet I wished I could appreciate, but the thoughts it granted freedom to were ones that robbed me of breath and left me staggering amidst memories I couldn’t force back.

“Doc?” My attention snapped away from those lingering scars, chest hitching in a small gasp at the suddenness with which that daze fled me. Echo stood barely a handful of steps away, brows draw lightly together above eyes full of the beginnings of worry. I hadn’t noticed the hiss of the door opening or closing, hadn’t heard whatever initial greeting he’d offered as he entered. Had he asked me something? How long had he been speaking before falling silent at the realization that I wasn’t even aware of his presence?

“Sorry, Echo; guess I got a bit lost in thought.” I said softly with a gentle smile that did little to chase the concern from his gaze. “What did you say?” He hesitated a moment, jaw tensing, and I couldn’t help but fear I’d missed something vital in whatever words he’d spoken while my mind had floated absent intent.

“Just… wondered if you’d eaten yet? Figured I’d grab you something since I was headed there anyway.” My heart sank at the offer, certain that had nothing to do with why he’d really come here, but the tentative truce between us was still too delicate to strain beneath blunt questions. I turned my attention back to the counter, using the excuse of gathering the discarded cloth to hide the threat of disappointment from my gaze.

“Probably a good idea.” I sighed despite how unappealing one of those flavorless bars sounded. “I’m finished here, anyway, so I’ll come with you.” A stranger wouldn’t have noticed the tension steal through him, the delay preceding that forced smile. A close friend wouldn’t have hesitated to address them. I noticed and said nothing, caught in the lingering uncertainty of where we stood, terrified that I might push him away again with one poorly chosen word.

“Have you reviewed the mission brief, yet?” He asked, vying for some attempt at nonchalance as we started from the medbay. I nodded, still a bit confused by it. We were making a delivery to the governing body. Given the relatively safe location of the planet, using a squad with the immaculate record Hunter and his brothers boasted made little sense. Echo let out a small chuckle at my expression, and my heart leapt at the sound.

“I think Cody sent us on this one as a bit of a break.” I didn’t fight the look of surprise that drew my attention back to him, though the darkness that followed left me turning away just as quickly. He was babying us because of me… sending us as a glorified delivery service. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for the reprieve or enraged at how badly I needed just that: a respite from the unending horrors of this nightmare of a war.

“I don’t think he meant it as an insult.” At that, a quick huff escaped me, cheeks warming from how effortlessly he read me.

“I think he meant it as an olive branch more than anything.” I retorted, pleased to glimpse the smirk those words brought to his lips.

“Or an excuse to get Crosshair off his ship as soon as possible.” He mused, voice lowering as he leaned subtly closer to me, and I found myself biting back a string of laughter at his conspiratory tone.

I wasn’t surprised to find Wrecker in the small kitchette as we entered, a few empty wrappers already littering the table with a third already half eaten. His eyes lit up when he saw us.

“Did he tell you?!” The vibrant excitement in his voice was almost enough to make me hesitate, eyes flicking back to Echo for a moment.

“I’m going to guess not yet?” I replied, brow hitching expectantly. The arc didn’t bother even trying to explain before his brother jumped to his feet.

“They got this celebration tomorrow on Alderaan! Tech says they only do it every five years!” He purged the news in a loud, eager rush of glee that I was helpless against, lips instantly drawing up into a broad grin.

“Tomorrow? Are going to make it?” A quiet whisper of fear coiled in my chest, images of too many strange faces milling about overly pretentious floors as music danced through the air, but I refused to grant it purchase in the wake of Wrecker’s delight.

“Yup! Hunter even said we’d have the whole night to see it while the ship gets fueled up!”

“It’s outside,” Echo added softly, and I couldn’t quite meet his gaze despite how my body automatically shifted toward him, too aware of what prompted him to offer the gentle reassurance. “Up in the mountains.” Alderaan’s snowy peaks were renowned for their timeless beauty, and the knowledge that we wouldn’t be confined to some inescapable prison veiled in the guise of splendor and finery proved the perfect balm to the quickening of my heartbeat.

“We’ll have to bundle you up with a couple extra layers.” I didn’t doubt that he heard the gratitude warming my words as I finally found the strength to look at him, and the kindness in those eyes shown untainted by the distance that still haunted us.

“Pretty sure I’ll be thawing out the whole trip back regardless how many sets of blacks I put on.” He grumbled, but there was no heat to the complaint. I offered a sympathetic smile and bumped my shoulder lightly against his chest before treading further into the small room to retrieve some rations for us.

“Did Tech mention what all we might expect at this event?” I knew Wrecker would have seen through the subtleties of how Echo eased that fear from me; knew he’d likely understood the instant my gaze first turned away from him, just as I knew he understood the true reason behind my question, and I loved him for how readily he answered my unspoken plea for a distraction as he raptly described what he remembered of Tech’s earlier explanation: of the group of artists that had lived and died centuries prior, but who’s works of Alderaan’s beauty became so renowned throughout the galaxy as to alter the very fate of the planet, inspiring countless others to seek out those natural landscapes to witness that beauty for themselves. He spoke of the promise of endless venders offering unique food and drink and all manner of goods, and he drew no attention to why I sat so quietly beside him, why I failed to respond with my usual glee to his animated retelling, but he was not silent in the face of my stillness, powerful body shifting ever so subtly about mine, hand gentle in every brief touch that somehow never lasted too long, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but relief at his unspoken offer for a comfort that was so soft as to barely be noticeably beyond the unwavering sense of safety it granted me.

It was late. Offensively late. The medbay lay illuminated in the faint glow of a monitor I hadn’t been able to bring myself to turn off, knowing what darkness awaited me the instant I flicked that switch, what terrors lingered in the shadows vying for any excuse to strike. Crosshair had said nothing about it as he shifted atop my bed, groggily holding the blanket open with feigned impatience, but I couldn’t dismiss that flare of shame at yielding to that fear. The instant I settled into him, however, the warmth that enveloped me as he fit himself perfectly around my too tense form and let out that deep, quiet sigh of contentment robbed me of all thought beyond the feeling of his chest dancing with unhurried breaths against my back, the strength of his arms holding me with a covetous need, and I’d found myself drifting into a far kinder sleep that I had any right to hope for.

I loathed the unknown disturbance drawing me from that gentle slumber, jaw tensing beneath an attempt at denial that I might simply ignore whatever it was and slip back into that blessed nothingness. Crosshair lay perfectly limp against me, face tucked into my hair with that precious stillness of sleep. Resigned to a late-night visit to the privy, I reluctantly tried to slip away from him, laughter threatening to bubble past pursed lips at the tiny groan that escaped him as his arms tightened petulantly around me, but he showed no signs of waking as I finally managed to detangle myself from his embrace.

Footsteps as near to silent as I could manage, I tread carefully down the hall, tiptoeing past the bunkroom, though only Wrecker and Echo lay within, both far too lost to their own blissful sleep to note my movements. It wasn’t until I’d nearly reached the privy door that something on the very edge of perception left my blood running cold. I couldn’t say what it was, not yet, but my body seemed drawn toward it, wide eyes locked on the fore of the ship as my legs carried me forward despite the sudden urge to flee.

Even after some recognition began to note the sound of broken gasps amidst free-flowing water, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. There was a haunted sense of familiarity in the way I watched myself move through the ship; in the automated motions I didn’t have the presence of mind to even try to stop.

“…severe forms of torture.” There was a weight to that normally clinical voice; a dread that even he couldn’t fully suppress.

“Tech.” Hunter’s hushed voice barely registered as he turned sharply to face me, but I couldn’t focus on him. I hadn’t even noticed myself climb down the ladder into the cockpit.

“Who ordered the hit?!” I don’t remember when that man’s voice had filled with such anger.

“It’s rare for anyone to endure longer than a couple minutes… what she went through”

“Tech!” Hunter barked, finally ripping his brother’s attention from the audio clip. I didn’t see the look in his eyes as he followed Hunter’s gaze toward me.

“Just tell me who planted the kriffing bomb!”

“I don’t know!” It didn’t sound like my voice. It was enraged and terrified and ruined by hours of screaming. Hunter’s hand flared toward Tech, but he sat frozen – caught – as I approached on strides faltering beneath the tremble just beginning to steal through me.

“That’s krayt spit, and you kriffing know it! Who ordered the hit?!” Part of me wanted to be impressed at how clear the recording was, mind eager to detach from the rush of liquid that followed my every response, the way my lungs panicked and burned with the afterimage of that agony.

“Just kill me, you hut’uunla chakaaryc!” I’d heard Warthog say that once… even Wolffe had been taken aback, and only Sinker would tell me what it meant when I’d asked. That man surely had no idea what I’d called him, but the violent slap that tore from the speakers followed by the seemingly endless flood of water and desperate coughs left no uncertainty that he’d fathomed a guess.

“…Doc.” My hand was reaching out, senses dulled to all but the echoes of my nightmares screaming with such haunting clarity from the speakers, deaf to Hunter’s quiet call.

“Who was behind the attack?!”

“I don’t know!!” That voice was sobbing and screaming and so utterly broken.

My fingertips barely brushed the console before the recording stopped, but I could still hear it… the gush of water… I could feel it’s chill tear the warmth from my flesh; felt it flooding my mouth and nose… and I felt that undeniable, visceral fear of death creeping through me.

Hunter shifted hesitantly toward me, but I merely shook my head. The movement was so slight, I barely felt it, but it instantly left him frozen, shoulders sinking beneath emotions I was still far too raw to try to name.

Without a word, I stepped away from them, away from whatever apologies or questions or murmured reassurances might be festering atop their tongues, my eyes still staring blindly at the endless buttons and switches decorating the console, and when I turned away, when I began to leave in the same silence in which I’d arrived, neither could bring themselves to try calling out again.

Any other night, I would have cringed at the thought of waking him. I would have strained myself to slip back into his embrace as carefully as possible, breath held in my chest until I was sure my intrusion hadn’t robbed him of that empty sleep, but I could spare little thought toward such things. He was warm. And he was safe. And I didn’t bother to even slide beneath the blanket before pressing myself against him.

Crosshair’s torso swelled with a sharp inhale, brows drawing together with some mixture of annoyance and confusion, but then he went still. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, body curling into his as though I might hide from the memories still raging through my mind. He studied me for mere seconds before shifting in careful, unhurried movements, one arm slipping beneath me to wrap around my shoulders while he brought his other hand up to just whisper against my cheek, the unspoken question clear in that tender gesture.

Again, I felt my head give the slightest shake, unable to offer anything more. His thumb trailed the ridge of my cheekbone, touch featherlight, before letting his hand brush gently through my hair to rest against the back of my neck, holding me with just enough force for me to feel his strength, and a shuttered exhale escaped me that left us both clinging just that much harder to each other.

He didn’t speak throughout the night, but the occasional dance of his fingers or touch of his lips in something too gentle to be called a kiss reassured me that he was still awake, still holding me until that tension began to slip away. I don’t know how long we laid there, letting the minutes and hours pass in that perfect quiet, but when I finally heard the steady thrum of his heartbeat over those horrid screams, I wanted to sob. I wanted to shout beneath the disdain I felt toward myself and the apologies I didn’t have the strength to voice. I wanted to tell him that he could leave; that I wouldn’t blame him for needing to separate himself from the mess I’d become, but I couldn’t stop my grasp from tightening around his shirt at the very thought, and when he responded without hesitation, when his arms nearly crushed me against him, I abandoned even the memory of fear that he’d want me to grant him that escape.

In the morning, I’d thank him. In the morning, I’d try to offer some manner of an explanation that he was long past due, but for what few hours still remained in that façade of night that meant nothing in the emptiness of space, I let myself give in to the simple need for his presence and the quiet it granted me. I let myself be weak that I might find solace in his strength, and I let myself love him with every atom of my being for the selflessness of his comfort.

Next Chapter

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[rineedagger]

Tales of a Broken Mind

It's long, direct, and miserable. If you're sensitive to somatic symptoms or mental issues in general, just don't read please.

My birthday is on December 15th. I'm twenty-six years old. It's been less than a year since I finished my medication. It's also been less than a year since my last session. I've gone through two major mental crises that forced me to seek help; the first was in 2019 when I was twenty-one, and the second in 2022 when I was twenty-four. Despite this, I don't recall a single moment in my life when my mind knew what it was like to stay silent; always bombarding me with images, dangers, punishments, alerts, sensations.

I have never been a good sleeper, but it wasn’t until I was eleven years old that the little sleep routine and hygiene I had vanished under the thickest, most suffocating sludge. I got into puzzles, though not for long.

I'm tired of always returning to the same point. The beginning of everything. I know it's the main reason that shaped my entire adolescence, my youth, and, consequently, my adult life—or whatever awaits me in terms of my relationships with people; although it has determined much more than that. But still, I won't dig into this part […]

I’ve attended far more schools than the average person: one nursery, one school, then another, then another, and then yet another, and finally, another one. University is the place where I've stayed the longest, nearly nine years. And it has been hell; I've never spent so much time in one place, and I've never had to repeat the same things so many times. The worst part? How alone, abandoned, insignificant, and odd I’ve felt since I turned eighteen. In fact, it’s funny—if you ask me to choose between my adolescence and my youth, I’d choose the first one without hesitation. The damage I suffered's chronic and evident; it changed my life, my perspective, and my mind. But I also lived well, happily, surrounded by people. It didn’t matter if things were this or that—I was still imaginative and eloquent. I had free time, a simple life, a fixed schedule, and not much more.

Now? I feel my brain rotting; my eyes are both bored and tired at the same time. My heart hurts, and I no longer know why. I’ve been a good patient, done my homework, opened up completely, remained transparent.

I survived my adolescence imagining a very different version of myself than the one sitting here, writing these pages. Now I can't imagine another version of me; I can't even see beyond next week […]

It (what I thought it was THE thing) was the first thing I thought about in the morning and the last thing I dwelled on at night. I felt my body hyperactive, accumulating stress, always tense, restless, craving more. My mind too—it was racing, unable to focus, which made it impossible to study. It was as if everything moved both in slow motion and fast forward at the same time, as if life were running at two opposite speeds, and I had lost the ability to regulate time. I felt my heart beating out of sync, or thumping irregularly in my chest, even in my throat. Cold sweat covered my body almost constantly, as if I were always on the verge of a final blow. I was in class, feeling that something was wrong, that I was wrong. My guts couldn’t digest anything; I had frequent stabbing pains, and my weight loss was noticeable. I didn’t care about my hair’s cut or texture, nor when I last washed it or the smell of my body. I just wanted to be, to feel fine. But far from that, the nights were becoming increasingly difficult: I went to bed later and woke up earlier. I needed a screen, then another, then a light, then some headphones…and by the end, my room transformed into a holographic star in full combustion. There wasn’t a single corner where my brain could interpret it was time to sleep, and the truth is, I was afraid of going to sleep. What if something happened to me while I slept? What if I woke up again, agitated, disoriented, not knowing what was happening? Then something super weird but distressing began to happen: thinking while asleep. Lying in bed, not without visual and sound stimuli, closing my eyes, breathing deeply, and focusing on whatever sound I had on. Letting time pass and feeling how, little by little, I was falling asleep, feeling my eyes rest more and more and feeling my body less. Until a moment came when it was just me and my brain; instead of dreaming, I was aware that I was thinking, and it was just me and my thoughts on repeat, without a filter, without limits…until all of them combined would pull me out of the trance, not without feeling the worst hangover of my life.

There were few times when I would wake up slightly and couldn’t move my body or felt “someone” sitting at the bottom of my bed. Although there was one time, when I saw the reflection of a human figure sitting on the desk in my room, and as soon as I could move, I bolted to my brother’s room. Sleep paralysis, it’s called. Also, since I’ve never been one to stay still, I'm sleepwalker too; but it’s true that lately, I’ve woken up looking for a remote that doesn’t exist to change the temperature of my room, serving myself tea, giving economics classes to my cat, and little more.

[…] As the therapist said, I was like an atomic bomb about to explode, trapped under pressure in a metal box. Adulthood didn’t sit well with me, and let’s be honest, it will continue to be hard to digest. And I exploded, catharsis after catharsis; I became aware that my studies weren’t doing me any good, I didn’t like them, I didn’t see myself through them, I didn’t feel I fitted; my environment wasn’t ideal either, I felt out of place, always having to adjust to fit in. I was nobody: neither a good student, nor a good daughter, nor a good partner, friend…suddenly, NOTHING defined me. Everything that sustained me was an external concept, subtle, ephemeral, and quite obsolete but, at the same time, VERY enlightening: I needed to be labeled as “good” to feel deserving of a pleased look, a smile, a hug, a shoulder squeeze, someone’s compassion and time; I needed to feel with absolute certainty, almost as tangible as a table, that I was NOT a burden, that I wasn’t superfluous, that my existence generated a positive emotion. I needed something that could refute, or at least freeze, those sensations and thoughts that had built a reality where my existence was a mistake, a blasphemy; a stupid girl who had done nothing but annoy and wrinkle the noses of others. Just for breathing, for being, for existing. And I could say that, by now, I’m used to it, but…I’d be lying.

My relapse in 2022 was more the result of exhaustion and fatigue from remaining in an environment that didn’t favor me. I was still at university, still studying things I didn’t want to, surrounded by people who didn’t interest me, under the authority of professors I didn’t respect either. With my self-esteem destroyed and frustrated. One thing after another.

This time, although I didn’t go through the same insomnia, the quality of my sleep deteriorated; the rumination consumed my day, my night, and my energy. The mental discomfort was as physical as any illness: my heart felt heavy and roared, my chest hurt and died, my throat was burning, and my body was confused. The rumbling of my thoughts was so strong that they had no voice, but I felt them wandering like a heartbeat, like a notification, or the roar of an engine. I was drowning in the bathtub, in the street, in bed. I felt how my whole body collapsed, suffered. It was difficult to feel like myself and remain myself; I could visualize an oil spill contaminating cold, living, and transparent waters. I wanted to die, or rather, I wanted everything to stop. I knew what it meant. This time, after trying to go the public route and seeing it wasn’t an option, due to insurance issues, I ended up sooner with a psychiatrist. When I go to these places, I tend to be quite practical: I communicate the impediment caused by my distress, the physical discomfort without emphasizing the importance of what's happening in my head. It’s also important to note that, just as you can’t explain yourself at your best when you’re in the middle of a medical crisis, you can’t do it when you’re in a mental one, either. I was diagnosed […]. My therapist, an excellent professional, told me I was textbook, so my therapeutic treatment would be too. And it was, in about a year or so, I was practically fine, they took me off the medication, and I was back on track.

[…] It’s very important to remember those moments of crisis, those sensations, what flared them up; that reality from which I’m not exempt just because I’ve already tasted it. Because I can’t allow myself to sacrifice and return to that state for anyone, not even for myself. I’ve always said it and will continue to say it: maybe the origin of it all isn’t my fault, but it is my responsibility. And in the end, no matter how much love I have and share, I only have myself. That may be sad, unless that's how it feels; but it is the truth.

[gojou-violin]

Hello is it ok if I can request a streamer!kenma x new small streamer!fem or gn reader where kenma and reader are doing a stream together and kenma is flirting with reader and it ends up in a steamy make out session?

| pairing: kenma kozume x gn!streamer!reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI; none, sfw.

| wc: 1k

| taglist: @aylitgirl , @thisbicc

| a/n: Ahhh yesss- I literally was talking to my friend about this the other day when I was doing hc’s for Kat (my Kuroken poly oc)!!!!!

You and Kenma had been close for a while. Being friends online was difficult at times, that part was easy to admit to yourselves, but having to find time within each other's schedules to talk and play games together was impossible sometimes-- Until you decided to say "fuck it" and start streaming, following in Kenma's footsteps. Over the past few years, Kenma had become the most successful streamer on YouTube since it was a fairly new platform for live streaming which gave him ample room to build a fanbase while doing whatever he wanted without the political strings that came with contracts on other platforms like Twitch. You, however, were anything but famous like him. Though you streamed here and there at first, when you decided to take it seriously in order to make it a living, you felt somewhat lost in what to do without relying on Kenma to give you views and subscribers.

However, Kenma was your best friend. It had been that way since long before he was ever famous. To you, he was still that shy kid who liked to hole himself up in his bedroom to play video games or watch anime all day; and he'd jump into VC with you whenever you were free. Now, he could see how much it meant to you to stream, because it was so obvious on your bright face every time you gained a new subscriber or earned even a single dollar donation-- You just wanted to make people's day. Money, vanity, popularity, who could give a fuck about any of that when you could entertain the 50-100 daily viewers you got on your own? He just wanted to help you out... If you could be that happy with such a small following, only Kenma could imagine the change you could bring about with a following like his.

So he invited you over one day to stream with him.

The plan was that you'd play some co-op and competitive LAN games like Star Wars Battlefront 2 and Mario Kart Wii respectively. Kenma plugged your stream by mentioning you in the title of his own, and he linked you in the description, on his socials, and even in his bio on YouTube. Why the hell he was going above and beyond for you, you weren't exactly sure; but this was Kenma, he was a sweet guy who cared a lot about his friends-- Who were you to say no to something he was so clearly excited about?

"No shot you're bumping me off the shortcut!" Kenma exclaimed irritably.

You grinned.

The two of you were three races deep in a four-race Grand Prix, which meant that this race was the decider of who would win after he was winning by only a few points since the cows on Moo-Moo Meadows seemed to favor him for some unknown reason. You were so relieved when the game randomly chose Mushroom Gorge as the last map. It was easy for you to get 1st on that map. Throughout your entire childhood, you had been preparing for this moment by going up against anyone who would entertain the idea of playing the same map over and over again, giving you the opportunity to memorize the perfect routes. Jump spots, wheelie lines, shortcuts, etc. were all necessary to get a huge lead on that map. And you knew it all by heart.

Kenma was struggling to keep up with you. He knew everything you knew, it came naturally to him since the two of you had played before and he learned it all from you just by watching the way you played; yet he couldn't seem to break away from you to maintain his spot in first place. The two of you kept exchanging the lead every turn or so. Finally, though, on the third and final lap, as the two of you took the shortcut on the last group of mushrooms, you used the banana you were carrying behind you to bump Kenma off the shortcut, which led to him falling into the abyss, resetting him to the jump before the mushrooms.

There was your lead. You could see the finish line just past the goombas.

The cheer of you winning rang through the speakers of his PC set up.

You looked over at chat who were laughing at Kenma who was trying to not fall further back into sixth place, while also cheering you on for doing it, for beating the best gamer on YouTube.

"Too damn easy, Kozume," you teased.

He finally passed the finish line, earning him sixth place in the race, second place overall in the Grand Prix.

Chat was spamming the emoji known as "Kek" in response to the way Kenma was frowning.

"I hate you..." he grumbled. "I had that... If you didn't knock me off, I would'a won."

You laughed. "It was a valiant effort, I must admit. But it wasn't enough."

As you reached down to the ground to grab your water bottle, Kenma was following you with his eyes, squinting angrily, and when you looked back up, your faces were extremely close. You gulped.

"Sore loser..."

Kenma wasn't smiling. "I could'a won that." He was inching closer and closer. "Rematch."

"We've been streaming for five hours, Kenma."

Without thinking twice, he reached over to the Stream Deck on his desk and pressed the button to end his stream. You were still staring at one another, his breath hot on your nose, his lip twitching before suddenly, without any warning or hint as to what he was going for, Kenma pounced. His lips smashed against yours. He dropped the Wii controller so that he could lace his fingers in your hair. He pulled in order to bring you closer. He melted into you when you started kissing him back.

"Kenm..." Your words were muffled by his desperation.

"I would'a won," he mumbled.

You rolled your eyes and kissed him harder-- Your best friend! The two of you were making out, something that was probably obvious to everyone who had been watching before Kenma abruptly ended his stream.

"Rematch... Later..." you replied.

Kenma smirked before pulled you onto his lap, the two of you fighting to speed things up before you'd die of unbearable need.

[ichigo-sutaadyy]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Fan Fiction, or Teen Fiction? ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

☆.tw: none ☆.subject: book preference ☆.date posted: 04/06/2023 ☆.pics credit to owners

I've been in the web novel area for some time now (Wattpad addict est. 2015) and what makes me stay THIS long under the scrutiny of my beloved electronic devices, is because of my desire to keep racking through the catalogue for scrumptious pieces of anime character x reader books.

On a rainy Saturday night, a question suddenly popped into my head; what makes me prefer fan fiction over teen fiction? As I grow older and wiser (not), many would say I should've upgraded my taste in books. And I think I did? Besides web novels, I've also read a bunch of hard-copy books. But before those books, it was actually fan fiction books that helped me grow.

Living in Indonesia as a teenage girl until recently (turning 20 now), Wattpad only had been a hit among teenagers around 2019. Based on my survey, their preferred genre would be teen fiction. I read some of them in my early teenage years, both in English and Bahasa Indonesia. Though, it wasn't for long.

Soon I was drawn into the world of fan fiction, the endlessly creative AU world of Harry Styles and our dearest Y/N. I was (without a filter) introduced to many sub-genres, many writing styles, many vocabularies, and more. The authors were mighty creative with their stories and their writings really affect me until now. A dystopian-themed story of an underworld rebellious community, an ancient kingdom-themed story of y/n as the lost princess, Mafia-themed, Horror, and many else; they succeeded in quenching my thirst for an adventurous and fantastical life--a life that's impossible for me to experience. Tbh those books made me feel like I've literally lived through so many kinds of life. It felt like cheating, but it wasn't (?)

Ultimately, the stories evolved around me and my favourite person. I mean, how could I not refuse? So, my love for fan fiction continues, even as my interest changed.

Now, in my weeb era, a habit of combing through the internet for anime fan fiction that suited my taste starts. One thing that must be noted is that my previous (delusional) escapades with Mr Harry Styles gifted me a sharp eye for excellent quality, tummy-filling, finger-licking-good books that had met under my several conditions. Yes, I've officially developed a type for books.

Within the anime fandom, things got even wilder. Not tied with the laws of reality at all, anime fan fiction is able to fully explore the world beyond our imagination. The internet mostly has fan fiction of everyone; the Uchiha hotties (Madara, Itachi, Shisui, and Obito), Neji Hyuga, Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Kuroo Tetsurou, Kenma Kozume, Toji Fushiguro, Nanami Kento, Sukuna Ryomen, Kibutsuji Muzan--I really can't mention them all because there're so many. Some follow the anime/manga's storyline, while others create a whole new universe. The authors are very unique--especially the ones that are here on Tumblr. They create visuals, themes, and even music playlists for us readers to get into the story even more. Soon Wattpad writers do the same. The stories aren't limited to a character x reader only, some authors provide an OC as the lead character. Also, it's really fun to read through the comments and interact with people that have their interests lined with yours.

Based on my readings on these web novels, fan fiction easily wins over teen fiction, because in fan fiction I feel more involved with the character I love--that I am already familiar with--in a world that had been crafted by the authors. Social interactions with people that are similar to me (hello Toji stan) are also a plus. It's just so fun to simp over a character with others. And, it's refreshing to read a book where your favourite character is out of character. It's like you're seeing a different side of them, one that you cannot see on screen.

Finally, there go my paragraphs of personal opinion about preferences over fan fiction and teen fiction. I hope it can help you readers to realize some things, or maybe just to fill up your free time. In no way am I trying to degrade teen fiction authors, or authors for other genres. My mean for writing this is to share reasons why fan fiction is more of my cup of tea, rather than teen fiction.

That is all from me. Thank you for reading my spontaneous mug of insight, and see you next time!

-Ibi.

☆.tags:

[votestaynight]

15th day "Utopia" (scene 5)

――Let's return this sheath to its rightful owner. I don't know if I'll succeed until I try. But Saber put her hand into my body to check for the sheath's existence. Then it shouldn't be impossible to take it out.

"Wha――are you serious, Shirou?" "I'm serious. It's yours to begin with, right? So it's only natural to give it back to you, and you might be able to beat him if you have it."

"…My magical energy will certainly increase if I have my sheath back. But I still cannot guarantee that I will be able to beat Gilgamesh. And――if you take out the sheath, what will you do? If you take the sheath out, you――"

I won't heal even if I get hurt. But that's normal. I've relied too much on this body of mine without even knowing it. People die when they're killed. I can't be protected from such a normal thing now.

"Take the sheath, Saber. We need to do this to win." "―――――"

Biting her lip painfully, Saber doesn't answer. …I don't know how long that lasted. Just as the clouds disappear and moonlight starts to shine in through the window… "…All right, Master. I shall borrow your heart." Saber nods at my words.

"…Then, I shall begin. Are you ready, Shirou?" "――Yeah. Go right ahead." Saber agrees. Saber places her hand on my chest and―― "――!" …Plunges it into my body.

…My job is easy. Taking out the sheath is similar to the steps in the "projection" magic. The sheath of the holy sword is melted into my body. I just need to gather it into one place and form it like it was before.

Of course, that's just the image. I say I'll return it to its original form, but it's only the magical energy that will be shaped like that.

Saber's the one who gives it shape. The cluster of magical energy will take shape in Saber's, the possessor's, hand. I'm just helping her. As if making something from nothing… I take the scattered pieces of the sheath and carefully reproduce it without flaw――

"―――――!" …My body's burning. Projection is way beyond my level. The magic surely kills my body every time I use it. It destroys my nerves, burns my skin, crushes my brain, and makes me a vegetable… But it's the only weapon I have, and this is the only way to help Saber.

…I imagine. Her figure as I saw it in my dreams.

The golden sheath suited to the king who ran through many battles. I take what protected the king and led her to numerous victories and reproduce it vividly without any mistake.

――So that no matter what happens. I engrave it into my mind so that I will not forget it, no matter what kind of end awaits us――

"――!" I hear Saber's voice. …Something that was binding my body for a long time escapes my body.

"Amazing… this is excellent, Shirou! No one else would be able to reproduce it so perfectly…!" It must be perfect as Saber seems surprisingly happy.

"――" My body is burning, and I fall onto my butt.

"Shirou…! You are sweating a lot! I will bring something to wipe it right away…!" …Saber runs to the house. Listening to her footsteps, I let out a sigh. I felt it was perfect too. It was so perfectly done. I believe no future projection will be as perfect as that.

"…Bye. Thanks for everything." I bid farewell to that which was part of me until now. ――The golden sheath that protected her. I will never forget it. Even if it leaves my body, its figure has been engraved into my heart.

――The moon is distant. The clouds have cleared and the darkness has a dim blue glow. Daybreak is close. The long night is about to end.

――This is the final moment. Going through the night, Saber and I have reached our final destination.

"――Shirou, this is…" Saber sounds tense. I feel the same way. As I nod, I can feel sweat dripping down my neck.

…The mountain feels like one big living thing. The wind coming down from the mountain gate is warm, and the shaking trees seem like breathing lungs. Chills and pressure assail me every time I take a step. No――the air really is thick and wet.

"…Mana is dense here. This is just like ten years ago. I expect…" …The summoning of the Holy Grail has begun or it's already over. Either way, that must mean that Lancer has fallen to Gilgamesh.

"――I'm going to make sure, Saber. After we reach the top, all that's left is to fight. You take care of Gilgamesh, so I'll take care of his Master――Kotomine. We won't assist each other. …We just have to beat one of our opponents."

"Yes. I will concentrate on my own fight this time. And Kotomine is an enemy you must defeat." "…Yeah. Leave him to me. You too Saber. Don't let that guy beat you."

"…Yes. I will swear on my pride that he will not defeat me. Not as a Servant, but as a heroic spirit, I cannot allow him to beat me."

Saber says so strongly without hesitation or distress. So there's nothing more to say. We will go to battle and determine the winner as the last remaining Masters. ――Even if in the process… If one of us dies, the other need only defeat their enemy.

Even if I die, if Saber beats Gilgamesh, Kotomine won't be able to obtain the Holy Grail. At the same time, even if Saber dies――if I defeat Kotomine, Gilgamesh won't be able to stay in this world. …So there's no need to help each other. Our battles have already gone their separate ways.

…We go up the stone stairs. The air gets denser the closer we get to the mountain gate. Sweat drips down my neck. Ominous premonitions prick at my skin. Our strongest opponents await at the end of these stairs.

――But. I really don't care about that. We go up the stairs. The mountain gate is approaching. …This is the end. No matter who wins this battle, Saber will disappear.

The long and short days of battle will end and Saber will vanish from this world. She's going to return to her proper time.

――I… I can't say I have no regrets. Losing Saber… Losing the one I promised to protect, the one whose happiness I wished for. I don't know yet how hard it will be. We are still walking together and I can feel her presence. I'm not yet ready to lose her.

Even if I knew many days ago. Even if I knew from the moment we met that there would be a parting at the end.

"―――――" Thinking back, there were so many memories. Nights when we walked together, and times we fought together. I selfishly tried hard in the beginning, thinking that I couldn't let a girl fight. She trained me hard in the dojo. I slept in the shed because I was unable to sleep with a girl in the next room. We had lunch together.

Saber liked the bath, was satisfied when the food was good, liked the clothes Tohsaka prepared for her, and talked with Fuji-Nee. She pushed herself, took all the burdens onto her shoulders, and finally collapsed――and we shared our warmth in the ruin.

…I've been crazy since then. I couldn't think of anything but Saber, and after my reasons for fighting changed, I realized that I loved Saber. How can I lose someone like this?

"―――――" Saber doesn't say anything. I can't say anything either. When these stairs end… If we reach the top, there'll be nothing for us to talk about.

Losing Saber and parting with her will happen in the future. But. This moment is the only time allotted to us for farewells.

"―――――" …We go up the stairs. If I don't want to say goodbye, I can just talk to her about meaningless things. Like… Like going to town again after we go home. Or what she wants for breakfast tomorrow morning. Such meaningless things.

"―――――" …But I can't even talk about such things. If I talk, that'll be our final conversation. A clear end. Neither of us can offer a clear farewell.

――And so, we reach the mountain gate. This is the final choice. If we go on, it will end. But if we go back――I might be able to find a way to avoid losing her.

"――Saber." I stop and turn back to Saber. Saber is the same always. A tense stare with a composed expression.

The moment I see it, all kinds of temptation attack me. Like, let's run away. Like, if I don't want to lose her, I can go back. She would accompany me if I wished.

"―――――" My determination wavers. That temptation rises in my throat. But I stop it. "――Let's go. This will be our last battle." I declare that as a Master just as I always have.

Saber nods silently. Her eyes are strong-willed as always. "―――――" So, I won't have any regrets. As she believes in me. I too will believe that my choice is correct.

We start for the mountain gate. We head into the battle with no return.

I couldn't say anything and I couldn't tell her what I really wanted to tell her. But I want to believe that this silence was able to tell her my feelings.

――The long stairs we climbed together.

This is our final memory of our time together.

Red light fills the mountaintop. The blowing wind is getting stronger and it seems the source of it is that light――coming from the back of the grounds. The red phosphorescence scatters on the wind, and the grounds is too bright for nighttime.

Stagnant air filled with the presence of death. ―――――This is… Like the fire back then.

"―――――" But it isn't like that. Within all this red light, something is about to emerge.

…From the back of the building. A black darkness oozing in the bright red. If this clearing is like a clear lake, that mud is like an oil spill.

Mud that spreads, taints the ground, and does not kill anything it swallows. It's like a visible curse. I'm a magus too. I can sense that the thing only reacts to the human mind and only swallows human bodies.

"――You are finally here. I have been waiting for you, Saber." He is there, within all the rich colors. Ignoring the blood red and the death-stained black. The Servant clad in gold is waiting for us――no, for Saber in the middle of this place.

"And the time is about right. The Holy Grail has finally moved into action and the void has just opened. This curse is the contents of the Holy Grail, the Third Element which keeps us Servants in this world. ――This is what you splashed me with ten years ago."

Gilgamesh is only looking at Saber. It goes the same for Saber. She takes a step forward and points her sword at the knight in front of her.

"Gilgamesh. What do you intend? What do you wish for with that curse――that thing falsely presented as the Holy Grail?"

"I have told you that I have no wish. I do not care how Kotomine will use the Holy Grail. For now, my only concern is you."

As if in answer to Saber, the golden knight raises his hand. ――At the same time, the air behind him sways like a haze. The king's treasure, hundreds of Noble Phantasms, are loaded like bullets.

"…Yes. The time has finally come. I have been looking forward to this all this time, Saber. How to pin you down and make you swallow that. The way you will be unable to stop yourself from going crazy, disgracing yourself, and begging at my feet――!"

"――Well said. Then you shall have no objections to yourself meeting that exact fate." Another step. Saber steps into range of the many Noble Phantasms. …This isn't a battle I can do anything about. The battle between Saber and Gilgamesh is something no human can interfere with.

"――Heh, that is what I expect of you, Saber. That strong spirit, even though you know you cannot defeat me. It is indeed suitable to end this party, but――"

"I do not want any intrusions. You lowlife, disappear right now if you want to see Kotomine. He is waiting for you at the altar."

"――!" Kotomine is waiting.

…I glance at Saber. She nods while looking at Gilgamesh. Her figure tells me… That she is wishing me her best.

――I turn around. The one I need to face isn't here. Behind me. As I run, I hear the battle start.

At the back of the building. Behind the main temple is a large lake. Untouched by humans, the lake is holy as if a dragon king lives in it. The clear blue water is pure and the lake isn't even murky.

But that's all in the past. The lake now has none of these characteristics. The red light is in front of my eyes. And the sea of black tar. ――And――

The "void" created in the air and the girl presented as a sacrifice.

"――Koto… mine…!" My calm mind instantly goes over the limit. I stop and glare at my enemy.

"Welcome, Emiya Shirou. The last surviving Master." He smiles sarcastically and opens his arms to welcome me. …This is the site of our battle. This is the altar of the summoning in this Holy Grail War.

"――Let Ilya down. I'll beat you up after that." I glare at Kotomine. …There's about ten meters between us. The fight will begin if I move another step. I don't know what kind of magus Kotomine is, but I assume he'll use some kind of projectile weapon like Tohsaka.

In comparison, I can only punch him. Even though I have the dagger Tohsaka gave me, it's useless unless I get near him. …Once the fight starts, I'll have to run straight at him and stab his chest. But first, I have to do something about Ilya――

"Hey. Didn't you hear me? I told you to let Ilya down. What's so fun about torturing a kid?"

"I understand your feelings, but I cannot do that. The Holy Grail has appeared, but the void is yet unstable. My wish will not come true unless she bears this until she dies." Until she dies――then Ilya is still alive…!

"…I see. If you have no intention of letting her down, I'll just have to use force. I'll stop your wish――that black mud, right now."

"…Oh. So this must appear to be my wish to you. ――As expected from the son of Kiritsugu. I did not expect two generations to make the same mistake." "Wh――at?"

"This mud is not of my making. This is the power leaking out of the Holy Grail, the 'colorless power' that should have been omnipotent. No human power is able to stain it black. This Holy Grail has been like this from the beginning. Once opened, it will flow out without end and cause a disaster."

"This is the true identity of the Holy Grail. This thing is filled with every evil, something that curses everything in this world. No one can control such a thing."

"―――――" …What is he saying? If that's true, then he became a Master not for a wish, but just to open this up…!?

"…Kotomine. What's your wish?" I clench my teeth and glare at the black priest. The man smiles. "Well, let's see. If anything, it is for entertainment." He makes a simple claim as if it's only natural.

"Wh… at…?" "――Do you not understand? Music, for example. Why do people find music fun, Emiya Shirou?" "Eh――w-well…" "How about a book? Why do you think stories attract people?" Why――I've never thought about it.

"Yes. You do not even need to think about it. Every entertainment exists to pleasure people. It is amusing because it was made by people."

"All creation comes from within people. In short, the most entertaining things in the world are humans themselves. Bare humans are the best entertainment in the world."

"Compared to that, entertainment created by people is just secondary. …Yes, music, stories, like, dislike, pity, belief, betrayal, morals, corruption, illusion, truth…! It is all just trash to be discarded. Such things are mere second-rate trashy entertainment. What I like to enjoy are people themselves. Such pointless things are not my taste."

"For that, we need to discard excess things such as their lives. You heard of flashbacks, right? It is like that. People have value only at the moment of their deaths. Using their lifetime to gain momentum, they jump high to dazzle. That flicker is my wish."

"That is the answer to your question. As you feed on peacefulness. ――I live by feeding on this planet's light."

"―――――" The priest offering a speech with his hands apart is abnormal. I feel a chill, but not at his speech. But at the priest himself because he looks like a holy being while he says he wants to enjoy humans.

"So, you――"

"Yes, the fire ten years ago wasn't too bad. It was on a small scale, but it was filled with unusual excitement. …These are the only things I wish for. Such a hell contains an explosion of souls, the best flicker a man can give. You must have experienced that as well, Emiya Shirou. See? People dying in regret must have touched your heart, did it not?"

"Y――!" Don't… talk shit. That time… That hell… can't be contained with just that one sentence.

"Do you understand now? It is in a distorted fashion, but no one loves humans as much as I. Therefore, no one is more appropriate than myself to receive the Holy Grail." The priest laughs in satisfaction. As if… As if he thinks that event where people died in vain is wonderful from the bottom of his heart――!

"――Oh, I see." I concentrate on my feet. I put my powers into my legs, about to jump forward. "――So, I can kill you…!"

I jump forward with all my might. It's about ten meters to him. I'll go in straight at him and―― "―――――" I jump sideways. This is the result of my instincts of not wanting to die… …Surpassing my desire to kill him. "――!" I roll sideways onto the ground. I stop instantly and look up.

"That's――!" I look at the place I was running over. A sound of burning. The burning sound is coming from the black mud, stretching out from the lake. …It's like a black carpet. The mud slashed like a whip, attacking me as I went after Kotomine, and left a mark on the ground.

"I forgot to tell you, but you are already within my range. And to add, this thing is sensitive to living beings. ――I do not mind you moving, but you will die if you move carelessly."

"――!" I jump to avoid the black mud mercilessly attacking me. Screw moving carelessly. He's ready to kill me…!

"Damn――you fake priest…!" I stand up, still keeping watch over the lake. …The distance to Kotomine hasn't changed. That means this ten meters is as near as he wants me to get. …But that tentacle of mud stretches without limit. It will come after me if he wants it to, and I'm sure there are more than one――

"Oh, so you are ready to fight. That pleases me. I could not kill you if you were to run away, but there will be no problem if you attack me. I serve God, so I cannot kill someone who is pleading for their life."

"――Heh, don't lie. You can't say that after attacking someone from behind." He must have remembered what happened with Lancer. Kotomine laughs as if in admiration.

"Oh, yes. I hated you for that. There's no need to put this off any longer.

"…To be honest, I had hopes for you, Emiya Shirou. I felt some sort of fate when Rin came to the church with you. You cannot know how happy I was when I found out that you were Kiritsugu's son and that you were like him on the inside as well. The wish that did not come true ten years ago… I never expected that I would be able to get my revenge on Emiya Kiritsugu."

…The tentacle whips out. The quivering mud coming from the lake is like a black snake.

"―――――" …I bite my lip. This is the worst situation as I thought. The number of snakes continues to increase without end. I don't know how long I can survive, let alone how I can get close to him――

"It is only natural for you to be unable to win. There is a large difference in the years we have lived. It is a difference you cannot overcome unless you have something major."

The priest raises his hands. He glares at the heavens as if he is conducting an orchestra.

"――Put your life on the line. You might be able to reach me if you do so―――!"

He releases the black snakes.

Sparks fly off. The golden knight retreats from the blows which are full of the utmost spirit. She must have seen it as an opening. Saber dodges the swinging sword and moves deeper into the enemy's range――!

"Yaaaaaaaaaa――!" If the yell is a rip, the sword is like a comet. It overwhelms the opponent and he hesitates. But she keeps attacking. The sword keeps moving. It has destroyed rocks and pierced through walls, but… "Guh――!" Every blow is blocked by weapons appearing from behind him. "You persistent――!" Escaping danger, the golden knight――Gilgamesh has another sword in his hand. "――!" It is easy to repel that weapon. But she cannot block it straight on. All of the enemy's weapons have unknown abilities. It would be suicidal to block it without knowing its ability.

"Haa――Haa――Haa――" Saber jumps back out of range and catches her breath. Gilgamesh raises himself unhurriedly.

"You do not give up, woman. Can you not tell it is futile?" Gilgamesh shows no fatigue. For him, this battle is just entertainment. There must be no fatigue or strain when he knows he is going to win.

"Haa――Haa――Haa――" But it's different for Saber. For her, this moment is her only chance of victory. Before her enemy becomes serious. She has to defeat Gilgamesh before he takes out Ea or she will be the one defeated.

That is why she has continued to attack without a thought for saving her energy. She has cornered the enemy like this more than a few times. But still――she could never get past his wall of Noble Phantasms.

"Are you still going to continue? It is good to be loyal to your master, but there should be a limit. That lowlife would have been killed by Kotomine by now. There should be no reason for you to fight now." "…My master is still very much alive. Shirou will not be defeated by that Master."

"It can only be a matter of time. You do not know the Holy Grail. Even I have trouble against it. That kid will not last even a minute." "―――――" "You cannot beat me and that kid cannot beat Kotomine. You have mistaken your roles. If you had gone after the Holy Grail, this battle would have been yours."

The golden knight's eyes are not laughing. He is serious. ――But that is wrong. For Saber, such a choice would be a mistake.

"――Nonsense. This is the correct decision. I will not lose to you, and Shirou will not lose to a corpse such as that. You have fallen low to hope for a result that has yet to happen." "――Oh. It seems you still have energy to talk impudently." ――Space distorts. The number of Noble Phantasms behind Gilgamesh increases.

―――――It is coming. She grips her holy sword once again. …Actually, there is a way. There is only one, but there is a way to defeat that golden knight. ――――But for that… It will not succeed unless several conditions are met.

Even if she defeats Ea, he will be able to defend against her attack if he has energy left. And the method to defeat Ea will remain unknown until she takes a direct hit from it once more. ――Take a hit from Ea…? No way. Even with the sheath, I would not be able to get up after being hit. But there is no other way to win. It is a matter of how to grasp that slight chance.

Usually, she selects the best choice by instinct and follows that view. But right now, she cannot even feel it with her instincts. Probably because the probability of victory is so low and the chance of a comeback is pretty much zero.

"―――――!" But still, she must fight. For Shirou who abandoned his protection to give her back her sheath―― She cannot be defeated here by him.

"…I see. It seems you will not be convinced without a complete loss." More weapons appear. They move without Gilgamesh touching them and they aim at Saber. The weapons, whose handles were only visible before, all show blades now and await their master's order.

This is this knight's way of fighting. From the beginning, Gilgamesh has never been a swordsman. These Noble Phantasms are produced in the air and become bullets at their master's command. That is why he is called Archer. This Servant is an archer with the strongest arrows.

"Do your best to avoid them. If you do well, you shall only be stabbed in the limbs!" "――!" With one command, the godspeed rain of swords begins. Each one has fatal power. "…!" She eludes every one of them like a falling leaf――!

A sword from the front, a spear from the left, a polearm from below and above, a three-edged sword arcing and attacking from behind, a swing from a hammer bigger than she is――! She blocks, repels, dodges, and twists her body away from the last attack…!

"Ha――a, ah――!" Breathing hard, Saber recovers the stance she was driven out of. ――In that instant. She sees them behind her enemy. Behind Gilgamesh. The Noble Phantasms are already produced: 47 of them――!

"Ku――guh…!" She jumps full force. Many Noble Phantasms stab into the ground as not to let her escape.

In the rain of Noble Phantasms, she is hit time after time. Her armor is destroyed, her gauntlets pierced, and even the pieces covering her feet are pierced. Saber manages to avoid a fatal wound even in this danger, but then sees the worst thing possible.

On the other side of the rain of Noble Phantasms… As if to finish off a fleeing enemy, Gilgamesh is pulling out his favorite sword――! Ea――! She stops her jump. She lands right away and pours magical energy into her holy sword.

But will it be in time? Wind roars. The blade of light is revealed and she raises her sword without waiting for the wind to fully unseal.

"EX――" She does not even bother with the rain of Noble Phantasms and swings her holy sword with all the speed possible. "Enuma Elish――!" But it is too late. Pounding through his own Noble Phantasms, Gilgamesh swings his sword――

"Guh――!" I kick away the mucus around my ankle. My clothes are burnt away and my skin is exposed.

"――Guh, uh――!" I jump back from the striking tentacle. I can't feel my right ankle and I can't even tell if it's there, but I jump into the open field in front of me.

"Ha――Haa, ha, ah――!" I check my body as I roll. Ankle. All right, it's still there. I just can't feel it. If it's there, I should be able to run.

"Ah――haa, haa, ah――!" I jump in a different direction again to avoid the striking mud. I hear a splashing sound right next to me. The smell of the ground burning forces my dizzy head awake and――

"――!!!!!!" Fire runs up my back. "Ha, guh, guh――!" I shake it off and jump to an empty space. That must have been the end of this attack. The black mud that was surrounding me has disappeared from view for now――

"Ha――aa…Ah." …I bite my lip. I ran so much, but in the end… I'm pushed back to here again.

"Ha―――― haa, haa, ha――" I breathe hard and look at him so as not to lose in spirit. …Kotomine has not moved at all. He has just watched me run around.

"Haa… haa, haa, haa, haa――" …No matter how hard I breathe, my heart won't calm down. It's saying it's at its limits and it needs rest. It's about to go out on its own if I don't let it rest.

"Kuh――ha, haa, ha, ah――" I can't do anything. I can't get near Kotomine nor get through that black mud. …I'm not going to hold back on using the 'projection' magic.

If I can't move forward, I can reproduce Saber's sword again. It'll surely be able to slice through that black mud and I can go straight for Kotomine.

"Hm? Is that all? Tell me if you have given up." The instant he speaks… "Haa――ah, ha――!?" Lots of mud comes splashing toward me, telling me I cannot let myself stop.

"Kuh――!" I raise myself and barely dodge the mud. …The mud itself isn't too bad. It's slow compared to Saber's shinai, and it only comes where it's aimed, so it's easy to dodge.

But that's only true when there's only one of them. I can't deal with tens of mud attacks, the ones that come from behind me the instant I dodge them. As a result, I can only move around. Even then, mud covers me bit by bit.

"Guh, damn――!" There's no time to rest. I can't reproduce a sword like this. "Projection" magic tracing a weapon from the beginning requires at least one minute of concentration. If I show such an opening, I'll be melted down to my bones.

"Haa――ha, ha, ha, ah――!" The parts of my body covered with mud have lost sensation. The only good thing is that I don't feel any pain, but I won't know if I'm dead or not when that mud covers my whole body. I'm finished when that happens, and most of all――I'll have melted away by then.

"Haa――ha, ha, ha, ah――!" All I can do is run. I know it's only a matter of time even if I do, but I have to keep running for now. I won't have any luck getting near Kotomine while I'm dodging this mud. I can't get close now. Waiting behind Kotomine is a pool of mud.

If there's any chance of getting near him, it'll be when I do something about this mud―― "Ow――damn, oh――!?"

"―――――!" I-I can't believe it…! Who on earth would trip at a time like this!?

"―――――" Kotomine looks down at me like trash. He points his finger at me, and many snakes show their veins.

"…!" I get up. I try to get up, but fall again. "――Eh?"

I fall. I fall. The snakes are coming.

But I still fall. Why? Why? Why? Black mud comes for my neck. Why? Oh, I see why. My right ankle is unbelievably black――

"――So, that is it. I hoped I would be able to have a little fun, but you are Kiritsugu's son after all. You people are useless." "Wha――"

…I raise my head. …I'm still conscious. My wrists and neck are held by mud like chains, but I still retain my senses.

"…! Why don't you finish me off?" "I will soon enough. But just doing that would not be all that fun. You are Kiritsugu's fake, so the debt Kiritsugu owes me from ten years ago shall be returned with your death."

"―――――" …The skin with mud on it is burning. It feels like acid is slowly seeping through the pores of my skin. I grit my teeth, bear it, and check on my right ankle.

…It's totally black. I can't feel it nor can I move it at all. I'll have to take the mud out of my body, or put magical energy into it to move the clotted blood in there. …Either way, the moment I move it, all the muscle in my right ankle will be destroyed.

"I see. I don't care about that, but――why do you hate Kiritsugu so much? Was it so annoying to you that Kiritsugu destroyed the Holy Grail?"

"It is just hatred for a similar person. Kiritsugu and I were alike, so everything he did got on my nerves. It is the same as the way you feel hatred toward me."

"Wha――shut up…! Don't you dare say that Kiritsugu is like you…!" I raise my body up with my arms and glare at him. I don't know what's so funny, but he makes that evil smile.

"I see. It must be so for you. After all, he was a good enough person to let me go. He defeated me, the cause of that disaster, but he did not take my life. You should know that was a mistake. If he had killed me, those orphans would have been able to lead a peaceful life."

"――Y…!" "You should not be able to retort. But it was unpleasant for me as well. The fact that such a cold-hearted magus left me alive… it was unpleasant."

…That again. Saber said it too that Kiritsugu was a great magus and that he would do anything to accomplish his goals. But that's――

"But that was not his mistake. The mistake he made is that he thought this war had ended with the destruction of the Holy Grail. That is why he did not tell you anything, optimistically thinking that the Holy Grail War was over, and died stained in this curse."

"He was certainly a fool. He let the one who cursed him go and as a result, died within a few years. Believing that he had accomplished his goal and that the Holy Grail War had ended."

"―――――!" Hold on. Then, what? Kiritsugu died because of this guy? And that peaceful face he had on the night of his death was…

"Oh, let me ask you one last question. What was Kiritsugu's last moment like? Did he give something to you as his son and pass away with satisfaction? Ha, how foolish can he be. He accomplished nothing and pushed the responsibility onto you. His passing must have been ridiculous…!"

"――YOU――!!!" I kick off the ground. I drove magical energy into my right foot and moved it by force. "Gi――!" I ignore my tearing muscles and run to him on all fours like a dog――!

"――Yes. I would expect at least that much spirit." Kotomine raises his hand toward the waterfall behind him.

"―――――" What is he thinking? That is a 'curse' so strong that it's visible. You could call it magical energy specialized for destroying people. There is nothing you can do with it as it cannot be reshaped or anything.

Anybody that touches that mud will be stained with a strong "curse" and will be melted as if digested. In the process. The pain and fear before death remain as magical energy and become the next "curse" to seek out living people.

So, you die if you touch it. Anyone who touches it will die unless they can get the mud out of their body. …The priest stuck his hand in that waterfall of mud, but he doesn't stop smiling.

"This is your reward. Die in the same manner as Kiritsugu." In his hand is a black darkness. I sense that it is something completely different, and――

The world is attacked by a sudden flash of light. The moment I realize that the light is from Saber's Noble Phantasm…

"――Angra Manyu――"

The priest's words instantly turn the world black.

――Her vision blinded by the light is filled with darkness. If she were conscious, she would have known it was the ultimate black light.

"―――――" The darkness was only for an instant. But it is not darkness, but a swarm of grain-sized curses. The darkness swept her body away and she regained consciousness from the unpleasant sensation.

"Oh――" She gasps. The first thing she feels after consciousness returns is pain. Skin that was protected by armor is burned, her body is pierced and slashed, and she is in a miserable state. "I… see――I――"

…Lost to Ea. She was cornered by Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasms, could not block them, and took a hit from Ea as well. She managed to offset it a bit with Excalibur, but her body is wounded too badly. The wound is healing without magical energy, but even the protection of the sheath will not return her to normal instantly.

――There… "This is it, Saber. Do not tell me you refuse to admit your defeat in that state." Gilgamesh approaches, without a scratch.

"……" Still on the ground, Saber looks up at her enemy. She cannot do anything right now. The man can do whatever he wants with her.

"…Gilgamesh. That light was…" In spite of that, this is what she worries about. That flash of light. That black darkness from the back of the compound that covered the earth for an instant. …She does not want to think about it, but that darkness might have been aimed at Shirou.

"That light? You should be able to tell. It is a great curse. Kotomine must have summoned it straight from the Holy Grail. I hear that Holy Grail holds something that could curse everything in this world. The pollution you've seen up to now is just the remains of what came out of the Holy Grail. The primary curse has been summoned. Your Master should no longer be alive."

"――No, that cannot be…" She concentrates all her power. …She knows her body will not move. But she cannot abide just lying on the ground.

"No――Shirou is alive. He is still――" Certainly, she still feels the connection with her Master. It is weak and ready to go out, but Emiya Shirou is still alive. So she must go. If the enemy is something so unforeseeable, Shirou cannot match it――

"Guh――!" Using the warmth inside her, she tries to get up. "Ah――kuh…" But it was useless. Even the sheath of the holy sword will require a few more minutes to heal her body.

"It is too late. Stay still, Saber. The Holy Grail will overflow whatever you do. The events of ten years ago will reoccur. But this ritual is for your benefit, not mine." Looking up at the red burning sky, the golden knight smiles.

"Rejoice, Saber. If you are showered with it, you will become like me. You will have a body in this world and be able to enjoy your second life. Though, I am not sure you will be able to keep your sanity as I did." "Wha――" Saber looks up at her enemy in amazement.

Saber can tell that thing is a great curse. It is a magnificent cluster of magical energy and any magic should be possible with that amount. …If it were Caster using it, nothing would be impossible. But it is a double-edged sword. That thing can only curse people. If immersed in such a thing, even a heroic spirit would be unable to keep themselves together.

"……" That makes her realize. The Servant in front of her. This knight called the oldest king of heroes… he was swallowed by that pollution ten years ago. So―― "Gilgamesh, you――" He has gone insane already――

"――Oh. You think so?" Laughing, Gilgamesh looks down at Saber. His face looks crazy――and it suits him.

"Do not take me so lowly. How can I be a hero if I cannot swallow a curse such as this? All evils of the world? Heh, bring at least three times as much as that if you want to stain me. See, Saber. A hero is someone who carries with them everything they see. ――I am already carrying everything in this world." "―――――" Saber gasps quietly at his words.

…She will never be able to come to terms with this heroic spirit. His arrogant thinking, his selfishness to consider himself the greatest, and his merciless nature that never thinks of others. This is different from the path of the king she chose. A set of beliefs that will never overlap with hers. But this man still is a king. She can say that with confidence. Of all the Servants, this man is the only one who would be capable of keeping his sanity after being soaked in that vast curse.

"――Hmm, yes. Making you swallow the mud is good, but it is no fun if you go crazy because of that. Well, let us hold our marriage now." "――!"

"Gilgamesh, you――!" "What? Do you dislike being treated roughly? Then get used to it. I do not hold myself back on women or food. I plunder and eat them at my leisure." "――!" Held upside down, Saber glares at Gilgamesh.

"…Hm. So you honor your Master as a Servant, I see. Ridiculous. I cannot believe you gave him your body just because of the binds of the Command Spell." "――You are wrong. Do not misunderstand, Gilgamesh. I do not obey anyone. My body has never had such freedom."

"…Oh. Then you will not be mine no matter what?" His red eyes pierce Saber. There's no human emotion. He will kill if she disobeys. He will just kill her no matter how attached he was to her. These are his true feelings, Gilgamesh's truth.

"―――――" Saber stares back at Gilgamesh, not averting her gaze.

"――Gilgamesh. I will not become anyone's. I already belong to my country. My body is a king before I am a woman." She does not say it to anyone. She just says so, feeling the small warmth still within her body. "Ha, so that is your answer!? Do not make me laugh, Saber. A country is just a possession. If he cannot rule everything, there is no need for a transcendental being like the king. Geez――King Arthur, that is why your own country destroyed you." The golden knight sneers at her immaturity. "―――――" …That brings back her determination.

"Yes, you are correct. ――But, King of Heroes. That is why you destroyed your own country――!" A roared yell full of spirit. Saber uses her whole body to kick Gilgamesh in the face with her free leg!

"Wha――!?" Gilgamesh lets go. Saber stays upside-down and jumps using her arms.

"You would stomp on a man!? You must really want to be disciplined, Saber…!!"

She closes her eyes and looks within herself. 'That is why you were destroyed by your own country.' …She already knew that. She has heard those words over and over since she was summoned as Saber. But that man is different. He was mad like it was his own affair, but still――he thought that it was something to be proud of. So there is only one thing that must be done. Even if there is not the slightest chance of winning, she cannot stop here. While the warmth is still in her heart. She must run to her master as fast as possible.

"――!" "―――――" About eight meters to Gilgamesh. She places herself at the best range she found earlier.

…Her body will not move as she wishes. Her legs do not have even a tenth of their original power and the arms holding her sword are weak. She will fall without being able to block no matter what kind of a weak attack she receives. But――there are no openings in Saber's stance nor is there any hesitation.

"… Let me ask you…" Gilgamesh has to prepare himself seeing her like that. The golden knight readies Ea and looks at his opponent.

"Are you sane?" "―――――" Saber does not answer. Her eyes show her determination.

"――All right. I will not hold back in that case." The air roars. The sword of separation, Ea. A sword said in ancient Mesopotamia to have divided and created the world.

Gilgamesh's sword of separation roars to exterminate its enemy for sure this time. The swirl of air and the magical energy within it far exceed Excalibur.

"――Disappear. You are annoying, woman." Ea is raised. Saber raises her sword to match it. "―――――" "―――――" Their gazes meet only for an instant.

"Enuma Elish――" Gilgamesh's sword is swung. "Kuh――!?" But Saber's sword falls without power as she is unable to activate the Noble Phantasm.

――The light that cuts everything charges. Unable to do anything, she is swallowed by the light.

The instant I am swallowed by the darkness… …Hell is printed into my brain.

The starting penalty is five. Life penalty, body penalty, freedom penalty, fame penalty, fortune penalty. Give the penalty that extends so much punishment, mud, darkness, and malice. "Elimination of human rights by castration, exile, execution" "Torture and sadism upon the body through digestion" "Denial by consensus of the colony that eliminates all honor"

"Scorn from judgment and selfishness that takes away men's fortunes." death penalty penal servitude imprisonment custody fine penalty, crime from a grudge, crime from self-interest, unconscious crime, self-conscious crime, civil war, inducement, false statement, theft, robbery, kidnap, suicide, rape, arson, bombing, violation, negligent homicide, mass violence, death at work, overconfident accident,

misdiagnosis, concealment, violation for benefit, violation for self-protection, violation for love, violation for respect, selfish ■■■. Stealing fraudulent fraud concealment murder theft crime crime personal grudge attack attack attack attack dirty dirty dirty you are dirty atone atone atone atone every violence every crime every victim atone for everything "This world is ruled by something not human" Know the conscience to reform crimes.

Know the penalty to reform crimes. People's kindness is here. There is so much it cannot be noticed. Know the violence to hide crimes. Know the power to hide crimes. People's malignance is here. It is so rare that it is noticed. A hundred kindnesses and one malignance. Malignance shines bright to keep the balance and exists as a great "evil" to compete with the masses of kindness. The starting penalty is five

■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self ■■for self inducement, false statement, theft, robbery, kidnap, suicide, rape, arson, infringement, dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty you are dirty atone atone atone atone atone atone every violence every crime every victim atone atone atone with death!!!!!! "――Ah" My brain explodes.

The mud eating away at my body remains and steals my warmth mercilessly. I am crushed by the thing seeping in through all five senses. Darkness I cannot look at directly. Ugliness I cannot acknowledge. Crimes I want to run away from. Every crime of the people in this world. That is why I am going to die. One trapped in this darkness will eat themselves to death from pain and hatred.

――But. Kotomine said… That this curse killed Kiritsugu. That fact knocks away every darkness.

――Warmth returns to my body. Blood flows through my beaten up body and makes it stand. It's only natural. Such a thing. Emiya Kiritsugu had been burdened with this for many years. He was pressed by the voices for atonement and died unable to fulfill his wish?

He said he wanted to become a superhero. He ran around trying to help someone, but could not get anyone's permission for that. Yet, he still did what he could to pursue the ideals he had abandoned. In the end, he was relieved by something a kid said and nodded to himself that everything was okay.

"Agh――ah, ah――" So I have to stand up. I relieved Kiritsugu and promised that I'd become one. If Emiya Shirou is really that superhero's son, then I can't let the bad guy beat me.

――Tohsaka said… I should win no matter what. ――Saber said… He is an enemy that I must defeat. ――Even Kotomine said… If I'm going to fight, I should put my life on the line.

They're right. What else can I bet if I won't bet my life? From the beginning, I have nothing else to give.

"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" I leap desperately out of the dense black mud. "――!?" I can hear his bewilderment.

My throat is burning. My windpipe tears every time I breathe and it feels like I'm swallowing pieces of glass.

"Higi――gi, gii, ah――" I don't care. Tears are welling up from anger. I'm going to go crazy from anger before I go crazy from the curse.

"――Impossible. You managed to shake that thing off――!?"

"Kotomine Kirei――!" I push my body and run. I put one hand behind my back. I grab the dagger I've hidden until now.

"――I am astonished. I thought you escaped that thing, but you have a simple mind. It seems you have run out of ideas――" "Shut up! I never had any plans in the first place…!" I run. Kotomine sticks his hand into the waterfall behind him and extracts another clump of darkness.

"Then you can follow your Servant. That previous light was Saber being defeated. You have no one to help you now." "―――――" All my hesitations disappear. If I do reach Kotomine, I think his biggest mistake was that line.

Because the Command Spell is on my left hand. It's the only proof I have.

As long as my Command Spell exists, Saber exists. If she exists――she must have defeated Gilgamesh by now and she'll be heading over here. I think Saber will be angry if I don't greet her with open arms. ――So I will defeat you now. To fulfill the last promise I made with her.

Darkness approaches. A great curse is released from Kotomine's hand. …My body melts from my fingertips. "―――――!" I won't look away. If this is my role―――there is still something I can do――!

"Enuma Elish――!" A dislocation runs through space. With a flash of light and a roar of wind, the swirl of destruction is set loose from Ea.

"Kuh――!" With that in front of her, Saber could not even use her Noble Phantasm. She lowers her sword and moves her body forward as if she's falling.

――The light approaches. She cannot avoid it with her injured legs, and there is no shield in this world that could block Ea. A storm of light and wind that will destroy everything in its path. Nothing can stand against the true name of Ea. That is a fact that cannot be changed. ――Yes. Until a few hours ago.

"――!?" The one surprised is not Saber, but the golden knight bearing Ea. Ea is still emitting magical energy and bringing forth destruction. But Saber steps forward into that tumbling storm of light.

"――!" Her armor screams out. Cracks run through every wall of magical energy protecting her. In the period shorter than a second that they endure the attack, Saber steps up to Gilgamesh and… "EXCALIBUR――!" She opposes Ea's destruction with the greatest power she is permitted――!

Heat and light rumble wildly. The crash of the greatest swords push against each other with pure power, creating a boundary in space. But――is it not useless? Excalibur cannot beat Ea. Even if she approaches at the risk of her life, she can only push back just a little. The balance easily favors Ea and Excalibur's light is repelled back along with Saber.

"――I see, you must have lost your mind…!" Readying Ea, the golden knight looks at the enemy approaching him again and puts magical energy into Ea. This will be it. He will totally annihilate Saber with all his power. Ea's turns reach their maximum speed and the light surrounding Saber mows down Excalibur.

――But just before that. Saber's body jumps forward. A small space created by Excalibur, a place where she can take one more step… The instant she reaches it… Her Noble Phantasm appears.

The darkness becomes a raging wind to cover Emiya Shirou. There is no way to avoid it and the concept of blocking is useless against a curse that paints space itself. Those swallowed by this darkness will be absorbed by it like the painted space.

"Ag――!" Body melts from the fingertips. Legs moving forward step onto empty space, and arms reaching out are already invisible in the black mud. Emiya Shirou will be eliminated from the outside. Attacked by a feeling that his body is shrinking, Emiya Shirou still does not accept death.

"Ha――ah, guh――!" Without looking away, he rejects it with all his might. The darkness surrounding the body, the pain trying to melt the body, and the curse trying to melt the mind. "――! ――――!" But they are futile attempts. There is no way for a mere human to resist the pollution. The body is still moving. The arm raised to grab something is still raised.

But the mind is already destroyed. The mind is already painted in black, and the body should disappear into darkness as well. In that moment… '――You were my…' Why is that voice remembered?

"―――――" A light turns on in the darkness. The instant the eyes realize the light is "that light", everything reverses. "―――――" The hammer comes knocking down. The mind accelerates, crackles with sparks, creates the shape with unbelievable speed.

"――Trace, on." The spell to begin the projection is murmured. In an instant. It is completed, omitting every step of manufacture.

…That is right. There was no need to reproduce it from scratch. Because this shape was engraved in the body. It is perfect in memory as it was part of Emiya Shirou's body. '――You were my sheath――' The arm reaching out still moves. The weapon created without concentration or spellcasting is grabbed. The world changes completely as the darkness is destroyed by a golden light and――in Emiya Shirou's hand is the perfectly reproduced sheath of Saber.

――And like that. With Ea straight ahead of her, her Noble Phantasm is activated.

"Wh――at――!?" That which is released and scattered before her is the holy sword's sheath.

No one knows what kind of a divine mystery it is made from, but the sheath repels all light emitted by Ea. No. It goes beyond the level of "defending".

It is complete isolation. The barrier of fairyland that keeps out all filth from the outside lands. A complete world separate from this one that can never be reached. As Saber is protected by the sheath of the holy sword, she is blocked off from all matter in this world. The greatest protection in this world. The greatest that cannot be infringed by anything not even by the five sorceries.

For that reason, the sheath is named Avalon, All is a Distant Utopia. The place where King Arthur is said to have gone after his death. The utopia the king dreamed of that will never be reached.

"―――――" Gilgamesh sees the death running up his spine. But he won't make it. The raised Ea will not stop turning, and Gilgamesh cannot manage to jump back. It is only natural. Who would even think that an attack with this much magical energy and this much power could be blocked…!?

"Guhhh…!! Damn, such a trick――!" "―――――" Blue clothes run in. There is no armor on Saber. She has released the armor protecting her, put the magical energy gained into her sword, and――

"EX――" "SABER――!!!!!" A scream from the king of heroes. With that before her…

"CALIBUR――!!" The sword splits the golden knight in two with an attack using all her might.

All darkness is blown away the instant the sheath is grabbed. The darkness surrounding Emiya Shirou, the darkness contaminating his body――everything is dispersed.

"Wh――at?" This is no reason to be surprised. The sheath of the holy sword protects its possessor. The embodiment of the utopia she sought cannot lose to this dirty mud――!

He runs. At the moment he is released from the darkness, his speed is like that of a shooting star. "Projection――? Just who are you――!?" The one overestimating their ability, and the one who cannot even spare to think about such things. The difference is only an instant, but an instant that decides the outcome. "Kotomine Kirei――!" Still falling, Emiya Shirou runs on his hands as well. In one hand is the dagger. In a crouching position, running to the black priest… "――!" The sword of retribution is stabbed into the priest's chest.

"――!" The priest turns slowly. Before that… Stopping himself with his feet, Emiya Shirou jumps back. Wind comes down. The priest turns to face the enemy who stabbed him. At the same time, two impacts pierce Kotomine Kirei.

The spinning body and all the magical energy in his right hand. He punches the dagger in the priest's chest and―― "Läßt――!" The magical energy is poured into the Azoth sword along with the word of release.

The golden sword was swung. She must not even have the energy to raise it back up. Saber keeps her sword and her face down. Slashed up, the man beholds the knight that has defeated him.

"―――――" The sound of wind echoes through the compound. The waves of light like a flood are no more. The two knights share no words as they place themselves in a parting called the battle's end.

"―――――" And the man sighs. He raises his weak hand and touches the cheek of the knight in front of him as if making sure she exists.

"――You are a hateful woman. You oppose me to the very end." The golden armor starts to fade away. The existence of the king of heroes is disappearing. "But I shall forgive you. Some things are beautiful because they cannot be obtained."

His fingers slip. His raised arm falls powerlessly to the ground. "Heh――and if that is the case, then it was inevitable that I would lose to you."

He says it sullenly. And in his final moments… "Goodbye, king of knights. ――It was indeed fun." He smiles ironically and disappears.

Sparks fly onto the priest's uniform. The sparks are coming from the dagger in his chest. No chunks of flesh or blood are flying out. But still――the battle here is over as well.

"―――――" He doesn't even look at me. He is just looking down at the dagger in his chest in disbelief.

"―――――" The wind is blowing. The wind coming from the "void" above eliminates the sounds around it. In the rumbling silence… "――Why do you have this sword?" Kotomine Kirei murmurs in a clear voice.

"It's not mine. I borrowed it from Tohsaka." "―――――" How long was he thinking? He sighs and the body that he hasn't moved since the beginning of our confrontation finally moves.

"I see. There indeed was a time when I gave it to some girl on a whim. I believe it was ten years ago. ――I see. No wonder I have become weak." He falls. The body of the priest falls to the ground.

"―――――" …I watch it all. He has talked about himself like he was someone else until the very end. And the priest sinks into that which he summoned, that which he wished for.

That is the end of the man called Kotomine Kirei.

――And the true end of the long battle.

The enemy is gone and I face the final large task.

The black "void" in the sky. That mud has stopped, but the strange void is still beating. ――That is the Holy Grail. The omnipotent grail that would have been given to the winner of this war.

There's a wind blowing. Kotomine is gone and the power binding Ilya must have vanished. Ilya is now free of that "void" and she's sleeping by my side.

I don't know what condition she's in, but it doesn't seem like her life is in danger. She should wake up fine if I go home and have Tohsaka look at her.

…The war has ended. Nobody else is going to get hurt, and I won't lose anyone else. The Masters are gone and the Servants will disappear as their tasks are over.

I already knew this was going to happen. We climbed those long stairs together. Our parting is already done. All that's left is to close the curtains.

"―――――" I wait with an empty mind, looking up at the "void". …And she appears. She walks straight towards me, her figure unchanged since the first time I saw her――

"―――――" She stops close enough that I could reach out to her. There are no words to confirm her safety or to congratulate her of the victory. This was something that was already decided. So there is only one thing left to do.

"…I will destroy the Holy Grail. That is my role." So saying, she starts to walk. The strong winds do not affect her as she approaches it step by step.

"―――――" She must be in range. She quietly readies her sword and looks at the black "void".

…I stare at her back. I clench my fists hard, bite my lip, stifle the words about to come out of my mouth, and engrave her figure into my memory. And then.

"Master, please give me the order. I cannot destroy it without your order." With her back to me, she tells me to use my last Command Spell.

Saber will disappear once the Holy Grail is destroyed. No――as she will destroy the Holy Grail, she will never again become a Servant.

Saber became a Servant because she sought the Holy Grail. Destroying the Holy Grail out of her own will means destroying her contract as well. ――If she destroys the Holy Grail… She will end her life as the king.

"――Shirou. I want to hear you say it." Saber's voice. Every time I hear it, I want to scream. ――To tell her not to go. I want to throw away my pride and scream for her to stay here.

"―――――" But. That's something I should not do even for the sake of my life.

I love Saber. I want her to be happier than anyone else and I want to be with her forever. But if I truly love her, that's wrong. I loved Saber as she continued to fight even after getting hurt. She was a girl who discarded everything, was filled with injuries, yet still protected all the way through.

――If I consider that beautiful and want to protect it… I cannot destroy her life just for my own selfishness.

She was born as a king and lived as a king. That will not change no matter what. From the time she swore to carry the sword, the girl became a king and nothing else. That is her pride. She ran through the battles so that in her final moments, she would be able to believe her path was the right one.

The dreams of the girl Arturia. The mind that chose to be the king over her own life. To fight. Even after she learned it would be unrewarded, she still clasped the sword and defended the oath of the king. ――For many years. I cannot do anything to dishonor the pride that she has held until the time of her death.

"――Saber. Please fulfill your role." I say so with a flood of emotions.

――Light emits. The "void" in the sky is cut in half by the light and disappears without a trace.

There's nothing left. The destroyed mountain is now a flat field. Dawn is in the distance. The horizon is shining in gleaming gold.

"――!" My left hand hurts. My last Command Spell disappears. ――That… Makes me accept that the curtains have been drawn.

"――So, everything is over?" "…Yeah. This is it. There's nothing left."

"I see. Then our contract is at an end. I became your sword, defeated your enemies, and protected you. …I am glad to have fulfilled this promise."

"…Yeah. You did well, Saber." Nothing more needs to be said. Saber is far away, and I do not run to her.

The morning sun rises. The halted wind begins again. A gold that seems to last forever. In it… "In the end, there is one thing I must tell you." She says in a voice filled with determination.

"…What is it?" I reply like always with my best bluff. Saber's body wavers.

She is facing me. She looks straight at me and in a voice without regret… "Shirou――I love you." Says those words.

Wind blows. I close my blinded eyes and open them again.

"―――――" I don't think there's any surprise. I kind of saw this coming. That… …Our parting would be like this.

An open field fills my eyes. As the wind blew, the knight disappeared. Just as she appeared. Leaving no trace.

"Yeah――it really is just like you." There are no regrets in my voice. I squint at the rising sun, keeping everything I lost close to my heart.

I stare at the horizon, wishing never to forget, and for it to never fade away.

――A distant land glowing in sunlight. Resembling the golden fields she ran through.

The enemy is gone and I face the final large task.

The black "void" in the sky. That mud has stopped, but the strange void is still beating. ――That is the Holy Grail. The omnipotent grail that would have been given to the winner of this war.

There's a wind blowing. Kotomine is gone and the power binding Ilya must have vanished. Ilya is now free of that "void" and she's sleeping by my side.

I don't know what condition she's in, but it doesn't seem like her life is in danger. She should wake up fine if I go home and have Tohsaka look at her.

…The war has ended. Nobody else is going to get hurt, and I won't lose anyone else. The Masters are gone and the Servants will disappear as their tasks are over.

I already knew this was going to happen. We climbed those long stairs together. Our parting is already done. All that's left is to close the curtains.

"―――――" I wait with an empty mind, looking up at the "void". …And she appears. She walks straight towards me, her figure unchanged since the first time I saw her――

"―――――" She stops close enough that I could reach out to her. There are no words to confirm her safety or to congratulate her of the victory. This was something that was already decided. So there is only one thing left to do.

"…I will destroy the Holy Grail. That is my role." So saying, she starts to walk. The strong winds do not affect her as she approaches it step by step.

"―――――" She must be in range. She quietly readies her sword and looks at the black "void".

…I stare at her back. I clench my fists hard, bite my lip, stifle the words about to come out of my mouth, and engrave her figure into my memory. And then.

"Master, please give me the order. I cannot destroy it without your order." With her back to me, she tells me to use my last Command Spell.

Saber will disappear once the Holy Grail is destroyed. No――as she will destroy the Holy Grail, she will never again become a Servant.

Saber became a Servant because she sought the Holy Grail. Destroying the Holy Grail out of her own will means destroying her contract as well. ――If she destroys the Holy Grail… She will end her life as the king.

"――Shirou. I want to hear you say it." Saber's voice. Every time I hear it, I want to scream. ――To tell her not to go. I want to throw away my pride and scream for her to stay here.

"―――――" But. That's something I should not do even for the sake of my life.

I love Saber. I want her to be happier than anyone else and I want to be with her forever. But if I truly love her, that's wrong. I loved Saber as she continued to fight even after getting hurt. She was a girl who discarded everything, was filled with injuries, yet still protected all the way through.

――If I consider that beautiful and want to protect it… I cannot destroy her life just for my own selfishness.

She was born as a king and lived as a king. That will not change no matter what. From the time she swore to carry the sword, the girl became a king and nothing else. That is her pride. She ran through the battles so that in her final moments, she would be able to believe her path was the right one.

The dreams of the girl Arturia. The mind that chose to be the king over her own life. To fight. Even after she learned it would be unrewarded, she still clasped the sword and defended the oath of the king. ――For many years. I cannot do anything to dishonor the pride that she has held until the time of her death.

"――Saber. Please fulfill your role." I say so with a flood of emotions.

――Light emits. The "void" in the sky is cut in half by the light and disappears without a trace.

There's nothing left. The destroyed mountain is now a flat field. Dawn is in the distance. The horizon is shining in gleaming gold.

"――!" My left hand hurts. My last Command Spell disappears. ――That… Makes me accept that the curtains have been drawn.

"――So, everything is over?" "…Yeah. This is it. There's nothing left."

"I see. Then our contract is at an end. I became your sword, defeated your enemies, and protected you. …I am glad to have fulfilled this promise."

"…Yeah. You did well, Saber." Nothing more needs to be said. Saber is far away, and I do not run to her.

The morning sun rises. The halted wind begins again. A gold that seems to last forever. In it… "In the end, there is one thing I must tell you." She says in a voice filled with determination.

"…What is it?" I reply like always with my best bluff. Saber's body wavers.

She is facing me. She looks straight at me and in a voice without regret… "Shirou――I love you." Says those words.

Wind blows. I close my blinded eyes and open them again.

"―――――" I don't think there's any surprise. I kind of saw this coming. That… …Our parting would be like this.

An open field fills my eyes. As the wind blew, the knight disappeared. Just as she appeared. Leaving no trace.

"Yeah――it really is just like you." There are no regrets in my voice. I squint at the rising sun, keeping everything I lost close to my heart.

I stare at the horizon, wishing never to forget, and for it to never fade away.

――A distant land glowing in sunlight. Resembling the golden fields she ran through.

I hear a sound. I hear the sound of the old, heavy, rusted door of the shed open.

Light comes into the dark shed. "――――" I start to wake up.

"Senpai, are you awake?" I don't even need to check who's here. ―――Oh, so it's time already. Taking a breath, I open my eyes.

"Good morning, Senpai. It's almost time to wake up." "Hm―――I guess you're right. Morning, Sakura. Thanks for waking me up."

"No, it's nothing you need to thank me for. I knew you would wake up properly, so I only did a needless thing."

"I see. ……Then why did you come to wake me up?" "I wanted to wake you up today, so I woke up 30 minutes earlier than usual. Today's a special day, you know?"

"――――Oh." That reminds me. That's right. Today is a special day.

"Sakura. I don't think I even need to ask, but Fuji-Nee isn't here yet, right?" "No, Fujimura-Sensei is not here yet. Oh, but Ilya-chan is already here."

――――As I thought. Ilya being the only one here means one thing.

"―――Crap. Sorry Sakura, but can you take care of breakfast? I'll go and wake Fuji-Nee up." "Oh, yes. Sorry for your troubles, Senpai."

Fortunately, I worked late last night as well, so I'm still in my work clothes. It's good I can go outside without having to change.

"I'll be back in ten minutes, so I'll leave the rest to you." "Yes, please do."

"Oh, Shirou's awake." "Yeah, I just woke up. I'm going to go wake Fuji-Nee, so help Sakura out, will you?" Patting Ilya on her shoulder, I head to the front entrance.

"―――I got beat. Geez, I told you I'm going to wake Shirou up, Sakura!" Ilya runs to the shed screaming. Such a scene isn't that unusual now.

Ilya said she wouldn't go back to her country, so I consulted Fuji-Nee to see if I could keep her at my place. Fuji-Nee really objected, said her house was better, and ended up taking Ilya in. Since then, still staying at the Fujimura house, Ilya comes attacking with Fuji-Nee at morning and at night. Needless to say, their target is breakfast and dinner. It's been two months since they started living together, and they seem to be in union now.

When I walk past the shed area, I hear voices over the wall. It's Sakura and Ilya talking.

I thought Ilya would not get along with Sakura since Ilya has that really unreserved personality, but I was wrong. The two consisting of the energetic Ilya and the quiet Sakura are getting along well even though they're rather noisy. In fact, Sakura is regaining her spirit because of Ilya.

…Sakura stopped smiling when her brother, Matou Shinji, disappeared and was considered missing. She must have vaguely understood the connection with the mass coma incident at the school. She was worried about the missing Shinji and moped for a long time.

It was Ilya who forcibly made Sakura get over it, and Sakura regains her cheerfulness when Ilya is around. "――――Yeah. Sakura is able to laugh now." I'm purely happy for that. Because that soft smile certainly suits her.

"Uhh, you're mean, Ilya-chan. I even gave you a special bonus to wake me up no matter what." Fuji-Nee scoffs down breakfast while crying.

"It's only natural. I'll be late too if I wait for Taiga, and I worked enough for what I got paid for. If you want more out of me, you should raise the base pay and not just give me a special pay."

"……Hmm. Why are you such a miser when you're getting paid from grandfather as well? Everyone would hate you if you're stingy about money from such a young age."

"I don't care if I'm hated. I don't care what people beside the ones I like think of me. And Taiga, pay me back the money I let you borrow. Your payday was five days ago, right?"

"―――Eh? H-How do you know that!?" "I heard from Laiga. I can give you the details as well if you wish."

Ilya smiles daringly. In contrast to Sakura, Ilya and Fuji-Nee do not get along well. And to add, Ilya gets really mean when she faces Fuji-Nee. That smile right now is like that certain someone.

"You have until tomorrow to repay me. If you can't, I'll just take it away from your allowance." "……! G-Grandfather told you even that!?"

"Yes, we're together all noon. Laiga praised me that I'm much cuter than Taiga." "Awawawa……! What are you going to do about it, Shirou? This girl's such a devil! She'll take over the Fujimura group if you let her be!"

"――――――――" Actually, more than that… You were still getting allowances at that age…?

"See you, Shirou. You're going to be back early today, right? Then I'll be waiting here, so come home right away." "Yeah, I'll try. Take care while I'm gone."

"…Humph. You might as well live here, you idiot." Fuji-Nee sulks while hiding behind my back. "Yeah, yeah. You should get yourself together too. You can't cause Shirou trouble outside."

Ilya easily turns aside her remark. The power relationship must already be at a position where Fuji-Nee can't push back by force.

"Then I'll be going ahead, but don't walk slow and be late for school." Brrrrrr Leaving the sound of exhaust, Fuji-Nee disappears like a bullet.

Fuji-Nee got her license a month ago. Since then, her tardiness decreased considerably, but she has received another nickname of Rocket Tiger… I mean, Rocket Diver that only she doesn't know about.

"Phew." I stretch out and take a deep breath. Sakura has gone to school already. Seeing how she was eating a large bowl of rice today, it seems she is in real high spirits. Today is the big day for the archery club. Sakura must be enthusiastic to work hard as the co-captain of the archery club.

"――――Well." Let's go to school. Today is April 7th. There's the school entrance ceremony, and the season is past the cold winter and already into spring.

It's been two months since then. It feels like a lot has changed since she has gone away, but I think the changes are trivial.

Winter ended and spring came. That's all that's changed. I feel like I've grown up a bit, but it's not like that caused me to be any different. So not much has changed. Emiya Shirou is clumsily running after Kiritsugu as usual.

"Good morning, Emiya-kun. It's unexpected to see you in the morning." "Hey. It sure is a good day today, Tohsaka." I raise my hand and greet her.

"But is it really unexpected? We're barely missing each other recently. Well, I certainly didn't come across you too many times before." "…Come across?"

Tohsaka glares at me as if unhappy about something. I don't think it's good to send an aura of enmity first thing in the morning.

"Tohsaka, did you change the time you leave your house? You came later before, right? You came at a time that wasn't too late or too early."

"That's not true. I bet it's only coincidence that we didn't see each other until now. Do you know? My house and your house are in the exact opposite locations. So if we get up and go down the hill, it's only natural that we meet here."

"―――Oh. That's the first time I've heard that. I see, that would certainly―――" …Wait, hold on. That's only if we do the same things around the same time. For Tohsaka to come to this intersection at this time, she would have to get up at six. But that's…

"Tohsaka, you're not sleepy?" I ask her directly.

"…What do you mean by that? I'm not sleepy nor pushing myself. Why do you ask such a thing?"

"Well, you weren't a morning person. You'll unmask your true self if you go to school with lack of sleep. It'll be terrible if you fall asleep during class. I bet you'll rage around with a face like an awakened demon if someone tries to wake you up." Like "I will kill all that disturbs my sleep" kind of thing.

"I-I won't do such a thing! I won't make such a mistake just by waking up 30 minutes early!" "See. You did wake up early."

"――――! Geez, quit worrying about when other people get up. If you have time to inquire about such boring things, just go to school!" Tohsaka gets angry while looking away. Her excuse is plausible, so I stop my greeting here and we resume our way to school.

We go up the hill. The streets and houses below me have all changed to show the coming of spring. The wind is comfortable, and the cherry blossom flowers flutter down occasionally from the school on top of the hill. Everything that can be seen and felt is pleasant.

"Do you have work all this week? …I won't complain since it's your time, but don't you get sick like that?" "Huh―――? No, I got today off. I heard that the archery club is doing a welcome party for the new members, so I'm thinking of going with Ilya."

"Wow. You have some great guts. You're a big shot if you're taking Ilya to school with an unconcerned face."

"? Is it bad? I think it'll let Ilya kill some time, and it should make her happy." "It is bad. It's bad, but I guess I'll show up as well then. It won't be boring if Ilya's going to be there, and most of all, I just can't leave her alone because it's too dangerous."

I'm thankful that she says that. It's Tohsaka, not Sakura or me, that understands Ilya the most. There's the fact that she periodically takes care of Ilya, but more importantly, Ilya and Tohsaka are natural-born magi. I think Tohsaka would be a good teacher for Ilya as she doesn't quite realize what it's like to live as a magus while hiding that fact.

"――――――――" Thus, things are settling into the way they should be. The damage from the Holy Grail War is almost completely restored by the new priest dispatched by the Church, and our everyday life has returned without problems. There are certainly things that were lost and will not return. But the wounds have slowly healed and I should be happy about the regrets fading away.

"――――But it was unexpected." And then. Tohsaka murmurs in a serious tone while looking down at the town below her.

"? What was unexpected?" "…Yeah. I thought you would be more depressed. I thought you wouldn't be able to get over it for a while."

That is about the girl that isn't here anymore. It's been two months since then―――it's about the golden-haired girl that we talk about for the first time since then.

"Yeah. That's what I thought too. I was about to go insane just thinking about the future." "―――But it turns out you didn't change after that. You didn't even get depressed as you were fine the next day."

"…At that time, I wondered if you were really all right. I can't put this into words real well, but you had the atmosphere of a guy that would die in an accident the next day."

"What is that? Why would I easily die when I'm doing well?"

"Things like that happen. When people accomplish their lifelong goals by mistake, they can suddenly die. The instant they think like "Oh, I don't think I need to live anymore", cars run into them running red lights and they fall down stairs."

…Okay. Tohsaka's metaphor is difficult to understand. She might want to say something about peaceful death and going to heaven or something.

"So I was worried about that. At times like that, people around you feel more relief if you get really depressed." "Oh. Then would you have comforted me if I was depressed?"

"―――Of course not. I would have kicked you in the back and made you get over it. I'm just saying that it's a bit disappointing since I couldn't do that." She looks away in displeasure. Her gesture looks so funny that I laugh.

"What? Was it strange?" "No, it was a strict line surely fitting you, so I feel relieved."

We both walk on looking up at the spring sunlight. The hill is long and it looks as if it'll continue on into the endless blue sky. And as if saying something trifling…

"Then you don't have any regrets? With Saber gone and all?" Tohsaka murmurs while looking up at the sky.

"―――No. I probably don't have any regrets." It's not a bluff, and I say so with a calm state that even surprises me.

There is no regret, and I don't have anything I forgot to tell her. That parting contained everything. What I wanted to do. What she dreamed of. It was a competition of our determination, and maybe I should have taken her hand and granted her dream.

But―――there was something we both felt was beautiful, and we desperately protected it until the very end. There's nothing to feel regret about. As she has properly ended her time… I cannot remain in this reminiscence forever.

"…I see. Then you've concluded this inside you already. So that's why you're not depressed or filling yourself with reminiscence."

"Yeah. But I still dream about it. I'll recall her for the rest of my life. My memory will fade away someday, and I will forget about her voice and her gestures. But still―――I'll remember forever that this thing occurred and that I loved Saber."

Tohsaka doesn't say anything. But for some reason, she looks happy and starts to walk as if she's skipping.

"What's going on, Tohsaka? Did something happen to make you hurry?"

"It's nothing. I just want to get to school quickly. So let's hurry! I'll leave you behind if you're slow!" Turning around, Tohsaka starts running up the hill.

"―――What is she doing? Pushing herself when she's not a morning person…" Grumbling, I throw the bag over my shoulder and start to run. It's still 7:30. It's too early a time for a student not involved in any club activities, but I guess there's nothing wrong with being early.

Running up the road that seems to go up into the sky, I reach the school earlier than usual.

Today is the day the new year starts. If I am to celebrate it, I have to shake off my old memories and hurry up. Traces will never go away. Even if I almost cry from the vacancy hitting my heart.

―――Blue sky is in the distance. It feels so close. Yet, I cannot grab it even if I reach out with my hands.

I looked up at the stars before. The stars that I cannot reach and the wishes that will not be granted. There is nothing we have been able to leave behind for each other. Therefore, traces and memories will disappear someday. "――――――――" But still… Even if it will not reach her, there should be something that will remain in our hearts.

There is nothing that remains in our hands, but we lived the same time and looked up at the same things. If I can remember that―――I can believe that we can be together even if we are far apart. I can assent that as there are things that will go away, there are also things that will not go away.

That is why I will keep running for now. If I aim for the distance, there should come a day when I will be able to reach out to what I have been aiming for.

―――Winter has passed and it is spring, the season of new beginnings. Under the blue sky that she has also seen, I keep running up the hill.

――――The battle has ended. Her last battleground, the battle that was fought between the split halves of her country, ended with the king's victory.

"Haa, haa, haa, ha――――!" The knight is running. The battle has ended, the bloody red sun has already set, and the darkness of the night is already ruling over the battlefield. The hill, covered with corpses, is filled with curses, crying out to try to take the survivors with them.

Through it all, the knight runs panting. A rein is in the knight's hand, and the wounded white horse earnestly follows him. The only survivors are this knight and this horse. And this one king that is lying on the white horse's back.

"Your highness…! King Arthur, please come this way――――!" He must be wounded himself, but the knight runs through the battlefield with all his energy. The king he is serving is on the verge of death. The king has defeated the enemy's king in personal combat, but the king received a fatal wound as well. The wound is fatal even in the knight's eyes. The king that they have served will soon reach death.

"Please get a hold of yourself…! If we reach that forest, we shall certainly…!" He desperately calls out. ―――Or possibly, the knight might have really believed it. That their king is immortal. That as long as the guidance of the holy sword is there, the king would never die.

"Haa――――Haa, haa, haa, ha――――!" He breathes hard, passes over mountains of corpses, and heads for the forest that is not covered in blood. He knew of the king's immortality. Therefore, he believes that the king's wound will heal if he escapes this cursed battlefield and makes it to a pure place.

No―――he could only believe so. He believed his own king, unlike the other knights. The king was isolated in the Court, alienated by the knights, and was feared by the people. But the king did not show emotion even in such a situation and always stayed as an ideal, and the knight felt pride in his young king.

He did not serve his country. He had entrusted his sword, struggled to be of power, and made his way to be a personal guard of the king as a young man because it was this king. The masked king. The boy who tried to allow no personal feelings and to be fair. He might have hoped to be able to see the king's true face if he went near the king.

He just wanted to see the king's true expressions. Not the face he puts on during battle or in the castle, but a real smiling face of a human. It should appear in the Court when he has been released from his duties. No matter how perfect a king is, he cannot strain his mind twenty-four hours a day.

But that thinking proved wrong. The only thing he found out was the truth contrary to his expectation. He has made it to the rank of Imperial Guard and was able to guard beside the king. He has guarded the king closer than any other knights and kept watch on the king's behaviors. But still, it did not happen even once. His king never smiled.

"Haa――――Haa, haa, haa――――!" Since when did he feel anger toward it? The king has accomplished so many great deeds and has accrued much̠glory. But in fact, the king never showed a peaceful face. He could not approve of that fact. He wanted to believe such a thing should not be allowed. That is why he wished for his king to be awarded the light.

But he has yet to accomplish that. The king is still isolated. That is why the knight continuously did not approve of the king's death. He cannot end it here. He thinks that this great king is not rewarded enough for his actions.

"Your highness, please stay here. I shall go get someone right away." In the forest he reaches, the knight lays the king by a large tree. The situation is a race against time. It takes half a day no matter how much he hurries to go to the port where his own army is left. Anyone with eyes should be able to tell if the king's life will last till the morning or not.

"Please endure until then. I shall certainly bring our troops here." He salutes the unconscious king and runs to his white horse. "――――Bedivere" Before that. The king that should have been unconscious calls out his name.

"Your highness!? Have you regained your consciousness…!?" "…Yes. I was watching a dream." A faint voice. But that voice―――seems warm to the knight.

"A dream…?" He calls out as if to search. The king's consciousness is not certain. He shall go back into the darkness unless he replies so. "Yes. I have not seen many dreams, so I had a valuable experience." "…That is great. Then please be at ease and rest. I shall go get the troops in that time."

"――――" A gasping sound. It sounds as if what the knight said was unexpected.

"…Your highness? Have I been rude…?" "―――No, I was just surprised at your point. I did not know a dream could be seen after one awakens. Are you saying I will be able to see the same dream if I close my eyes again…?" Now, it is the knight's turn to be surprised. He stutters, but replies even though he knows it is a lie.

"―――Yes. If you strongly desire so, you should be able to continue watching the same dream. I have that experience as well." Such a thing is not possible. What happens only once and not continuously is what people call a dream. But the knight lies in spite of that. He apologizes that this will be the first and the last dishonesty he will perform toward the king.

"I see. You are knowledgeable, Bedivere." The king murmurs as if impressed. His face is still looking down and he does not even look up at the knight. The king breathes so softly that it can be barely heard, and quietly――― "Bedivere. Take my sword." ―――The king gives his last order in a faint voice.

"Pass through this forest and go over that blood-stained hill. There is a deep lake beyond it. Throw my sword into that lake." "―――! Your highness, that is…!" The knight knows what that means. The sword of the lake. To let go of the sword that was the proof of the king and what protected the king means the end of the king he has served.

"――――Go. Once you have accomplished my order, return here and tell me what you saw." The king does not take back his order. The knight takes the holy sword and goes over the hill with his indecision still in mind.

―――And… The knight hesitates returning the sword for three times. The lake was certainly there. But he just could not throw the sword in it. If he throws the sword in, his king will disappear. The knight is unable to throw away the sword from his unwillingness to part with the king. And the knight turns around and returns to the king.

The king repeats to the knight. As the knight lies to the king that he has thrown away the sword, the king only replies to "follow his command". To disobey the king's command is a great sin for a knight. But still, he disobeyed the king's order twice. He was reluctant for the king's life when he faced the lake.

―――But that comes to an end. As the knight figures out he cannot change the king's decision, he throws the sword in the lake on his third visit. The holy sword returns to the lake. A white hand appearing from the water receives the sword, and after going through the sky three times, the holy sword vanishes from this world.

"――――――――" And the knight finally accepts it. The king's end. That the duty that was too long has finally ended.

After crossing the hill three times, the forest is covered in morning sunlight. The battlefield is afar. In the pure, light mist that does not show any trace of a bloody battle…

"―――I have thrown the sword into the lake. The sword has returned to the lady of the lake." The king opens his eyes at the knight's words. "…I see. Then you shall be proud. You have obeyed your king's command."

The knight nods silently to the voice facing death. ―――Everything has ended. Chaos in his country would still continue. The battle will not end, and the day of ruin will come around soon. But the battle of the king has ended. He―――no, she has fulfilled her duty until the very last moment.

…The light disappears. Finishing her task, has her last strength disappeared from her body? "―――I am sorry, Bedivere. This sleep will be… a… long――――" As if going to sleep slowly… She gradually closes her eyes.

…The morning sunlight fills the area. The forest stands there quietly, and his king goes into a long sleep.

"――――――――" The knight keeps watching over her figure. The king that he wished for. A lonely king that was seen off by just one knight. But―――her face is what he wished for. A peaceful sleep. In her last moments, the king has obtained peace that she has never been able to obtain.

He was just happy about that fact. The knight thanks the someone who has given her peace and proudly watches over his king.

The heaven is far and the clearing sky is blue. The battle has truly ended.

"Are you watching, King Arthur…?" His murmur rides through the wind. As if sinking into the endless blue, the king that went into sleep… "…The continuation of the dream――――?" …Sees a distant, distant dream.

[chrysanthemum-and-co]

that tiktok trend where you show yourself with your best friend through the years, and the oldest ones are the most impressive, made me sad.

I had a best friend for a very long time. Sixteen years.

It wasn't a questioned thing. Ever since we were one it had been so; I was hers and she was mine. I loved her with my whole being and beyond.

We lived in different states, and we only saw one another a few times a year, so it felt more special. It also felt more lonely, considering I didn't really have any friends at my school.

We had a falling out when we were seventeen. I was going through a hard time and relying on her, and when she wasn't there for me I tried to talk to her about it. In response she lashed out, telling all of our mutual friends that this was the final straw, my depending on her. According to what she was telling everyone, we had been experiencing deep rooted issues for five years. I still wonder what they are, she refused to tell me.

She unfollowed me on instagram this summer, a year after we stopped speaking. I was in her hometown to see family and didn't reach out to her, and apparently that was the last straw. I'll never really know why though. When I think about it I imagine her petty and aloof, the way that I usually picture her now.

In hindsight our friendship was not all that great as we got older. She would constantly make comments around other people putting me down (especially around boys), and if I got upset I was sensitive and dramatic. I was no doubt a loud person, but while my other friends saw me as funny and blunt, to her I was irritating and abrasive. It wasn't an even friendship, I always felt inferior to her in terms of appearance and trends, and the latter part of our friendship felt like a giant game of catch up. Hindsight is 20/20 and in the rearview mirror there was no level playing field.

I miss the way I saw her without the knowledge I have now of our fallout. I wish I could still look back and smile. I don't necessarily miss being her friend, but oh how I miss knowing her. I'd almost forgotten what it was to miss her, something I was so familiar with when I was younger and anxiously waiting for the next visit. There's so much to remember that I still hold, and have nothing to do with.

I'll always know her birthday. I'm not sure it'll ever pass by without my chest aching. All of her friends know the two small dogs she has now, but I know her first dog, her yellow lab named Daisy. I remember the day Daisy died, just an eight year old listening to her best friend cry through a landline phone. We always watched Another Cinderella Story together, the one with Selena Gomez. I've seen that movie probably 30 times, never without her. In second or third grade she was assigned an essay about her best friend. She wrote it and then mailed it to me, and I kept it in a special decorated box under my dresser and read it when I was sad. How special it was to know how much I was loved.

I wonder about her younger sisters, if they hate me now. I remember admiring her mom so deeply until the day she texted my mom bad things about me. I didn't know she was capable of saying that about a girl who had her contact name set as 'Second Mom".

It is impossible not to grieve for a version of me as close to a year ago who thought that this girl would be in my life forever, my maid of honor. It is even more impossible not to ache for elementary school me, telling myself it didn't matter that I spent lunch in the library because I had that one very special friend. The version of me that saved every pair of matching pajamas we wore at our special sleepovers. Thirteen year old me, discovering that some clothes were cool and some were not. Fourteen year old me, given the silent treatment for talking to a boy I didn't know she liked and then apologizing so she'd speak to me. Sixteen year old me, wondering if we had all that much in common after all but brushing it off because, after all, she was my best friend.

I don't think I'll ever have a best friend like that again. I love my friends, and in them I've found kindred minds, deep emotional connections, and a lifetime of joy. None of this is comparable to your first ever sleepover in matching tinkerbell pajamas eating chocolate chip pancakes for dinner, feeling truly that all is right with the world. There is a perfect lyric for this feeling written by Girlpool, in the only song of theirs I have ever enjoyed.

"I just miss how it felt standing next to you, wearing matching dresses before the world was big"

[krisyyydvd]

You are a dream, 2023

Well, I just read online that it’s just 4 days until 2024 and I immediately grabbed a laptop to write this down at 12:39AM. 2023….is a different kind of ride. It’s like something out from a book, something beyond my imagination, it’s like a dream. 

All throughout the year, I thought that I manifested too hard in front of the window in our office looking at the sky and SCTEX road. I just claimed everything that I do this year will be successful because I was born in the year of the Rabbit and it did. This was my winning year. 

My year started with me still selling perfumes, got a Valentines surprise from my boyfriend who always tries his best to give me the best. Then, my friend from Toronto came home and we had a hard catch up of everything we missed even though we almost VC each other. As they said, relationships had it’s ups and downs, I went to La Union with my workmates in March but this is when I related to “I’ve been looking sad in all nicest places.” The sunset is too sad for me because my heart is sad and my inner self is sad cause I can’t swim due to monthly red tide. Good news, we chose to fix it, we chose “US” again. 

Summer came in, my family and I had a roadtrip to Ilocos Norte! It’s a 16hrs long drive. If I will reminisce, this is when everything started to become like a dream. We visited Vigan, I saw the magnificent windmills the first time, swam in a beach with strong tides that it can flip move my mom sitting in the coast. Haha! My sisters and I rode an ATV and all of us, including why niece rode a 4x4 truck in Sand dunes! We are all worried about our lives, but I think “You only live once” kept us screaming and enjoying the ride. Oh, I also glided through a desert. How fearless is that!? Then, one of my bucket list was crossed. We stayed in Vitalis Villas. Back in 2019, I wished to bring our family here and there we are. God is so good! We had an amazing 4 days trip that felt forever and a lot of times made me wanna stop time right there. 

Music festival of course, I was there. Almost went home when I felt suffocated but I glad we stayed. It was magical hearing “Kay Tagal Kitang Hinintay” in live. We also surprised our mom on her 63rd birthday where my dad saved all his money just to give her 63,000 pesos and a gold necklace. Ever since I was young, this was my mom’s dream and now she got it at 63. A love like theirs is really my dream kind of love. My dad was always my ideal man. I will never forget how everyone cried when “Until I found you” played as my dad took my mom’s hands to dance. 

My May was like a great episode in a drama. My friend from Regina went home and we have trips planned ahead, sponsored by him. I probably saved the country in my past life to deserve this. We went to my dream county, Japan together with my eldest sister who helped us navigate everything. We will be completely lost without her. I saw the Harry Potter world, Dotonburi and went to Kyoto where everything felt nostalgic. The OST of Kimi no Nawa kept playing on my head the entire time. Finally, the girl who always talked about anime is in her element. After that, we went to Coron. This place is beautiful from up and down. My bf and I strolled the town using a motor and climbed the mountain. The sunset and the view up there will be forever in my core memory. 

Then June came, my birth month and I bought a car named whom I named “Yuki”. It’s from Snow on the Beach of TS because it’s seems impossible but it’s happening. I never thought I would have a car this year but here it is! Another answered prayer with the help of my family. Back here I thought to myself that it may seem impossible to have everything but for this moment, I sure had everything. A complete family, a new job alignment, loving bf, loyal bff’s, car and a healthy work environment. When my bf’s birthday came, I tried to make one of his dream come true, to have a family picture. This was successful thanks to his family’s effort and love for him. I was so happy to see him emotionally happy. 

Another unimaginable happened again this September, my sister and my niece went to New Zealand. Taking them to the airport was one of the saddest good bye of my life. I still remember crying myself to sleep just imagining that they won’t be around everyday in our house. They are my late night movie bud, cravings bud and the family is just not complete without them. God how I miss them even while typing this. Seeing me and MC’s pics on my gallery feels like a good dream. I tried to make myself busy and not think about them too much, but there are just night like this where I want to fly myself to them and time to go faster so they I will see them again. 

When I said, keeping myself busy, I went out a lot with my friends, learned how to bake, took part time jobs and watched the Era’s tour in the cinema. Then, with the support of my work mate turned mentor, TINTER Bean was born. It came from the idea that my bf is a barista and we are thinking of a small business. From here was like in Timelapse and, we had our soft launch at Nov 1 which is a success! On this day, we already had our events and booked events next year, this is another dream Lord! I realized that we have so many people around us who are genuinely happy for us and gave their support in many ways. I am thankful to have them in my life! My December was so busy that I have to find myself a time to breathe. We had a year end party at work, had a sweet anniversary with bf while juggling events and work in between. 

As we head on to 2024, honestly, I am not that much confident that I will do well next year. Probably because many good things happened this year? I don’t wanna be jinxed. Or maybe there is a big worry for my future because I wasn’t able to go to church often this year. That’s it. So Lord, babawi aka sayo this 2024! You never got tired listening and answering my prayers. You will be my center this year and I will give importance to my health. So Joy, have faith okay. There are still many good things planned out for you and no matter what are the challenges, you have people around you that can help you. You are a hustler and goal digger! You are cool and a very blessed girl. 

2024, I AM READY FOR YOU!

[mknlm]

Frida Kahlo- La Casa Azúl

The first time I visited Frida Kahlo's house was in the early 1990's. I was probably 16. She wasn't known as just "Frida" yet. My family was going to Mexico City for the first time. We were tourists, taken under the wing of my father's Mexican uncle with whom he'd lost touch over the years. I had no idea what to expect. The only request I had was that we visit the home and studio of this artist I'd seen a feature on in Vogue magazine a few years before. She was beautiful. Colorful. Madonna liked her.

Mexico City was beyond my wildest imagination. It was gritty and over populated. The air was thick with smog. There were kids breathing fire on street corners and selling Chiclets everywhere. It smelled like tacos, disinfectant, guavas, and VW exhaust. It was vibrant, alive, and never ending. There was something to experience and explore at every turn, and I adored it.

La Casa Azul was perfect. It was a quiet respite in what was the largest city in the world. There was no need to buy tickets online; without the internet it would have been impossible anyway. There were a few visitors, you could buy a few snacks, and the gift shop (always my favorite part of a museum) was miniscule.

The home and studio were almost a painting in itself with vignettes everywhere. Frida's house decorated as she painted...with color, personality, love, and pain. The teensy clay mugs in the kitchen that spell out Friday y Diego. The small mirror she used to paint her reflection in the bedroom reminding us of her physical frailty. You felt like you were stepping into her life.

At a time when the world was moving forward and modernizing, Frida stepped back to find her inspiration. From her traditional dresses and jewelry, collection of and painted clay tiles in the kitchen Frida turned towards her country and her family's history to animate her. She collected retablos and pre-colonial art.

It is now 2023. Frida (last name no longer needed) has become a world wide phenomenon. Her image is everywhere from magnets to murals. Amateur artists put their own spin on her, selling their own wonky Frida portraits on Etsy.

This time I couldn't really find Frida. She was lost between crowds of people, a narrow gallery with poor lighting, and a serious of architectural modifications that closed the house off to the outside in order to control the flow of traffic. The house didn't feel so much like a house anymore. She was there, but she wasn't there.

Her art is still powerful, but it needs space to be able to breathe and be digested.

When we look at Frida's paintings, peruse her and delve into her story, pain taps into our pain...her wayward lover, her accident, her disfigured leg. She did what we are scared to do: she was vulnerable.

The piece that had the most impact on me was the watermelon still life that is inscribed "Vida la vida." Unbeknownst to me, Kahlo painted it days before her death in 1954. I would translate it as "Long live life". I think of watermelons as luscious and sweet, representing all that is good in life. The colors are vivid. The seeds could represent the most basic building block of life. As we saw throughout our many museum visits in Mexico City, watermelons (and fruits in general) are a prominent subject in Mexican art. They nourish us and give us pleasure. It fascinates me that Kahlo, someone who spent so much of her life in pain and was in pain up until the end, would choose to wrap up her life on such a colorful note. I recall reading that on some level she was aware her days were coming to an end. As someone whose life is particularly fragile, If I ever decided to get a tattoo, I think I have my inspiration.

[artist-eros]

The Chosen #1

Life is a fabric, and the Goddess of the Thread is dutied to weave and sew. To merge lives and kingdoms, sew impossibilities into reality, and embroider the most elegant of destinies.

How much the Goddess leaves to chance and how much she places on our paths is the mustery of life. It is the truth of it. Some places, you were meant to be regardless of what you did, and some places you only end up by your own hand.

This place, this decision, is fate. It is destiny showing its embroidered material and pointing out what needs to be done. It is by the mercy of the oracle that we were shown. It is by that mercy that you were named.

Chichi picked her way to the single window of her flat, and tossed the letter out. It was only a few minutes after she had lit up the envelope the letter had come in, that somebody managed to shout through all the noise.

'It's me. I'm the chosen one. Ha, ha, Motherfuckers!'

Chichi continued to pick her teeth and filter through the rest of her mail. Bills to pay, the second ransome note for her third cousin, the mandatory service reminder, and...something new.

The envelope was plain. No writing of any kind was on it, neither address nor name or any body.

It was a notice from a loan master. Her brother had taken a loan and had used her as a guarantor. The fucking bastard.

The guarantor's form was even attached to the letter. He'd faked her signature and everything.

The amount was bogus, heavily inflated by the even more bogus interest rate, and dear Maaon was nowhere to be found. Which meant she had to do the paying.

First word of her baby brother in years, and it was this shit.

By now, the noise outside had worsened beyond the usual chaos of the Mid Area. Sirens, so many people shouting that whatever they shouted was gibberish. It was very likely that journalists and news crews were there. The Officers too, maybe some priests as well.

It was not everyday the chosen one was found after all.

Chichi chewed the toothpick in her mouth, staring at all the open mail on her wonderful table. As a kid, she had felt filled with limitless possibilities. She was going to see the world, live so wild and free like how she imagined birds did. So reckless and alive.

At some point, reality had set in, and she'd understood all that was trash. She really had. Yet, she'd refused to marry, had run away to this dense stupid city, had even written to Maaon so he could come live with her since everybody had cut him out.

They were announcing now, confirming that the shouting man had, indeed, recieved the letter of the oracle. Even the Pope hadn't known who would recieve it, they said. The letter was real, there was no denying that.

The amount was impossible to pay. Everybody involved must have known that. Seeing that an old picture of her had been included, the plan must have been to force her to work the debt off. Make her a whore until some illness, or old age, came for her.

Because with that interest rate, there was no way she was going to be able to pay it off. Unless she fucked an estate worth of royals every day, for about a year.

The fridge was empty except for a bottle of beer. It was the end of the month, and all her jobs had paid her due wages. Just enough to save up for her rent, food, a few second-hand clothes, and some drinks.

The people outside were chanting for the chosen one. Picked out among filth to possess the favour of gods. Immediately worthy of many priviledges now.

With the last bottle of beer in one hand, and consignment letter in the other, Chichi went to her only window to sit and look down.

The chant was still on, some prayer she didn't really know because since she moved, she hadn't bothered to do much besides work, and take short, meaningless, walks.

Still, it was a rather lyrical prayer, and the night air was cool and soothing to the skin. It was a good night to drink and fill out a consignment form.

It was a good night to finally answer the national call.

[wtfevenismypage]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

request: request. i’m not sure if you’re comfortable with writing it but it’s worth a try the team is always teasing spencer saying “he’s definitely a virgin” and he’s like “wtf no i’m not” one day they’re like ok well then y/n can see for herself, y/n is like “😳i didn’t sign up for this” and long story short they come back to the bau and the team is like “ ok soooo?” and y/n is like zoning out mumbling “you were wrong”

Warnings: SMUT (Penetration, oral (female recieving), spanking, over-stimulation, choking, degrading kink)

A/N: YO SHIT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN, I am going to start publishing fics again, but updates will be very very slow. They’ll increase eventually, but for now, they are slow. Love you all!

The night began at work. A late night with the team at the office, stacks of files mounted on all of your desks and you’re all gathered around to keep each other awake.

“Ugh. This is too much work. Seriously. Can’t killers ever take a break?”

You whine, spinning in the swivel chair and holding a file in the air. Morgan chuckles, staring at his own file before speaking.

“I need a drink after this.”

“You and me both Morgs.”

“I told you to stop calling me that Girly.”

You chuckle, stopping your spinning and standing up to stretch. It feels nearly impossible to stay awake. Not necessarily because you’re tired, but you’ve been staring at similar files all day and it’s getting boring and tiring.

 “I’ll do refills on coffee. Gimme your mugs.”

You say, letting them pile different sizes of cups and mugs in your arms. You saunter over to the coffee machine and set them on the counter.

You set the pot for a lot of coffee and quickly dash to Hotch’s office, where him and Rossi are.

“Yo, I’m making coffee, y’all need refills?”

They shake their heads and you shrug, returning to the coffee machine and pouring the coffee in the mugs before adding cream and sugar.

“How much sugar tonight Reid?”

You ask, turning to the tall doctor with a smirk. Luckily, you and your team are the only people left in the bullpen so you can be as loud as you want.

“A lot.”

You snort, grabbing the box of sugar and piling it in, almost emptying it before putting it on the shelf and making a few trips to distribute the coffee.

“Here you are Spencer, sugar with some coffee on the side.”

You chuckle, sitting in your chair again and picking a new file up, only to find that this was the last file.

“Oh. Anyone else wanna give me files? I’m on my last one.”

Morgan and Emily immediately run up to you with files, dropping them on your desk and thanking you. It made you laugh, watching smiles grown on their faces.

“Okay team. We’re almost finished. Just a little bit more now.”

-

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(SEXUAL THEMES BEYOND THIS POINT)

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A few hours later you, Spencer, Rossi, and Hotch are finished with your stacks, waiting for the other three with Penelope, discussing bars to go to.

“Oooo there’s a new one downtown, we should go there.”

“Can you guys hold back your alcohol talk until tonight please? I just wanna get out of here fast and maybe get lucky tonight.”

Emily pleads, making you and the other women go “oooo” while the men groan.

“Oh boy you are right Em. I haven’t gotten laid in so long. Too long.”

You say, leaning back in your chair and looking at a flabbergasted Penelope.

“How long?”

She asks, staring at you in disbelief. You were a very beautiful woman (Don’t you fucking dare say otherwise) so people often assumed you had sex often. You weren’t private about it either. So what if people judged you? Sex is natural and anyone who says otherwise is selling something.

“Since my first time in middle school. I had a delusion that sex was gonna be this amazing thing and then it was actually terrible. I gave up all hope and never slept with anyone ever again. So you know, it is what it is.”

Everyone looked at you in shock, confused as to how you went your whole life without sex.

“Wait really?”

Morgan questions, his attention dropping from the files to you in an instant. Spencer simply stared at you in disbelief, his expression suddenly making you nervous.

“Y-yeah. I haven't had sex since middle school. It isn’t a big deal.”

You defend, but Penelope wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Oh honey I’m definitely finding you someone to take home.”

“Hey, at least you had your first time, unlike pretty boy over here.”

Morgan teases, messing with Spencer’s hair. Spencer was often teased for being a virgin, but none of you knew what to believe. He said he wasn’t, but refused to tell even Morgan about any of his times.

“How many times do I have to tell you guys, I’m not a virgin!”

“Then tell us about one time.”

Morgan says, a wide smirk on his face at the disheveled state of the genius doctor. Poor Reid just wanted to be left alone but Morgan will not let this go.

“Morgan. Not all of us are public about our sex lives like you bud. Sometimes I wish you were as secretive as Reid. None of us want to hear about how you “got it on”.”

Morgan grimaces, and Spencer looks to you thankfully. 

“C’mon Y/N, you aren’t even a little curious?”

Emily asks from her desk, finally finishing up the last file with JJ. You shrug, playing with your hair briefly.

“Of course I’m super curious, but, unlike you lust goblins, I stand with Hotch and Rossi and don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

Various groans come from the team as you fist-bump Hotch and Rossi, laughing at their defeat.

-

-

-

-

-

When Morgan finally finishes, you all head to the new bar downtown, smiling at the flashing lights of the dance floor and immediately going to a small table with the rest of the team.

“Oh hells yes! This place is already fun!”

Penelope squeals, waving a worker over to get food. Morgan sits next to you, Emily on your other side and Spencer is next to Morgan and Hotch. 

“Alright my baby’s we are partying until Y/N gets lucky!”

You chuckle at Penelope’s words, raising a glass of water to your lips and taking a big swig of it before looking around. The people in there were definitely attractive, but your mind never swayed from a certain genius.

You meant it when you said you were curious, your mind had always wandered to certain images when you went to sleep, constantly imagining what he would be like.

You’re mind was so easily destroyed by him. All of your thoughts contorted by him. To the point where you can’t imagine sleeping with any of these other people, but you’re scared to ruin your friendship with him by trying to sleep with him.

“Ah guys. I’m fine. I don’t want to sleep with someone I don’t know.”

Morgan groans, nudging your side and making you laugh.

-

-

-

-

-

A few hours later, Spencer has abandoned ship and went to the bathroom, leaving you alone with the rest of the team as you eat some wings.

“Oh my god I know how to figure out if Reid’s a virgin or not!”

Penelope shouts, you look at her excited face, just smirking as she squeals.

“And what is your plan?”

“One of us hooks up with him!”

You all choke on your food and drinks, staring at her in shock.

“I’m sorry what? Did you just say-”

“Actually that’s not a bad idea.”

Hotch cuts you off. You turn to his smirking face in shock. Never in a million years would you have thought that Aaron Hotchner thought one of you sleeping with Reid is a good idea.

“Hotch! Wouldn’t that like, mess with work or something?”

He shrugs, turning to you and smirking.

“What can I say? I’m curious too.”

You sigh, chuckling a bit and shaking your head.

“I say Y/N does it.”

“What?”

“Yeah! Y/N is single and hasn’t gotten laid in a while, it’s perfect!”

“Guys no I-”

“Oh my god you’re right! Plus there’s plenty of sexual tension between the two of them.”

You sigh, knowing they won’t let up until this happens. When the team wants something, they make it happen.

“Okay guys, I didn’t sign up for this, I’m not your test dummy.”

You say, putting your wings down on the plate in front of you and looking around at them all.

“Please girly? Pretty please?”

Morgan begs, clutching your hand tightly and shaking it up and down like a child who wants a toy.

“Y/N, I will make sure you get a raise in your paycheck.”

You stop and think about it for a second.

It could ruin your relationship with him forever, then again, he’s the type to forgive and forget when it comes to his friends.

And if it did work out, then things could be awkward between the two of you for a long time, or worse, he’d regret it. And like all the things he regrets, he’d ignore you until you disappeared.

And the worst you can think of, you take his virginity. Not someone he loves, not his girlfriend or wife, you. His bestfriend and co-worker. 

But still, just that small percentage that everything might go completely right and you might even get a second time with him makes it feels like it might be worth it.

“Okay fine. But I don’t want a raise. If I’m doing this it’s because I want to.”

They all cheer and you just smile, taking a swig of beer before motioning for Morgan to switch seats with you so that when Spencer comes back he’ll be next to you.

Within a few minutes Spencer returns and you feel a heat travel up your neck as you look at him. He turned to you and smiled, sending shivers up your spine as you smiled back.

“Why’d you switch places?”

He asks, you turn to Morgan for help, pleading him to come up with a fake story.

“Emily kept poking her so she told me to switch.”

He says, you practically glare daggers at him, but you go with it, turning back to Spencer and nodding with a smile.

“Yep, so now, you are stuck with me.”

You joke, trying to ease the dusty pink on your cheeks, and nudge him gently in the arm.

In a few minutes you muster up the courage to let your hand travel off of the counter and onto Spencer’s thigh, feeling your entire face go crimson at the feeling of the hard muscle.

He choked on his water briefly before looking at you, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of your red face. You were trying to hide any emotion you felt out of embarrassment. 

He didn’t say anything though, you’re hand felt warm against the cool breeze of the bar, and he wasn’t opposed to your touch whatsoever.

Everyone continued talking and laughing as your hand inched upwards, and you could feel his body tense up every once in a while, and every time he did, you paused, giving him a moment to push your hand away or tell you to stop, but he didn’t. Not even when you began massaging and squeezing the muscle in your hands.

In fact, he at some point grabbed your hand and positioned it right above his own cock. You weren’t touching it yet, just hovering in slight fear.

He wants this.

You thought before slowly lowering your hand, your eyes widening at the feeling of his semi hard and fairly large cock. What the hell were you getting yourself into?

You glance at him quickly, only to find him staring straight back at you with lust lidded eyes. They were intimidating, almost scary. Usually you would have hated to be on the receiving end of this glare, but in this context, it made you feel like a match had been lit inside of you and you were just left there with a lit match inside of you.

The moment you squeezed your hands just slightly, he abruptly stood up, your hand falling from his crotch. Everyone looks at him in shock as he yanks you up.

“I need to talk to you.”

Is all he says before dragging you away. You only had a split second to turn and see the teams faces, but they were all pretty much the same. 

A shit eating smile with wiggling eyebrows.

-

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-

-

-

From the moment you were yanked into the private room with Spencer, you were super nervous. It had been years, you were inexperienced. What if he didn’t like it? What if he left because you were bad at it?

He seemed to notice your panicked state and sat you down on the bed, crouching in front of you and taking your hands in his.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this. As much as I would love to prove to you that I really am not a virgin, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But if you say yes, I will pillage your body to the point that you can’t walk next week.”

Well shit, now you were fully convinced and super turned on. You had thought he was vanilla, or maybe even a bottom, but oh wow you were so wrong.

“Do it.”

Those were the only two words needed for Spencer Reid to pounce, and your plane of vision was knocked over, now laying on your back as he traps you under his body. 

His lips are everywhere. They’re on yours at first, but they travel to your jaw, your neck, and his lengthy fingers work at the buttons on your dress shirt rapidly. 

“Shit Spencer...”

You whine out as he works his hands across your body. They feel like fire against your skin. His lips are wet and messy, kissing and marking your neck for the world to see.

You grip his shirt, tugging at it and opening your mouth to speak, but a moan slips out instead. You shut your eyes in embarrassment as you feel his lips curl upwards on your collarbone, the suckling feeling feeling so warm and tingly.

“What is it baby? You want me to take my shirt off? huh?”

You nod eagerly, chest rising and falling quickly as he raises his body off of yours, and you open your heavy eyes to see him strip off his shirt. He isn’t muscly, but he’s perfect, he looks perfect.

“What do you want baby?”

You stumble over your words, your mind already fuzzy somehow by just his lips.

“You. I want you. Please Spencer I want you.”

 You beg, your hands travelling up his torso and feeling his soft skin. He leans down again, towering over you and smashing his lips on your while his hands work on getting your pants off.

His lips were safe, careful. Not aggressive, and his tongue that tasted the inside of your mouth was warm and loving, savoring your taste as you whined into his.

He was smiling so widely against your skin, his pride booming at the way you reacted to his touch. He never once thought he could get you to react like this.

“You just wanted to see if I was a virgin huh? You curious?”

You nod and shake your head, confused on why you were doing this as well. You wanted this so much it almost hurt, you’ve wanted this since day one. You were also really curious as well though.

“You know what they say.”

He leans into your ear, kissing your neck and biting your ear.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

You felt his fingers rub at your clothed pussy, your black cloth panties preventing him from fucking you with his fingers. His fingers rub against your clit, the cotton creating friction on it as well.

 “Please Spencer! Please please please!”

You beg, feeling his breath land on your cold skin in a way that felt so raw and rigid. He tugs at your panties, freeing your cunt as a finger rubs against your clit, the bundle of nerves jolting you up.

A loud moan escapes your lips as he continues circling your clit with his long fingers, His lips kissing your open ones.

Two fingers probe into you, scissoring themselves inside of you. You groan into his mouth as they curl upwards into your wet cunt.

“Shit!”

He moves his head between your thighs, licking a wet stripe up your clit, flicking it around as you moan at the sensitive feeling. It feels like electricity lighting up the sensitive nub.

A pressure builds between your legs, a spring coiling in your stomach as he suckles on your clit, fucking you fast with his fingers.

“Spencer! I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it.”

It hits you like a fiery clap of thunder, the feeling so extreme and hot it almost makes you scream and you can only hope no one heard you over the music outside.

Your breathing is labored as your high dies down, but Spencer doesn’t let up, he flips you over onto your stomach, dragging you to your knees by your hips. 

“Wha-”

You get cut off by your own moan of pain, the tip of his cock slowly being pressed into your tight and wet cunt.

“It’ll get better baby, I’ll go slow, I promise. Just tell me when you want me to go, and when you want me to stop. Okay?”

You nod against the pillow under your face, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. A hand lands on your ass, making you yelp at the rough feeling.

“Words baby.”

You moan, palming the sheets with your fists as he pulls out completely, leaving you to feel empty.

“Okay! Please Spencer! Please I need you!”

You could practically feel his pride rolling off of him as he pushes into your sex slowly, filling you up fully. 

It’s a stinging feeling, as if you were being torn apart. But he waits, he let’s you adjust to his girthy size before moving. He really was gentle. You hadn’t expected him to be rough exactly, but he was shockingly gentle and patient.

Eventually, you got used to the feeling, it felt so satisfying as well. The feeling of being so full and warm was so pleasuring, it sent little jolts of pleasure up your spine and out your mouth, making Spencer smirk.

“You’re so tight for me. You so curious you let me fuck you huh? So eager?”

You nod, burying your face into the pillows. You want him to move, to fuck you until you break, but words won’t come out, so you move your hips forwards, letting part of him slip out of you before moving him back into your dripping cunt.

A loud groan escapes both of your lips at the feeling, his hand lands on your ass again, reddening it before taking the hint and thrusting into you carefully.

“Oh... Holy crap!”

You moan out as he continues to clench your hips, surely leaving bruises tomorrow. His thrusts remained slow and deep, but it felt just right. He let his hands wander, travelling up and down your body.

His fingers find your bra, unclipping it and letting it fall off. Your breasts move to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Faster... Please Spencer faster!”

“What’s that my little slut? You want more? You gonna be a greedy little slut?”

You could feel your cheeks become a dark crimson color, slightly embarrassed at the degrading language he was using, but you nod nonetheless, wanting him to pound into you shamelessly.

“Very well. What a dirty slut wants, she gets.”

His pace quickens suddenly, each thrust into you sharp and hitting into you just right. Loud moans escape both yours and Spencer’s lips, the room becoming sweaty and sticky quickly.

“This want you want you whore? You just want to be fucked like a cheap whore?”

Pointless babbles fall out of your mouth, quiet “Yes” and “I’m your cheap whore” being mumbled as he pounded into from behind. 

A gasp escapes your lips as he lands another smack to your ass, leaving a burning sensation that felt so damn pleasurable after the initial sting.

A familiar pressure builds up between your thighs again, Your legs trembling under the Thunderous feeling of your orgasm washing over your entire body.

You had thought that two orgasms would have been enough for him, but he doesn’t let up, even flipping you back over and thrusting into you harder. 

“S-Spencer!”

You gasp and squirm as his fingers find your sensitive and swollen clit, pinching and rubbing it with his thumb and index finger. It felt like a wave of nerves jolting every bone, your back arching off of the cushion underneath you.

He continues pounding into you mercilessly, admiring the way your tits bounce at his pace, the way you so desperately panted for mercy, but your body betrayed you.

If you really wanted him to get off of you, you would have made it much more clear, you would have been pushing him off more, but you were more just clutching him closer than anything, wriggling your body around.

You couldn’t form any words at this point, chasing after your third orgasm endlessly. You manage to spot the hand that isn’t abusing your clit snake its way up your body, playing and pinching your nipples briefly before wrapping itself around your neck. 

Soft squeezes are delivered to your throat, making you whimper and whine, your own hands reaching his wrist for support, feeling up the vein-y muscles.

“Spencer! Spencer I’m gonna... I’m gonna cum!”

You whimper out, his hand tightens around your throat and his fingers rub your clit faster and harder, abusing the already raw nerves. 

Everything felt so overwhelming. Your body was shaking aggressively each time he rubbed your swollen nub, and the feeling of him pounding into your wet cunt repeatedly slamming your sweet spot mercilessly and choking you out at the same time was so raw and powerful. 

It felt unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. And with a broken moan, you came all over his cock, clenching around him and pushing him over the edge as well. 

He came right inside of you, riding out his high while slowing the rubs delivered to your clit. Your insides were twitching like crazy around his sensitive cock, making him groan while watching your entire body shake.

Soon after you both came, he pulled out, letting his cum drip out of you and onto the bed, pulling your body to sit up.

“Well, did I pass your test?”

You lazily nod at his question. You panted heavily, trying to chase after your breath.

“Holy shit Spencer... That was... Wow.”

He chuckled, grabbing your clothes off of the floor and placing them next to you.

“Need help cleaning up?”

You shook your head, meeting his starstruck eyes for the first time since he choked you. They were so bright, so in awe. 

“Alright, well I’m gonna head home so I don’t have to face the others. See you at work?”

“See ya.”

-

-

-

-

-

Twenty minutes later, Spencer had gone home and you had finished getting all of his cum out of you, and now you were fully dressed, making your way back to the others in a shell shocked state of mind.

Everyone else was trying their hardest not to laugh at the sight of your shaky legs when you stumbled into your chair, red hickies all over your neck. You sat with a blank stare in your eyes, chugging your water.

“So?”

Morgan asked, knowing the answer already but just wanting to hear it anyways.

“You were wrong.”

You managed to mumble out. Everyone broke out laughing, even Hotch and Rossi.

You continued to eat your wings, The memory of what just happened stuck on replay in your brain.

PERMANENT TAGLIST(OPEN) @pinkdiamond1016 @spencer-reids-snow-white @sheepfather @eusuntgroot @libradolan

[harrys-titties]

Y/N and Harry hate each other, until they don’t. 

29K+

Warnings: Asshole Harry, A LOT of swearing (I’m sorry,) mentions of anxiety, a questionable game of drink or truth & smut 

(A/N FINALLY I FINISHED!!  Blood, sweat and tears has been put into this one, so I hope you all enjoy! Love you all <3 Also you may have to open in your web browser bc she is big af xx) 

-masterlist-

It wasn't that Y/N didn't like Harry, in all honesty, she didn't know him well enough to come to that conclusion. But from what she'd seen so far, she wasn't too impressed. She had never found it too challenging to make new friends, often finding herself able to get along with even the oddest of characters, but with Harry, it was a different story.

Perhaps if they weren’t forced to stay in the same house during quarantine, having to spend days on end with only each other and their housemates to cure their boredom, things would be different. Maybe, just maybe Harry wouldn’t have come across as so disagreeable and overbearing. 

However, at this rate, Y/N was led to believe it was just who he was. An asshole who had somehow tricked the entire planet into believing he was the epitome of the ‘boy next door’ stereotype. 

Sarah, Y/N’s cousin, had called her sometime around July, asking her if she wanted to quarantine with her, her boyfriend, Mitch and a few mates rather than alone in her somewhat dingy apartment. Y/N had immediately jumped at the opportunity. Quarantining by herself had already proved to be somewhat tricky and incredibly depressing. While she loved her charming little abode, she was certainly not prepared to spend the next few months stuck inside it, alone, watching ‘Friends’ reruns with a bottle of wine and only her three potted cacti to keep her company. 

So, naturally, that led her to the doorstep of Sarah and Mitch's huge shared house with butterflies in her stomach, imagining what her new housemates would be like. 

Sarah had told Y/N all about Mitch, Jeff and Harry, exclaiming how funny, kind and welcoming they would be, and well, Y/N was excited, she needed some new friends. After her last break up about a year ago, had lost her a boyfriend and subsequently the mutual friends of his that she thought had become hers too, she felt slightly lonely. For Y/N the chance to cure isolation boredom blues and make some new friends was an offer she wouldn't dream of refusing. 

Upon arrival, Y/N noticed that Sarah's description fit Jeff and Mitch to a tee, but Harry? Well, he barely managed to squeeze into it. When she'd walked through the door, Mitch had immediately offered to take her bags and even offered her some of his favourite tea to help her relax after her relatively stressful journey. Jeff gave her a huge hug and asked what her favourite snacks were so he could add them to the shopping list. And Harry? He sat in silence with his head practically glued to his phone, hardly even sparing a glance in her direction. 

Y/N didn't let this discourage her. She prided herself on being friendly and often easy to get along with and so approached him readily. However, greeting him with a cheerful, "it's nice to meet you!" and her renowned smile had only earned her a grunt and a disinterested look. Maybe he was just having a bad day?

On the drive to Sarah’s house, Y/N had been thinking about how exciting it was to be able to meet him. While she’d never been an avid fan of his music, she wasn’t blind to the enormous impact he had on the industry. He seemed kind and beyond charming, and well, Y/N had a working pair of eyes, she knew how handsome he was. She had only ever heard good things and was excited to get to know the man who had made her cousin's dreams come true. 

However, Harry's blase and borderline rude personality really rubbed her the wrong way. Y/N could understand having a rough day, even she could get a bit grumpy the days leading up to her period, but Harry's impertinence surpassed a simple 'bad day' or two. He was impossible! He would hardly even acknowledge her existence, and on the rare occasion when he did, he was insolent and passive-aggressive. He would nitpick everything Y/N did, from the way she would dress to something as simple as how much soy sauce she had on her sushi! Y/N didn't know how she would survive another week with him, let alone the whole of isolation. 

Maybe loneliness, copious amounts of alcohol and friends reruns would’ve been the better option. 

——

It wasn't that Harry didn't like Y/N, in all honesty, he didn't know her well enough to come to that conclusion. There was just something about her that grated on his nerves. It could possibly be the fact that Sarah had insisted she was his type before he'd even met her. While Harry had countered, unless she looked exactly like the ex he was still very much pining over he doubted it to be true, Sarah had insisted. She showed him picture after picture from their trip to Europe together, pointing out how pretty Y/N's hair looked, or how dazzling her smile was.

While there was a resemblance to the girl on his mind, Harry doubted it was enough to remind him of the heartbreak she had instilled upon him. Alas, Harry was wrong. When Y/N had floated through the door without a care in the world, Harry had frozen. While Y/N did kind of resemble his past girlfriend Elle, it was the way she acted that frustrated Harry more. She had the same air about her, carried herself in the same way that Elle did, with humble confidence and poise.  

Harry hated it. The more he got to know Y/N, the more he realised that she was somehow simultaneously similar and completely different from the girl he was still in love with, and he hated it. She was a constant reminder of what he could no longer have, and he didn't know if he wished Y/N were more like Elle so he could have a part of her back, or if he wished she was a completely different person altogether.

Either way, Harry could hardly hold in the frustration he felt around her, snapping at anything she said and nit-picking her every move. 

While he knew he was acting unreasonably, he barely had a cause to stop it. 

——

Y/N was usually self-confident and relatively sure of herself, but she was also stubborn, and for some reason was bothered by Harry's opinion of her more than she cared to admit. 

So, over the first few days of her staying at the house, Y/N had tried her hardest to get Harry to like her, but her endeavours only seemed to further annoy him. She baked him carrot cake because she'd heard it was his favourite, but with a screwed up nose, Harry had swiped his finger through the icing to taste it and grumbled, "way too sweet," before retreating back to his room. Y/N was embarrassed as Sarah had given her a sympathetic look and insisted "everyone else will love it!" 

When doing her washing, she added Harry's whites with hers and even went so far as to dry and fold them too. But when she woke the next day, the clothes had been taken from the laundry, and Y/N was not given a spare glance.

 Harry had insisted they watch a horror movie during their weekly movie night, and Y/N didn't say a word of opposition, even though she knew she would have nightmares that night. Sarah had even tried to say something on her behalf, but Y/N quickly hushed her, not wanting to cause a scene and have Harry hate her even more than he already did. 

But Y/N's quick agreeance to watch 'Halloween' disagreed with her a lot more than she thought it would. She had hardly slept at all, jumping at the smallest of sounds and debating the probability of a murderous man being able to break into the house. When she turns again for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night, only to be met with the glaring '3:30' from the mickey mouse alarm clock she had nearly forgotten to pack, she gives up. 

In an attempt to calm herself down from the numerous haunting images flashing through her mind, Y/N begins her trek to the kitchen. A cool glass of water and perhaps one of the cupcakes Sarah and herself had baked the day before, would surely put her overworked mind at ease. 

As Y/N begins to walk down the stairs, she can't help but imagine behind every door a murderer with a knife, that each step in the pitch black was one closer to her death. The eerie silence of the house full of sleeping people only made her feel worse. 

Scolding herself for ever agreeing to watch the stupid movie in the first place, she turns around to flick on the lights to the hallway and stairway. Feeling slightly more comfortable now that she could see, she walked downstairs only to repeat the process in the kitchen, dining room and living room until the whole house, bar upstairs, was flooded with light.

Standing in the fully lit kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate she had found in the cupboard and munching away at the sweet treat, Y/N finally begins to feel somewhat safe. That is until a dark figure suddenly emerges from the hallway.

 "Harry! What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me," she exclaims while clutching at her rapidly beating chest. With his chestnut curls in a tangled heap upon his head, one sock on and clad in only a white shirt and boxers, he looks slightly worse for wear. "What the fuck are you doing, making such a racket at four in the fucking morning?" His voice sounds strained as if he'd just woken up and his face is screwed in annoyance as he points at the provincial-style clock hanging on the wall for emphasis. 

Y/N hesitates, she knew telling Harry his movie choice had kept her awake would not end well, "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you or anything." At this, he scoffs, "didn't mean to wake me, huh? Turning on every fuckin’ light and slammin’ cupboards will usually do that to a person." 

Now Harry knows he's being mean, can hear the way his accent thickens with annoyance and can see how she flinches with every raised decibel, and it makes him pause some. He realises there’s more than likely a reasonable explanation as to why she’s awake at such an hour. He's a dick, but he's not a bloody monster, and as he sees her eyes well up with tears, he decides his anger can be put on the backburner.

 "Why are you even awake?" At the softened tone in his voice, Y/N seems to visibly relax some but still remains tense. "I, um, I really hate horror movies, and I was scared, and I couldn't sleep." He sighs, and his voice lowers even more, "Is that why all the lights are on?" She nod's sheepishly, "why didn't you say anythin'? You were the first to bloody agree to watch the movie." 

"You already hate me enough, I didn't want to give you another reason!" Harry's not sure why his chest slightly aches at that, because if he's honest, she's right, he doesn't really like her at all. As soon as she’d walked through the door and up the stairs to get sorted in her new room, he'd approached Mitch. He'd even made a proper scene, asking why she had to quarantine with them. Mitch had defended her, pointing out that everyone else liked her perfectly fine so far, which Harry supposes was a part of his problem with her. He had made sure she knew of his distaste too, barely even paying her mind, and only doing so to mock her. 

So why it felt like his heart was cracking just slightly, he'll never know, but it does lead him to walk towards her slowly, "I can't really sleep either, did you want to watch tv with me until you can?" If Harry was truthful, he'd actually been sleeping like a baby before he heard the cupboard doors shut slightly above acceptable volume considering the time. However, the way her mouth pouted somewhat, and her eyes misted as she acknowledged his dislike for her made him feel awful. 

So as he sits on the couch with her, now donned with his own steaming cup of hot chocolate, he leaves the lights on and gives her his favourite blanket to wrap herself in. He sits on the opposite side of the couch and tries his hardest not to fall asleep, so Y/N could feel somewhat protected.

After a few episodes of 'SpongeBob' had played he looks over to the other side of the sofa and sees Y/N fast asleep, snoring with her head tilted at a slightly unnatural angle. He can't help the smile that finds its way onto his face, as he turns off the television and settles himself further into the couch to hopefully catch a few hours of sleep too. 

——

To say Y/N is confused would be an understatement. While she wasn't expecting to wake up to Harry presenting a friendship bracelet and a new found love for her, she was expecting him to at least stop hating her.

She was surprised at his kindness last night. She knows Harry gave her his favourite blanket. Jeff was always griping on movie nights because Harry manages to nab it before Jeff has the chance and although he claimed he couldn't sleep, Harry's croaky voice and dishevelled hair led her to believe he was in fact lying.

She definitely hadn't expected him to offer to watch cartoons with her. She also definitely had not expected to wake in the middle of the night to find herself pressed against him with his arms tightly wrapped around her.

 Y/N briefly considered moving back to her side of the couch, but if she was being entirely truthful, she missed cuddling. It was one of her favourite things about being in a relationship, and ever since her last one had crashed and burned, she missed the simple feeling of being held. So in her sleep-muddled state, she decided to stay put and hope Harry was as avid a cuddler as she was.  

To be honest, after all that, she thought he'd at least start to acknowledge her existence, or at least not act as if it was the bane of his. However, when Y/N awakes the next day, Harry is in the kitchen with Jeff and Sarah, debating on where to start their tour when quarantine ends. He moves animatedly and is clearly laughing and joking about as he usually does with the other occupants of the house. But when she enters, he instantly stops talking and instead puts his head down, seemingly very focused on shovelling his pancakes into his mouth. 

Y/N hopes, with every part of her being, that he didn't wake up feeling disgusted by her unconscious affection, but she knew it was a real possibility. And suddenly it feels like she had taken one step forward and two giant steps back.

So yes, Y/N is understandably confused. 

——

When Harry had woken up overheated, and with a stifling sense of claustrophobia, he was understandably confused. As he opens his eyes, he recognises the living room's shaggy carpet and cream walls; however, it takes him a few seconds to process why he was actually here rather than in his own bedroom.

The pressure against his chest causes him to startle some, and when he looks down to see Y/N still huddled under his favourite blanket but now pressed against him rather than the opposite end of the couch, the feeling doesn't fade but instead escalates.

How did they end up in this position? Harry knew he was a cuddler, any past lover would be able to tell you that, but that was usually with people he... liked? Why the fuck was she on top of him?

He can just see the side of her face, while the other looks to be uncomfortably pressed against him. Her hair no longer resembles the bun she usually goes to sleep with but a nest upon her head, and what looks like dried drool is smeared across the corner of her rosy lips. 

Harry can admit she's cute. In a puppy that's just been kicked kind of way. He feels compelled to brush the strands of hair away from her face and wipe the spit away with the hem of his shirt, but Y/N moving in her sleep draws his focus away. He sees his lanky legs tangled with hers and for the first time notices his arms also wrapped around her, keeping her close. 

While a half-asleep Y/N is clearly trying to change her position, his gangly limbs keep her from doing so. And Harry panics. He should not be cuddling with Y/N of all people. Instantly and as gently as possible, he rolls her off him and stands from the couch, only to hear a muffled groan of opposition from the sleeping girl. 

Harry was confused, to say the least. He knows it's not a big deal. Two, friends? No. Acquaintances? Hm nope, 'roommates?'... had fallen asleep next to each other on the couch and woken up slightly tangled. It wouldn't be that much of an issue if the last person Harry had woken up next to hadn't been the ex-girlfriend he was very much still broken-hearted because of. Don't get him wrong, it had felt nice to be close to someone again, but perhaps that's the reason why Harry begins to panic even more. 

So, Harry folds up the blanket he had been using, walks to the toilet and convinces himself not to think of it again. And it's also for this reason, that Harry can't seem to look Y/N in the eye as she walks into the kitchen. He knows she's looking at him in confusion, and he feels slightly guilty, but what was he supposed to do? Greet her with a cuddle and ask if she'd slept as well as he did? No, Harry would act like nothing had happened, and pray that a problem wouldn't arise from that.

But of course, Harry should have known better. 

——

Y/N was quite the baker. She had worked a few summers in her Aunties little bakery and had loved it, but even with her passion and keen eye for icing cakes, there was only so much sweet treat making she could do. She was more participating in copious amounts of isolation baking to please poor Sarah, who was struggling with boredom, and who also happened to love sweets. 

So, whenever Sarah would run into her room with a new suggestion, or send her a link to a 'totally awesome' muffin recipe, Y/N would simply bite her tongue and help gather the ingredients. They had already managed to make cupcakes, banana bread, chocolate chip cookies and cheesecake. So when a new recipe comes through while Y/N reads her book in front of the pool, she wonders what other baked goods could even possibly exist for them to make. 

Alas, macarons. Y/N sighed and walked to the kitchen, where she knew Sarah would be preparing their ingredients. "Hey bug, ready to bake the best macarons ever?" On the inside, Y/N started dramatically weeping, but on the outside, she exclaims, "sure am! These might be a bit more difficult than anything we've tried though." Sarah scoffs, "oh please, we're up for the challenge." 

It's then Y/N notices Harry sitting at the island bench, and he catches her staring, "what? 'M bored." She only nods in response, not really one for conflict. "Are you helping us cook? We could use an extra hand." Y/N kind of hopes he'd say yes, maybe a bit of cooperative, team bonding would mend whatever weird rift they had between them. 

However, Harry screws up his nose at her suggestion as if what she had said was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Before he has the chance to snarkily reply to her, Sarah butts in, "Harry actually used to be a baker! Didn't you H." Harry can see Y/N's eyes light up and knows that whatever comes out of her mouth next, he was more than likely going to despise. "I used to work in a bakery too!"

Now, if there was an award for sarcasm, Y/N's sure Harry would probably win it. When he pulls his lips into an over-exaggerated smile and says, "twinnies!" with such derision that it burns, Y/N's smile falls. She didn't know what his problem was. Had it really bothered him that much that they'd accidentally cuddled in their sleep? Who had hurt the poor guy so much that a simple night-time spoon was the be-all or end-all? 

She really hadn't meant it, guessed she'd missed sleeping next to a warm body and naturally gravitated towards him. She liked a good cuddle, for fuck's sake, who didn't? If she could turn back time, she would've stayed in bed, wracked with fear if it meant she wouldn't have to deal with Harry's bullshit.

Rather than responding, Y/N puts her head down and begins to read the instructions Sarah had helpfully printed out. Harry is about to make a snide comment, praying that her baking abilities have improved since the carrot cake she had attempted to make, but he gets distracted by the way the afternoon sun is hitting her skin. 

Was Y/N kind of attractive? For the first time, he notices that while she had similar features to his ex, Y/N was pretty on her own accord. 

While often messy, her hair looked so soft, and her eyes were wide and held a sense of innocence. If Harry looked close enough, he could see the tiny acne spots she hadn't bothered to cover and the small bags under her eyes. He briefly wonders if she'd been getting enough sleep and if he had any of the 'sleepy-time' tea left that had worked so well for him before he realises what he was thinking. 

This was Y/N, not Elle, not some chick he'd been fucking, it was Y/N. Maybe he was just confused about his feelings. That was the first time he'd slept next to someone in a while. And well, Y/N was an admittedly pretty girl, and Harry was an admittedly lonely guy who was attracted to pretty girls…

Yeh, there was nothing for him to worry about. 

Y/N mistakes Harry's staring as a glare and does her best to avoid looking at him. She didn't want him to see the well of tears in her eyes and give him the satisfaction. By now, she knew he had meant to upset her, and he had succeeded. 

It was a shame, he really was an attractive guy. Y/N is fully aware that if she'd seen him at a bar, acting the way he did with Sarah and the guys, she'd be instantly in love. She imagines him at school years ago, he probably would’ve been the guy that everyone developed a crush on at least once, boys and girls alike, and has no doubt he probably knew it too. 

Unfortunately, Y/N had not met him in a way akin to a romantic novel. No, she only knew him as an ass who tended to treat her like the dirt stuck to the treads of his overpriced shoes. The only thing Y/N could do was just try her best to ignore him. 

——

As it turns out, Y/N was right, macarons were a lot harder than anything Sarah, and she had previously tried to make. Y/N was tired, frustrated and too sweaty for simply baking glorified cookies. The macarons had taken so long to make, and worst of all, the first batch had come out of the oven flat and stiff as a board. Sarah had pulled out the tray as Y/N was beginning to wash the bowls with a hesitant, "are they supposed to be flat?" 

Turns out they were not supposed to be flat at all. Y/N tried to hide her distaste as she chewed through one of the shells, but when she saw Sarah's face mirroring hers, she giggled. Harry, who had been sitting at the bench, completing a crossword puzzle, also laughed, "guess you aren't as good at baking as you thought you were." 

Y/N would be offended, but notices he's mainly talking to Sarah, and his jesting tone suggests he's not even acknowledging her. "Here, try one. They aren't that bad," Sarah hands him one and he huffs before taking a bite, "better not poison me. You'll have millions of fans to answer to." 

As he chews, it’s apparent that he's not particularly enjoying it. After a hefty swallow, he tugs at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as if in deep thought. "These are single-handedly the worst macarons I've ever had in my entire life. And I say that with absolute confidence." 

While Sarah scoffs and laughs, admonishing Harry with a gentle slap on his arm, Y/N is entirely distracted. She had never seen anyone else with the same habit as her ex. Ben would tug at his bottom lip when deep in thought, and there Harry was, exhibiting the exact same habit. She was astonished, and she hates to admit it, but small butterflies form in the pit of her stomach. She always had, for some unknown reason found it an oddly attractive trait.

While others might be attracted to muscles or deep dimples, Y/N found the little quirks of others most captivating. She loved the drunken ramblings and the uncontrollable tears during sad films. She loved watching people discover their favourite song and the way they would sing under their breath. She loved the unmade beds, dust-covered books, and overwatered plants. She loved the way people would stutter on certain words or adopt weird nicknames they had heard in their favourite movies. She loved pet peeves and the stories behind them and the routines that they followed. Y/N had always loved people. She loved the things that made individuals uniquely them, and this quirk that Harry shared with Ben, was no different. 

If he notices her staring, he doesn't draw attention to it, only continues to banter with Sarah, while Y/N stands in the middle of the kitchen, lost in thought. It’s Sarah's voice that draws her out of her reverie, "c'mon Y/N let's try another batch. I want to surprise Mitch for movie night, he loves these things."

——

This movie-night, Y/N wanted to make sure she would be able to sleep at the end of it, and for that reason, horror movies were off the table- much to Harry's dismay. Sarah, Mitch and Jeff, readily agreed, and after some pushing from Jeff and the girls, everyone agreed to watch a rom-com. The question was which one. 

As Sarah scrolls through the movie selections, 'Clueless' catches Y/N’s eye, and she immediately yells out the suggestion with vivid excitement and is promptly met with... silence. "Guys? Clueless is icon-" Y/N starts, only to be interrupted by none other than Harry, "'s a shit movie, we aren't watching it." Before Y/N can object, Sarah comes to her defence, "oi H, don't be an asshole. We know it was Elle's favourite, don't need to take it out on poor Y/N."

While Y/N prides herself on being understanding and kind, she knows she can be a tad oblivious to what's going on around her at times. She had tried to pick up on it when she noticed it and improve because it had indeed gotten her into some awful situations. And if only Y/N had paid a bit more attention to the situation around her, she may not have spat out her next words. She may have noticed Harry's misty eyes and pursed lips, Sarah's empathetic gaze towards him, Mitch's awkward glance in Harry's direction and Jeff's head buried in his hands. Alas, she didn't.

 "Who's Elle?"  

Silence. Y/N is met with nothing but silence. After a while, she can vaguely hear Jeff letting out the breath of air he had clearly been holding in, and Mitch's mumbled "oh god" under his breath, but she was much too focused on Harry's gaze that was now piercing into hers. "None of your business," he gets out through gritted teeth. 

Y/N is somewhat taken aback, she can clearly see that whoever Elle was, she was a sensitive topic for Harry and immediately tries to backtrack. "Oh, um I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" For the second time that night, Harry interrupts her. "Does anyone want popcorn? We forgot to get some." He stands from the couch, now avoiding Y/N's gaze altogether, and she looks around the room to try and gauge the situation. 

The only one in the room paying her any notice is Sarah, who shares the same empathetic look with her that she had given Harry not two minutes ago. Sarah mouths ‘ex-girlfriend' at Y/N, and it's safe to say she feels awful. While she didn't particularly like Harry, she would never intentionally hurt anyone, and she makes the snap decision to follow him, in order to apologise to him properly. 

When she enters the kitchen, Harry is leaning on the counter facing away from her. His shoulders seem tense, and his hair is dishevelled as if he'd been continuously running his fingers through it.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring up such a sensitive topic." At her voice, Harry's shoulders seem to hunch further, and he turns around while taking a deep breath, "just drop it yeah? Think you've done enough." 

Y/N didn't think that was fair. She really hadn't known, and if she had, she wouldn't have even thought of mentioning it. "I didn't know Harry. I won't bring her up again." Y/N had grown familiar with the way Harry's accent thickened sometimes. It happened when he was tired or bored. It was most frequently when he was angry, which seemed to be a common occurrence when she was concerned, and now was no exception. "No shit, stop stickin' your nose into other people's business." 

In any other circumstance, Harry might have noticed the way Y/N's eyes instantly started to water, or how she'd retreated and hunched slightly into herself in submission. Harry had noted she was a sensitive little thing, and while he often tried to get on her nerves, when he saw her nose twitch and eyes mist up, he knew to back off. But currently, he could only see red, and the fact Y/N had made no attempt to move, made his fury run even more rampant through his veins. “Fuck off Y/N, I'm not kiddin'. Go back to the living room." 

"But Harry, I-" Y/N attempts to get out, but Harry's raised voice causes her to immediately stop. "I said, fuck off!" At that, Y/N snaps. For weeks, she had been doing nothing but try to please Harry, but there was just no pleasing him. He was arrogant, apathetic to everyone around him, pretentious, stubborn and worst of all, just plain rude. 

"You're a real asshole, you know that. I understand you're upset, and I'm sorry I caused it, but you don't need to treat me like shit,” she sniffles. “I have tried so fucking hard to get on your good side, but I'm done trying. It's time for you to wake up and realise not everyone is going to hurt you like precious Elle clearly did." Y/N expects Harry to do many different things, she prepares for him to begin screaming, perhaps start crying? She briefly wonders if he would go so far as to push her out of the way and storm out of the room. 

Although, one prospect she didn’t consider was for him to start laughing. "Oh Jesus pet, you think you're that special? You think you can even begin to be compared to her? Think I'm scared you'll.. what? Break my heart?" As he continued to speak, the sound of his voice grew as did his rage. The veins on the side of his neck only became more pronounced, and the crease in his brow caused his whole face to contort. 

The increase in volume had caused an audience to gather. Jeff, Sarah and Mitch stand in the kitchen entrance helplessly watching the two rip into each other. Mitch is the first to step in, "Harry c'mon, that's enough." 

"Fuck off Mitch, stay out of it." He turns back to Y/N, "please, sweetheart, save yourself the heartbreak. Have you ever considered that maybe I just don't like you? You're fucking annoying, and your pathetic attempts to get me to like you are even more so. What were you hoping would come from it? I'd ignore the fact you grate on my nerves 24/7 and pay you a bit of attention? Maybe even get you off once or twice? Is that it?"

Sarah is next to attempt to break up the fight, "Y/N don't bother, Harry's just upset."

It took a lot to get Y/N mad. She was usually calm, maybe a bit emotional, but very rarely did she raise her voice. But Harry, with his constant grouching and aggressive nature, had pushed her well and truly past that point. "Save it, Sarah. Are you fucking serious Harry? I was just trying to be a nice person. I'm not sure how to tell you this, but not everybody is trying to get into your pants. Guess you'd be so used to girls throwing themselves at you until they have a fucking conversation with you and see what a dick you actually are." 

He snarls at that, "trust me pet, they're proper gaggin' for it." Y/N scrunches her nose in disgust, "You're fucking disgus-" The quietest of the group is the next to interrupt. "Oh for fucks sake, both of you, shut up!" 

Jeff was usually quietly spoken and hardly ever lost his temper, he was similar to Y/N in that regard. As Harry's manager, he had formed a close relationship with the green-eyed boy over the past few years, and not once had Harry ever heard Jeff raise his voice. So when Jeff yells, even Harry knows it's time to back off. He stays quiet and instead gives Y/N one last lingering glare before retreating upstairs to the safety of his room. 

Y/N can't help but burst into tears. She hated conflict, and would usually avoid it at all costs, but Harry deserved to be put in his place a bit. Immediately, Sarah is at her side, attempting to console her, but it only makes her cry harder. Y/N feels pathetic, she hated crying in front of people, and Jeff and Mitch's lost stares were not helping the situation. Sarah follows Y/N's eye line, "can you both get out for a bit?" Both boys all but run out of the kitchen. Now that they were alone, Y/N allows herself to really cry, hoping a good sobbing session would clear her thoughts and emotions from the situation. 

——

Harry was sad. He was not going to say he was always sad, because, in actual fact, Harry was happy a lot of the time. He could admit he had a good life, filled with love, happiness and fun, but there were some times when joy felt more like a mirage to him, something unattainable. 

And maybe it just wasn’t for him, maybe true happiness wasn’t in his cards. 

He was someone who quickly became obsessed, found solace and comfort in certain things. Sometimes so much so it became a flaw, something he felt he would die if he lived without, and one of those was Elle. 

It used to be his mum, then music, then Niall, then Mitch, then Elle and then... nothing. Harry hadn’t found something or someone he felt he could rely on entirely since her. It seemed now he only had himself, and in his mind, that was a potentially dangerous thing. His mum was miles away, Mitch found his own solace with Sarah, Elle had left him, and Harry had never felt so alone. 

Isolation made it worse, he couldn’t distract himself with performing anymore, with drinking his body weight in alcohol or finding pretty girls who looked eerily similar to his ex, to spend a few hours with. So often he found himself uncontrollably crying, alone in bed. Harry never felt shame in crying, but there was something particularly mortifying about being loved by millions of people worldwide, yet still sobbing into his pillow because his girlfriend had broken up with him. Not only dumped him but had cheated on, destroyed him and ripped his heart into little shreds. 

And that’s where Harry was now. Lying in bed, his pillowcase wet with tears, eyes stinging and red, his cheeks stained and raw from his constant rubbing at them, and his back aching from the occasional sob pulling at the already taut muscles. 

Harry just needed a hug. He needed someone to tell him it was okay, that things would work out because at this point he honestly didn’t know himself. 

——

The next few days in the house are hell. Not just for Harry and Y/N but for everyone stuck isolating in the space. Y/N and Harry refused to talk to each other, only sharing pointed glares. Harry does all he can to piss her off, without ever having to say a word. While out for his regular morning walk to buy coffee, he purposely 'forgets' Y/N's. When it was his night to cook, he plays the English rap that he knew she hated at full volume, while making prawn pasta. Which really wouldn't have been an issue, if Y/N wasn't bloody allergic to seafood. While he claimed to not know, Y/N saw through him. Just the week before she had refused to eat lunch when Jeff had made tuna sandwiches and had clearly explained why. 

Y/N tried not to let it bother her and instead did everything she could to avoid him. When he'd come home with everyone's regular coffee order but hers, she exclaimed she "preferred homemade!" and brewed her own cup. She put in headphones and shut her door in an attempt to drown out the crap he called music. And when Harry had placed a massive bowl of steaming pasta that she couldn't fucking eat in front of her, Y/N smiled and ordered pizza instead. 

Mitch struggled through the week, staying as quiet as he usually was. If he was honest, he wished he was just quarantining with Sarah. He loved Harry but also knew that he could be a dick when he wanted to be. So despite Harry's constant prodding for him to join in on shit-talking Y/N, Mitch tried to stay out of it. 

Sarah spent the days keeping Y/N company. She felt slightly guilty that she had invited her to spend isolation stuck in a house with what happened to be the only person Sarah had ever met, who hated Y/N. Instead, she listened to her rant when Harry couldn't overhear. She baked cookies with her, and they sang shitty pop music at the top of their lungs whenever Harry decided to blast his music.  

Once again, Jeff surprised everyone. While they were used to his calming and genuine presence by now, no one expected him to play peacekeeper. Harry supposes he should've seen it coming, being his manager for four years, meant the guy had to have some kind of problem-solving skills. So Harry promptly nicknames Jeff, 'Switzerland' and despite his denials, Harry knew Jeff secretly loved it. 

Jeff spends the next few days quietly talking to all the other house members like some sort of pseudo spy. And finally, after three long days of combat, by some miracle, convinces both Harry and Y/N to talk out their issues and apologise. 

At first, both Y/N and Jeff agreed he should be in the room to mediate, but upon the request of Harry, he was waiting just outside the door, waiting for any sign of a fight, to run in and play referee. 

So that led them here, with Harry sitting on one end of the couch, oozing with confidence while actually being a mess on the inside, and Y/N on the other, nervously picking at the hem of her jumper. 

Harry is the first to speak, "look Y/N I'm sorry. You were right, Elle's a bit of a sore spot for me, and I overreacted." She nods in acknowledgement before speaking herself, "yeh, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have pried like I did.” He nods along, still somewhat convinced he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. 

It’s the next question that makes Harry’s blood turn cold, “I just… I just need to ask why? What did I do for you to not like me? It started before last night. Before I mentioned… her.” Y/N scoots around the heartbreaker’s name.  

She watches as Harry bites his lip in what looked like deliberation before he replies, a deep sigh sitting on his pretty lips. “I don’t know. I know that’s a shitty thing to say, I treated you like shit for weeks, but it’s true. I just don’t know.” 

Y/N’s taken aback. Weeks of torture, hatred and tears and he couldn’t even tell her why he’d acted the way he did. “Harry, you can’t be serious. There must be something! You... you were so mean.” 

Y/N watches as tears well in his eyes, and she briefly wonders if she shouldn’t have pushed the topic. “I don’t know, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He lashes out, once again, his anger getting the best of him. 

Y/N throws her hands up in defeat, “I don’t know what you want from me, Harry. I’m trying here I really am, but you won’t give me anything. What do you want me to do?” 

“I know you are,” he all but chokes out. Harry didn’t know how to express himself, a million thoughts were running rampant through his mind, and he felt like if he were to try and speak, he’d have to spend hours detangling each thought from the other like shitty Christmas lights. He takes another deep sigh. He had to try, he knew it wasn’t fair to Y/N. And well, Harry wasn’t exactly happy either, maybe it would help to tell someone how he felt. 

“It’s just when I look at you... I see her. I see her in the clothes you wear and the way you laugh. You look the same for fucks sake, give me the same doe-eyed look and.. she never apologised. Never said a word, I found her in bed with my… with my best mate, and she just fucking left,” he cries out. “And when I first saw you, and you gave me that fuckin’ look I just... I just got so angry.” Harry’s face briefly scrunches in frustration, but it’s quickly overcome with grief. 

He begins to cry harder, his shoulders racking with sobs and Y/N doesn’t know what to do. She sits helplessly, watching the man she very much despised breaking down in front of her, crying previously unshed tears with his head in his hands. 

What was she supposed to do? She wasn’t going to say it was alright because it wasn’t. But god, he looks so pitiful, and Y/N knows what it’s like to have a shitty ex. She knows how painful it is to see them again after they’ve just broken your heart, knows how hard it can be to feel completely, totally and 100% betrayed by someone you loved. 

It wasn’t okay, and Y/N doesn’t know if it ever will be, but seeing Harry, the stubborn, prideful man she’d come to know, breaking down in front of her, well Y/N can hardly stand it. 

So she does the first thing she can think of, the one thing that made her feel better after her own breakup. 

She hugs him. 

She feels him tense up in her arms and for a brief second, Y/N wonders if he’s going to push her away, but instead, he relaxes. Even goes so far as to push into her slightly, allowing himself to rest his head against her chest, with her arms around him like a tantrum-throwing toddler. 

Harry can’t remember the last time he was hugged. Maybe by his mum before the pandemic, probably in a similar situation, crying over Elle in a pathetic attempt to find comfort in anything that wasn’t her arms. 

Harry had returned to LA to record three songs, “it would be two to three weeks max,” Jeff had assured him. But now he was fucking stuck here, in the same place he lived with her, heartbroken in a house with people he loved, but unfortunately would never talk about Elle with. 

Harry missed London. He missed him mum, his sister, the pubs and the tube. He missed hanging out with more mates than he could count, his little writing studio and his cat. Harry missed his own bedroom, his candles that he forgot to pack and his own record collection. Harry missed walking to the little cafe a few streets from his house, he missed the snow. 

But Harry especially missed Elle. 

He missed her cuddles and her sweet little kisses. He missed the way her nose scrunched when he tried to kiss her in public. He missed her laugh and her awful cooking. He missed her book recommendations and her screaming to pop music on the radio. Fuck, he even missed her screaming at him. 

And what a way to make his longing worse, being stuck with the dead ringer of his ex-girlfriend, only to find she was nothing like Elle, which Harry almost hated more. 

Y/N wouldn’t yell at him when he got angry but rather cry, her tears always sending a sharp pain to his chest. And Y/N didn’t pretend nothing worried her or upset her, she was open and honest. When Harry hurt her, he knew, not because she ignored him or called him a prat. No, he knew because she told him, even if it was with tears streaming down her face and a few “assholes” mixed in there. Y/N didn’t call Harry’s hobbies stupid, she liked them too, even had her own silly ones herself. She enjoyed baking, doing puzzles, and reading out loud to herself. She liked Disney movies and hated horror and loved cider but not beer. 

And Harry found himself not hating her at all, but rather himself. Because somehow, within his heartbreak, he had managed to become attracted to someone who looked and acted exactly like his ex on the surface but was someone completely different in every other way. He couldn’t treat her like Elle, couldn’t pretend she’d hurt him just as bad, and he knew that.

No, Y/N was a completely new risk and a new potential heartbreak. Harry was terrified, and this new territory that at first felt so familiar, made his chest ache and his tummy flutter, so he avoided it altogether. Pushed her away before anything could even happen at all, for his own good, to protect a heart that couldn’t take being broken again.

The two of them sat there for what felt like hours. Until Harry’s sobs slowed themselves down, and he was only shivering and sniffling quietly. Y/N continued to hold him, it seemed like he just really needed to be held.

Elle had clearly broken his heart, and Y/N knew that a part of healing was letting this anger and emotion run rampant. So she stayed put, allowing him to just sit in the sadness, and allow himself to feel a little bit of hope that everything would work out eventually. 

“It’s okay Harry. It’s going to be okay.” 

——

Y/N wasn’t sure this was a good idea. How could it be? Not even a few days ago, she and Harry couldn’t stand being in the same room as each other, and now they were alone in a car, on their way to the grocery store. It all felt too domestic.

But this was Harry, and she definitely shouldn’t be worried about the state of her car, or how to subtly remove the McDonalds wrapping on the floor in front of his feet. Just as Harry, after being handed the aux cord, probably shouldn’t have spent half the journey wondering if she liked the song that was playing and looking out of the corner of his eye to judge whether he should skip it or not. 

But here they were, walking on eggshells around each other. Hoping they both wouldn’t do something to accidentally piss off the other. 

If you’d told Harry a week ago that he would be on the way to the grocery store with Y/N by his side, he probably would’ve laughed and faked a gag. But Harry was actually the one who had suggested the trip, much to the surprise of not only Y/N but the rest of the housemates. 

They hadn’t exactly addressed his breakdown, but it seemed they’d both come to a mutual understanding to try and put the past behind them. Harry considered himself lucky, he knew he had caused and furthered the rift in their friendship, and it was because of this he knew he had to put more effort into building the trust between them back up. 

So, when Y/N was recounting the ingredients for the dinner she was planning on making, Harry had asked if she’d just come to save him remembering the long list. Y/N’s first thought was she could probably just write it down for him before she realised he was actually trying to be nice. And that was more than she could say for the last month of her living with him, so she agreed.

The grocery store was busy, filled with impatient mothers and fun-drunk teens, and Y/N was having trouble pushing the cart through the throngs of people. Harry was walking ahead of her, too preoccupied with his list (and she supposes himself) to notice her struggle and she’s never been one to ask for help. So instead tries her best to avoid the ankles of other shoppers and attempts to keep up with the cracking pace Harry had set. 

It’s only when he turns around to find her ten feet behind him, does Harry acknowledge her, his eyebrows pinched in annoyance, “what’s taking you so bloody long?” To say Y/N was taken aback would be an understatement. After everything, he’d manage to stay friendly for what, half a day?

“Excuse me? Doing so well at being friendly Harry, might want to pull it back, before I get the wrong impression.” 

Maybe it was Y/N’s sarcastic words that pulled Harry back, or perhaps he realised himself, but he really hadn't meant to be rude. At first, it was more of a joke, but he guessed that he’d become so accustomed to being snarky with Y/N, it’d come out a lot more maliciously than he’d intended.

“Fuck, what? No- I didn’t mean it like that. I was tryin’ to joke, but it came out wron- Fuck! I’m sorry, okay?” Somewhere in the middle of Harry’s rambling, Y/N starts to giggle. While she had taken it the wrong way, she was mature enough to understand she’d simply interpreted it wrong. 

“Harry relax, look like you're about to pass out. Sorry I took it the wrong way,” she shrugs, “now, where are the pickles? I’ve been craving them for weeks.” Harry’s slightly taken aback, he’d never met someone who could put an extremely valid argument behind them with such ease. 

Harry wouldn’t have blamed Y/N if she’d gotten angry with him, stomped her feet, made a fuss and yelled in his face, after all, he had spoken to her like a prick. But just like that, she had defused the argument and made Harry feel better instantly, even though he was in the wrong. Nonetheless, he follows her through the isles, making sure to help her steer the trolley when the crowd was busiest. 

Harry had actually started to enjoy himself on this trip, he wasn’t going to lie. Y/N had an easy going way about her that he hadn’t really bothered to notice before. It made it easy to chat about nonsensical things, including Harry’s first dog and his preferred brand of nail polish while they peruse the aisles. He was doing all he could to make sure the rest of the trip didn’t contain any silly arguments like the one that had almost sparked just ten minutes before, and he believes he was doing a good job. 

After stopping by the fruit aisle for some cherries (they were in season, and there was no way Y/N was missing out on the tiny period they were in season for, even if they were ridiculously overpriced,) they reach the aisle that contains pickles. Finally, Y/N had been craving them for weeks, and nothing could stop her now, not even the fact that they were on the top shelf. Y/N’s brows pinch in annoyance, who put pickles that high up anyway? 

She halfheartedly sticks her hand in the air, her fingers barely brushing against the bottom of the jar before looking behind her, watching Harry laughing at her struggle. “Are you going to help me or just keep that smug smile on your face?” 

This makes Harry’s smirk upturn even more, turning into a full boyish grin, dimples and all. “Say please sweetheart, and I might just consider it.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, “please,” and although it is sarcastic and hardly genuine Harry takes it, walking over and reaching for the last jar of pickles. 

What happens next could be blamed on many different factors; the humidity in the supermarket being higher than the average store, it could be blamed on Harry’s sweaty fingers or maybe even the worker who decided to put them on the top shelf in the first place. 

Whatever the fault, Harry grabs the container and almost delivers it safely to the cart, until it slips from his grip and instead ends in a puddle of shattered glass, stray pickles and dripping juice. And of fucking course it’s the last jar, and of fucking course it’s Harry who drops it, right in front of the girl who’s been craving them for so long. 

Harry is almost scared to look up at Y/N’s face, knowing he was more than likely going to be met with a pouting, red, furious mix. She really had been talking about the fucking pickles for weeks, and after both Jeff and Sarah had forgotten to get them in the last two shopping trips, he can imagine her desperation.

It’s as if time was working in slow motion, Harry sees the residue pickle juice dripping from the handle of the shopping trolley, can feel his sock getting progressively wetter as the liquid seeps into his canvas sneaker. And Harry immediately starts to apologise, “fuck I’m so sorr-“ but is interrupted by Y/N manically laughing. Well, he had expected a lot of different reactions, but he hadn’t expected… laughter?

“How did that even happen,” she gets out through her laughter, “you’re an idiot!” Harry can’t help but join in. He was covered in pickle juice, and in hindsight, the situation was pretty funny. “Oi, ‘s not my fault the jar was more slippery than the average.” This only makes Y/N cackle harder, holding her stomach as though it was hurting. 

“Hold on, I’ll get something to clean it up.” As Harry watches Y/N walk away, probably to find a worker, he can’t help but think again how different Y/N was from Elle. Harry distinctly remembers shopping with her one Christmas and accidentally dropping the last box of red and white candy canes (what can he say, he can be a right clutz.) She had been shaking with fury, voice dripping with poison as she asked Harry why he was “such a fucking idiot?” He guesses she was stressed because of the time of the year, but Harry had always hated her vicious temper, which Y/N apparently lacked. 

Harry had only really seen Y/N angry or upset until now, but he could safely assume that was of his own doing. When they were getting along, she seemed to make him feel better without even trying. She could laugh despite herself, and poke fun at Harry without feeling like she was actually reprimanding him for something, and Harry, well he hadn’t really experienced that before.

Harry sees Y/N returning, with what looks to be a less than impressed worker following behind her. That is until she sees Harry standing there in all his six-foot glory, covered in pickle juice. 

She seemed to be around 20, with blonde hair braided into two plaits that sat around her neck. She had bright green eyes, and if she was a little older, Harry probably would have said she was cute. And by the looks of it, she would’ve revelled in such treatment, when she approaches Harry with a, “I’m so sorry, Mr Styles!” Harry waves off the apology, he had been the one to drop the pickles anyway. “No worries love, ‘m sorry bout’ the mess.” 

It’s like her eyes brighten two shades at the pet name as she begins to sweep up the broken glass, blushing as she does, “oh don’t even worry! Can see you made a mess of yourself as well.” Y/N can’t help but laugh, was she actually trying to flirt with a pickle stained Harry? He catches Y/N laughing behind the worker and grins, “sure did. I’m a bit of a clutz sometimes.” 

Now, Harry knew that his personality was very likeable, he was easy to talk to, and he wasn’t exactly bad to look at, so he was somewhat used to casual flirting. Who was he to pull up someone trying to shoot their shot? Usually, he preferred to go along with it, stay polite and at the end of the interaction, cut the conversation before anything serious came of it. And the girl (Hannah, according to her name tag) standing in front of him, cleaning his mess, was no exception. 

“Can see that,” she winks. Actually, fucking winks and Harry can’t help but feel slightly smug, his presumption had clearly been correct. He doesn’t see the harm in playing along, “oh can you? Thought customer service was all about being nice to the customer,” he teases lightly. Hannah giggles flirtatiously and if Harry thought she was blushing before, his effect on her is multiplied. “I’m nice, I promise!” 

Y/N almost gags, she hated PDA at the best of times, but to see them both drooling over each other made her feel sick to her stomach. Harry’s smooth reply does nothing to quell her nausea, “mhm, I bet.” Y/N would literally rather walk home than be subjected to this torture any longer. “Okay! Thanks again for being so understanding, c’mon Harry, we better get going.” 

Harry thanks the server again, giving her a small wave and a cheeky grin as he follows Y/N to the counter to check out their items. “Really, Harry? She looked about 15 years younger than you.” Harry scoffs, “fifteen years?! You think she was twelve, do you? How old do you think I am?” 

Y/N doesn’t hesitate to respond, “old enough to know better than to flirt with someone so young.” 

He couldn’t believe she was pulling this. Harry was a flirty person naturally! He never meant anything by it, and very well knew when it was appropriate and when it definitely wasn’t. He didn’t see how a little friendly conversation could hurt in this situation. “Oh please, she was at least twenty, and I was hardly flirtin’” As the worker is scanning their items, Y/N is packing them into the reusable shopping bags. “Still gross.” 

Was Y/N jealous? For a second, Harry felt the frustration swim through his veins like poison, but the knowledge of Y/N potentially acting out of envy acts as an antidote. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous lovey.” It was Y/N’s turn to scoff. If she’s honest, she’s not sure why the sight of Harry flirting with the server annoyed her so much. She was young, but Harry was right, she was very clearly of age and also stunning. 

Maybe it was the fact she hadn’t acknowledged Y/N with more than an eye roll but readily grovelled at Harry’s feet. It could’ve been leftover frustration from the pickles she would have to hold out from for another week. Or maybe it was that she didn’t like him calling someone else ‘love.’ Perhaps she was just frustrated that it had taken her months for Harry to be civil with her, but had taken ‘Hannah’ all but five minutes. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like the pit in her stomach or the tingling in the tips of her fingers. “Not a chance, Harry.” 

Harry just smiled in response, while Y/N felt waves of negative emotions rolling through her, he felt butterflies erupting from the pit of his tummy, a small fluttering reaching all the way to his heart. Harry was ready to admit, Y/N’s jealousy made him happy. He was a narcissist; that he knew, and a pretty girl getting frustrated that his attention wasn’t purely focused on her, made his vain little heart soar. 

This little shopping expedition had given both of them huge revelations. Harry realised, the thought of Y/N being jealous over him made him extremely happy, and maybe even gave him some new spank bank material? Y/N realised that while she and Harry could be civil, it didn’t mean they didn’t know the exact places to poke and prod at each other to cause a reaction. 

——

It was Y/N's turn to pick a card, and although she'd initially been hesitant to play this game, she could admit she was having fun. When Harry had first pulled out 'Truth, Dare or Drink,' her first instinct was to ridicule him and say, "I didn't realise we were still in eighth grade," but she bit her tongue. After the supermarket, she still felt like she was continually filtering everything she said, worried a single word may be the negative turning point for their relationship. 

And well, after a few rounds, Y/N realised the game was much too risky for a bunch of eighth-graders and found some questions too intrusive even for her adult self to answer. However, with the help of at least half a bottle of chardonnay, she found herself managing just fine. Jeff had called it a night a few rounds ago, claiming he was "getting too old for this shit," but it didn't stop the rest of the group from playing.  

"Okay, ask the player to your left what their favourite sex position is. If they can't answer- both of you drink four sips." Immediately, Y/N turns to Sarah, who happens to be sitting on her left and also happens to be bright red. With a quick, "come on babe, all friends here," from Harry, Sarah buries her head in her hands before mumbling, "from behind." The answer causes an eruption of giggles and hollers from the very tipsy group and a sly smirk from Mitch, making Y/N laugh harder. 

"Alright shut up you lot," Sarah grumbles before picking up her own card. "Dare one player to share their best and worst hookup, or both of you finish your drinks. Okay, well the only one mean enough to name and shame would be Harry, so off you go H." This is met with a disgruntled, "oi" from the man in question and a casual "not wrong," from Mitch. While Harry huffs, he seems to have no issue and responds immediately, almost like he had the answer on the tip of his tongue. 

"Best was Elle, obviously. And worst, um," he deliberates for a few seconds before continuing, "was this guy I met in Brazil, he was awful! Didn't even prep my poor arse, just went straight in for the kill. Was scarred for months." He's met with roaring laughter, and at first, he tries to look pissed but ends up giggling along with them. While his poor bum really had taken a beating that night, in hindsight it was a funny sex horror story for a drunken night. "C'mon Mitchy boy, your turn." 

Mitch picks up the card and immediately scoffs, "This one's to all players, take two sips if you have ever been attracted to someone else currently playing this game." Unsurprisingly both Mitch and Sarah drink, sending cheeky winks over their cups to each other. But what shocks every player at the table is both Y/N and Harry lifting their glasses. They make eye contact with each other as they are sipping and Harry raises a questioning eyebrow towards her. 

Y/N quickly looks over to Sarah, to see her sitting with her own bewildered look, glancing between them. She had known Y/N enjoyed Harry's music, but maybe didn't know how much she also fancied him- that is until she had a conversation with him. 

"So you've either had the hots for me, my girlfriend or the chick you hate, nice H," a very inebriated Mitch says with a laugh. If Y/N hadn't already been watching him, she might have missed the flash of guilt that flickers through Harry's eyes. He looks over at her with an apologetic look, "I never said I hated-" 

"It's fine, Harry. Just pick a card, it's your turn." Y/N interrupts him, she wasn’t going to lie and say that it didn’t sting. However, while she knew they'd come to a newfound understanding, Y/N was well aware that it had initially come from Harry's resentment of her. He sighs but picks up a card anyway, pausing some, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks, before reading it aloud. "Uh... give the person to your left a hickey, or finish your drink." At first, Y/N laughs until she realises that the person sitting to his left would be her. 

In an attempt to lighten the situation, Y/N spits out, "go on, start drinking then." Mitch and Sarah start to laugh, "I could've called that one," Sarah chuckles, but Harry looks rather unimpressed. While she actually didn't care if Harry were to give her a hickey, (let's be real he was a dick, but a hot one at that!) she knew he would be thoroughly put out by it. They had become civil, not ‘drunkenly-give-one-another-a-hickey’ level friends.

"I'm not the one with the problem. I doubt he'd wanna kiss on the girl he hates." Y/N had meant it to be a joke, she really had! But the underlying biting tone would be almost impossible to miss. She was definitely playing with fire here, knowing Harry could snap at any moment. She watches as Harry's nostrils flare slightly before he bites back, "no problem here, you're just scared you'd enjoy it too much sweetheart." At that Y/N scoffs, his arrogance never ceased to amaze her, "oh please, don't give yourself so much credit, Harry."  

He laughs, "are you saying you wouldn't?"

"Almost certain of it," she quickly retaliates. Now, Harry knew he was a dick. He knew he could be impatient and rude. Was aware of his short temper and sometimes biting passive-aggressiveness. Had been well informed of his bad habit of sometimes oversharing and even bragging too much. Even knew how annoying his constant discussion of the superiority of salads to veggies could get on the nerves of those around him. 

But the one thing Harry knew for sure, was that he was good at fucking. He loved to see the person he was with, shaking with pleasure below him. Thoroughly enjoyed giving his partner everything he had, to hear them screaming his name with their eyes rolled back in pleasure. Harry liked having sex, and on account of others, Harry was fucking good at it. So Y/N sitting there, doubting he could make her feel all amazing and jittery, probably pissed him off more than it should have. 

"Fucking c' mere then." While Harry had merely said that in the heat of the moment (and possibly to get a rise out of Y/N) he was beyond shocked when she actually got up and stood before him. "I'm here. Now what smartass?" His jaw ticks and he raises an eyebrow, silently questioning Y/N's challenge. Did she really want to get involved in this? Surely she knew Harry would come out victorious. Apparently not, because she crosses her arms and scoffs, "knew you were all talk." 

Now Y/N doesn't want to admit she's intimidated because god this was Harry she was thinking about. However, when he grips her arms, flips her around and pushes her back into the chair he was just occupying, Y/N can't exactly say she's fine and dandy. 

Harry was much taller than her when they were both standing up, but with her sitting down, he towers above her, and she can't help but feel childlike and demure. His shit-eating grin only grows when he sees that, and he slowly bends down until his cologne infiltrates Y/N's nostrils and fills her head with a fog she can't quite get rid of. "What was that, darling?" 

Y/N is willing herself to say anything, literally anything that wouldn't fuel his already raging ego. If she's honest the barely mumbled, "um, nothing," doesn't really cut it, but what was she to do? Before she'd met Harry, Y/N probably would've considered his looks to be something akin to her ‘dream guy.' So, when he places his hands on each armrest beside her, essentially trapping her, it doesn't exactly help to calm her nerves. Harry oozed sex, and if the look in his eye was anything to go off, he knew it. 

As his face becomes level with hers, Y/N can smell the sweet apple cider he had been drinking and can feel the bottom of his unbuttoned shirt brushing against the tops of her thighs. And for the second time that month, Y/N wonders if she should move away from the compromising position she and Harry had found themselves in, but she once again decides against it. Harry places his hand against the side of her neck, hooking his thumb under her jaw. He encourages her to move her head further to the side with some gentle pressure, which she happily obliges to. 

Y/N can't help but inhale sharply when she feels his slightly chilled lips gently brush against her earlobe, before placing a tender kiss behind her ear. "Is this okay?" If Y/N were in a better headspace, she might have tried to play this whole thing off with an indifferent nod. Instead, she feels herself nodding rapidly, and takes a moment to curse herself as she feels Harry's lips curl into a grin at her eagerness. 

Harry allows his lips to run down the side of Y/N's neck so lightly he knew it must be tickling her. Once he reaches her collarbone, he places a quick peck against it before once again trailing his lips up her soft skin, leaving light kisses in his wake. Y/N's breathing stops as she feels Harry's tongue touching her skin as he begins his ascent, leaving a chilling trail that sends shivers through her whole body. 

She feels herself slipping into a hazy state, in which all control was given to Harry, and while her first instinct is to break it, her second is to bask in it. Her decision is hastily rewarded when Harry starts to suction his lips against her. 

Y/N actively silences the whimper that arises from her throat as Harry continues to bruise the skin he kisses, and she briefly wonders if he had heard the beginnings of her mewl as he chuckles, sending a gust of cold hair down her neck. Harry gently bites down on Y/N's throat, which causes a small sting, the aftershocks travelling all the way down to her toes. But his tongue laving over the mark works to quickly soothe the ache. 

While she felt as if she had sat feeling the effect of Harry's mouth for hours, it had only been about ten seconds in reality. But the familiar pull in Y/N's lower stomach screams at her to ignore time, grab his shirt and push her mouth against his. However, the cough heard from behind her, quells these dirtier thoughts almost immediately. And just like that, as quickly as it had come, the pleasuring warmth Harry provided was gone. 

Y/N struggles to flutter her eyes back open, that she hadn't realised had even closed in the first place. 

Well, she wasn't expecting that, and while she assumed Harry would feel the same, his deep smirk tells her something different. He looks at her with a hunger in his eyes, and she briefly wonders if he felt the same pull towards her. Y/N was fighting the urge to drag him to the nearest bedroom and instead clears her throat and looks behind her to assess Mitch and Sarah's reactions. 

Safe to say, they were as shocked as she was, with gaping mouths and wide eyes, everyone sits in silence for what feels like far too long. Y/N was embarrassed. Usually, she hated PDA, yet she'd just let Harry suck on her neck like some kind of B-grade vampire in front of her cousin and her boyfriend. 

Y/N stands back up to move around to her own chair, but with her head down, she misses Harry reaching to brush his knuckles against her own, but only feels the comforting touch. Harry watches as she refuses to meet his eye, and while he enjoyed himself, he hoped he hadn't gone too far with her. But when Sarah grabs her head and pulls it to the side to see the blooming mark on Y/N's skin, Harry can't help but smirk and feel slightly proud. Y/N had said she was okay with him touching her, maybe she was just flustered, and if her bright red cheeks were anything to go by, that's Harry's safest guess. "Jesus H, you really did a number on her." 

Y/N refused to acknowledge the effect Harry had instilled upon her, but she can feel her cheeks radiating a cherry-red heat, and she can only pray no one else notices. "Uh, it's my turn," she manages to choke out, and a quick glance at Harry shows she's not hiding her flustered state as well as she'd hoped. His dimples are on full display, decorated with his complacent grin, and he's sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over one another. 

"Pick the most attractive player, both of you take three sips," you've got to be fucking joking, she was pretty sure everyone knew her answer to that, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "It's Sarah. Who's next?" Sarah cheers' Y/N's glass and takes her sips as she grabs the next card. 

Y/N can see Harry's disgruntled look and can vaguely hear his murmured, "bullshit," but she only sends him a glare as she takes her three sips. 

——

Harry was drunk. No cut that, he was fucked. It was approximately six ciders ago that he began to feel light and giggly. And then maybe two or so ciders ago he began to have trouble walking in a straight line and was genuinely considering shaving his head. And now, he was here. Planted on the couch watching Y/N and Sarah sing some song he definitely knew but couldn't name, Taylor Swift maybe? 

His head felt heavy, and if he was honest, thoughts were entering his head and then leaving it before he could even acknowledge what they were. He can vaguely recognise Mitch's voice, talking about something that Harry, no matter how hard he tried, could actually listen to. So he sits on the couch and watches Y/N. She looked pretty with her hair down and messy, and Harry wishes he could stop her from dancing and ask if she could just sit next to him instead. But he thinks he's probably just drunk and maybe a bit lonely, so he doesn't. 

He's not sure if he was calling Y/N's name and hadn't realised or if she had noticed how not okay he seemed, but she approaches him anyway. "Harry, are you alright?" She looks worried, and Harry hates that he's made her feel that. He's tempted to use his thumb to mould the lines in her forehead back out like cheap clay, but he's not sure she'd want him to touch her. So he nods lightly, attempting a smile, but she doesn't return it. 

"Sarah, I'm gonna take Harry up to bed, he seems pretty gone." Harry doesn't hear Sarah's response because he's too busy focusing on Y/N's lips and how pretty and puffy they are. He briefly wonders what they'd feel like around the head of his cock, but he's drawn out of those thoughts when he realises she's calling his name. 

"Harry, c'mon, come upstairs to bed with me." Um, had Harry missed something? He doesn't really mind, truthfully he'd quite like to take Y/N upstairs and have his way with her, but, Y/N must see the look on his face because she laughs, "not like that you lecher! God, you really are pissed." 

Harry smiles and takes the hand she's giving him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders for stability. The group had experienced quite a few drunken nights during isolation, but Y/N had never seen Harry this intoxicated before and while she's quite enjoying him acting kind of goofy, she's just praying he doesn't vomit on her during their climb upstairs. 

Y/N does her best to guide Harry to his room, who provides absolutely no help, only giggling to himself as she struggles to hold him up. Finally, she makes it, only realising once she had stepped inside, that she had never actually seen Harry's room before. 

Similarly to Y/N’s, his room has the shell of a guest bedroom, the art on the walls a little too unpersonalised and the furniture stark and white. The bones of the room are fleshed out with Harry’s belongings, clearly in random places that were not permanent, as if he’d placed his records and guitar down the first day he got there, and left them in those exact same places. There are dirty clothes strewn upon the floor, and books sitting next to glasses stacked neatly on the bedside table. Next to them, is a candle that Y/N can’t read the scent of from her position in the doorway, something sweet from the smell permeating through the room, mixing intoxicatingly with Harry’s telltale sandalwood like cologne. 

Harry stands in the middle of the room, clearly having forgotten his purpose as he turns to look back at Y/N with a slightly lost expression. "Want to get into bed Harry?" He nods and stumbles over to his mattress, falling rather than laying in it. As Y/N's about to turn around to go back downstairs, she hears Harry's voice, much quieter than it usually is, "I'm sorry." She's not sure if she heard him correctly. 

"What did you say, Harry?"

"I'm sorry." He whispers. 

"For what?" Y/N knows what he could be sorry for, he did treat her like shit for weeks, but they’d already apologised and somewhat buried the hatchet. "For bein' a dick. You don't deserve it, never did." She walks closer to him, until she stands about a foot from the bed, and can see Harry's eyes full of sorrow and close to tears in the dark. 

"Come on, you're just drunk. If you want to talk about it more in the morning, we can." Y/N knows he'll forget by then, she's not sure he even remembers what he just said. He holds his hand out to her, and she hesitantly takes it, "ya just look so much like her, you know? Act like her too." Harry repeats the same words he’d told you yesterday. 

"Who, Harry?" 

He looks at her with his big green eyes, and she knows he's drunk, and she knows he'll forget this all in the morning, but she can't help but sit down beside him on the bed. 

"Elle." 

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want Harry to burst into tears again, the topic clearly sensitive, let alone in his intoxicated state. So she stays silent, watches as Harry shuts his eyes, and Y/N nearly thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he reopens them again, "nicer than her though. Prettier too." 

Y/N's not going to lie, hearing Harry talk about her in a way that wasn't entirely negative for once was flattering, but she couldn't help but feel it was more the cider talking. She knew how much he missed Elle, that much was obvious, and she had thought that was what had made him hate her so much. She was worried he would wake up angry that he had told her things he hadn't intended to, or even worse, something he hadn't meant. 

So she leans over him to grab the side of the bedsheet he had torn away, but his freezing hand on her neck causes her to pause. His thumb is lightly brushing over the mark he left on her earlier, and Y/N audibly swallows. He was close enough that he could lean in slightly and press his lips against the same spot once more, but he doesn't, only whispers, "looks so good on you." Y/N feels his warm breath against her bare neck as he speaks, causing that pull to return to her lower stomach once more, "H, I don't think we should do this right now." 

Y/N didn’t know what exactly ‘this’ was, she just knew she didn’t want either of them to be intoxicated when it happened. The Harry Y/N knew, would pull back, laugh and ask if she really thought he'd ever want to do 'this' with her, but this intoxicated and unpredictable Harry presses his lips softly to her neck once, before pulling back and sighing. "I know." 

He studies her face carefully before speaking again. "You've never called me H before, I like it." Y/N sighs, "honestly I didn't think we were on that level. Thought you'd get mad at me," she laughs lightly although what she said was true. 

She had thought about adopting the same nickname everyone else in the house used but was too scared he would make fun of her or ask her why she felt she had the right to call him that. So she played it safe, only calling him Harry, but she guessed the nickname slipped out while he was very much inebriated and very much unlikely to say any word of opposition. 

If Y/N didn't know any better, she'd think Harry looked almost hopeful as he whispered, "so we are now?" but the expression is fleeting. She wants to feed into it but isn't sure if it's more her mind playing tricks on her. Showing her things she desperately wants to be true, only to turn around a reveal it was fake the whole time. So she shrugs, "I don't know Harry." 

He nods slowly but doesn't say anything else. "Try to get some sleep." He nods again, "night." 

"Night H." 

——

Harry doesn't know what happened. Had he been drugged? Used as a voodoo doll? Abducted by aliens? Something had happened, because when he woke up with a pounding head, his first feeling was disappointment. But not disappointment about having to nurse a shocking hangover, no, it was disappointing that Y/N wasn't in bed with him. He could’ve sworn she had come upstairs with him. 

Harry was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he didn't hate her and perhaps, just maybe had developed a small crush towards her. But wishing she was cuddling him after a drunken night? That was too close to something serious, something that Harry was definitely not ready for. Not after Elle. 

Walking down the stairs, he wonders if there's a reason for his sudden desperation? He vaguely remembers giving her a hickey, but that was a part of the game. He remembers Y/N walking into his room and sitting on his bed, but can’t recall what was actually said. 

Stepping into the kitchen, feels the same as usual, maybe with added head pain. Mitch is doing the dishes from the breakfast sitting on the table in front of Y/N and Sarah. Everything seems painfully familiar. Except, looking at Y/N now, with sober goggles and daylight, Harry completely understands why drunk him was so enamoured. She looks beautiful, with an oversized tee-shirt barely covering her smooth legs, her hair in a messy bun atop her head, and the striking hickey against her neck painfully obvious. Seeing Y/N with his mark against her neck makes Harry have to will his stiffy away. She hadn't even tried to hide it.

Harry doesn't know how long he'd been standing in the entrance of the kitchen, staring at Y/N like a creep, but she catches his eye and sends him a shy smile. "Mornin' H, brekkies on the table," Mitch states, as Harry quickly returns the smile Y/N gave him and sits across from her, "looks good, man. Thanks for cooking." 

Harry is slightly shocked when Y/N speaks up from the other side of the table, he had been expecting her to ignore him like she had after he’d given her the mark that was causing a tingle in his lower tummy. "How's your head?" She says softly. 

He gives her a small grin, "it's been better if'm honest." She laughs, "yeh, you were pretty fucked last night." Harry can't tell if she's genuinely just making conversation or if she's trying to figure out if he remembered the events that occurred. "Was I? Not too drunk to remember giving you that," he points at her neck with his syrup covered fork. His words have their desired effect as Y/N turns bright red, "really does look good on you love." 

Harry's not sure what he's doing, he's aware of how flirty he is being. While they were now able to be around each other and have a conversation without biting each other’s heads off, hitting on each other was a whole different ball game. All he knows is that the more he looks at Y/N, the more he wants to get on his knees before her. 

Harry had never flirted so openly with Y/N before. What the fuck was he playing at? Y/N had assumed that Harry became a tad clingy and loving with a few drinks in his system. So as he sits across from her, dead sober, and continues to flirt with her, Y/N is confused. Maybe he was still drunk? Had he taken something she wasn't aware of? Been probed in the middle of the night? She wasn't sure, but she couldn't say she didn't like it. 

She also didn't want to get too comfortable, only for him to turn around and treat her as horribly as he had when she first got here. So she gives him a small smile and continues to eat her breakfast, merely listening to the conversations happening around her. 

——

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N could not get the thought of Harry off her mind. Could still feel the ghost of his lips trailing along her neck, and the way his hand brushed along hers. She couldn’t help but imagine the way his lips would feel pressing softly against her own, his tongue licking into her mouth. She imagines his hands to be soft but still firm as they held her hips, her neck, her own fingers laced in his. His voice replays in her head, and she wonders how his accent would twirl and twist around filthy words, whispered into the shell or her ear. 

 She can't forget how she felt hearing the lilt of his voice when it was flirting with someone else. Can’t get away from the pit in her stomach, the aching head and chest. She had laid awake for so many nights trying to figure out why exactly it had bothered her so much. 

She could only amount it all to a certain type of jealousy, but what was she jealous of? Harry had never shown her any sort of romantic attention before, that is until he was suckling at her neck and calling her sweetheart. But what did it all mean? Did he feel the same pull towards her, or was she just imagining his sudden fondness of her? Did she actually like him, or just the idea of his lips pressed against hers rather than her neck. She needed to talk to someone, and thank goodness for her, Sarah was home. 

Ever since they were little Sarah and Y/N had been ridiculously close. They had experienced each stage of their lives together, from playing at the local playground to trying their first cigarette in the bathroom of Sarah’s family home. Sarah was the big sister that Y/N had never had, always there for advice or a bit of fun. Teaching her about sex and drinking, what it was like to kiss another person or drive a car for the first time. Sarah explained everything with practiced expertise that looking back on, Y/N could see she definitely didn’t have at the time.  

Their family homes were only a road apart, and every day either Y/N or Sarah would make the small trek to each other’s house and spend hours discussing nothing and everything. Sarah was the closest thing Y/N had ever had to a sibling, and after Sarah had left for tour with Harry and the band, Y/N had felt a Sarah sized hole in her heart. Honestly, for Y/N, quarantine felt like a blessing in disguise, she felt like they could make up for the months of lost time and distance between them. 

In search of her cousin, Y/N only comes across Mitch reading in the living room, “hey, do you know where Sarah is?” He glances at Y/N from above his book, owlishly blinking as if he was confused, and maybe he was. Mitch is well known for getting lost in anything he loves, from books and movies and especially in his music. “Um, the shower… I think?” 

Bidding him thanks, Y/N heads towards the downstairs toilet where she could hear the water running. While they all had bathrooms in their rooms, they’d found the downstairs communal shower particularly helpful. It was easy to slip into after they’d just come back from swimming at the beach or a run, without mucking salt water or sweat through the whole house. Y/N knew Sarah had gone out for a jog about an hour ago, so had no doubt she was having a quick wash before dinner. 

If it were anybody else, Y/N would’ve waited until they had finished, but ever since they were thirteen or so, Y/N and Sarah had an odd tradition of having intense conversations while one of them was showering. Y/N still remembers the week Sarah’s parents had decided to split up, she had spent every night sitting on the closed toilet seat crying and ranting while Y/N stood under the hot water, listening and trying her best to comfort her. It was a weird habit of theirs, but for them, the chance to chat with someone without having to look them in the eye was therapeutic, almost like a church confessional. 

Although Y/N was relatively happy, she wasn’t about to enter a religious confessional. When it came to Harry, she had definitely committed at least four of the seven mortal sins. No, it was just Sarah, and Y/N knew that no matter what she admitted, it would be received with love and unconditional support. So she charges through the bathroom door, eager to spill all that was muddling up her mind, “Sarah! We need to talk about Harry, I need your help.” 

Y/N expects Sarah’s tinkling laugh, soothing cooing, maybe even a big sigh and her calming voice asking her what was wrong. Instead, she is met with the deep and drawling laugh of Harry himself. 

Looking back now, Y/N wishes she could say she dealt with her mistake with careful grace and poise, but instead she lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and as she sees the shower curtain drawn to the left she slaps her hands over her eyes. The melodic laugh of Harry’s continues as he clearly notices her current predicament, “can look if you want babe.” 

Y/N whines, “I- um, no. I don’t- I thought you were Sarah. What the fuck is happening.” Y/N can hear the smirk in Harry’s voice as he answers, “yeh Y/N, I got that. Seriously, I’m covered up.” 

And maybe, it would’ve been better for Y/N to stay standing with her hands over her eyes like a petulant child because as she drops them, the sight she’s met with is one to behold and one Y/N’s not sure she can handle. Harry is covered with the shower curtain pulled across his bottom half, but Y/N trails her eyes upwards, sees the small trail of slightly damp hair leading down to the white curtain, and her eyes widen comically, he looks like a wet dream and Y/N’s not sure how to react. 

His curls are stuck to his neck and forehead, matted against the soft wet skin. His naturally tanned chest is on display, dripping with water, and covered in his tattoos. Y/N can’t help but notice the inked swallows along his chest, drawing attention to his collarbones, the skin taught against the bone, and Y/N wants to kiss along it and taste the mix of salt and sweetness of his neck. The butterfly covering his abs ripples as he clears his throat, drawing Y/N’s attention away from his body. 

“So what did you need to talk to Sarah about, hm?” Anything I can help you with?” Y/N can feel the blood rush to her cheeks, fully aware that Harry had caught her ogling at his partially naked body. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, and she’s not sure whether it’s from the sight in front of her or the embarrassment of being caught staring at it. 

Y/N stutters, trying to force herself to say something, anything at all that would make this situation less unnerving “um, I-no?” Which comes out more like a question than anything, and Y/N curses herself for her weak resolve. Harry smirks, “Cat got your tongue pet?” Y/N hates how easily he can get her worked up, and hates it even more how obvious it is to him. “Stop teasing me! I can’t, you know, I don’t-... you’re naked okay!” 

Harry’s dimples deepen, and a smirk takes over a little less than half of his face, “don’t pretend you don’t love my teasing, darlin’.” It’s at this point that Y/N realises that she had been in this situation much longer than appropriate, standing flustered and hot from Harry being so close to her while nude. 

“I need to go,” it comes out as more of a whisper, her voice rough with lust. She coughs as if to clear her throat, but from what she’s unsure. The intense desire she feels for a man she despised a month ago, perhaps? “Relax Y/N, no big deal. I think Sarah’s in the shower upstairs though if you’re still looking.”

She nods in response, slowly backing out of the room before turning around and quickly shutting the door behind her. She feels her breath heaving in and out of her lungs. Feels her throat tighten and her head dizzy, and an intense tingling feeling starts at her toes and spreads all the way to her lower tummy. The familiar pull of lust and need brings an ache to her core, and she feels the sticky heat between her legs. 

While Y/N may not know it, Harry is affected by her as much as she is by him. He stands in the shower, a stupid grin across his face, dimples indenting his cheek. Harry could pretend he didn’t see Y/N blatantly ogling him, or her cheeks burn a delicious crimson when she had gotten caught. Could even pretend he didn’t see her subconsciously squeezing her thighs together while she stood in front of him, like she was so desperate for Harry she couldn’t even wait to relieve the tension building inside of her. 

Harry could pretend not to notice, but as he felt a tingle zap down his spine, and the accustomed rush of blood to his lower half, Harry realised he didn't want to. Would rather explore this unnerving territory, and see what it had in store for him. 

——

Harry had reached a new level of boredom. So much so, he had resorted to doing a puzzle.

Harry was notorious for always being busy, was constantly on tour, playing shows and promoting his music. The quietest periods in Harry’s life were the months of writing he’d participate in, where his mind was anything but still. He wasn’t used to doing nothing all day, and while he had tried to write during isolation, the months of doing fuck all made inspiration hard to come by. 

So it led Harry to his current situation, trying to complete a challenging puzzle at the dining table. Sarah and Mitch were napping the late afternoon away, Jeff was playing Xbox games in the living room, and Y/N had gone for a walk, right after she had brought the puzzle out from her room after Harry had asked her to. He had heard her talking to Sarah about how much she loved puzzles a few months ago and had even shown her the one she had brought to quarantine; however, she hadn’t gotten the chance to start it yet. 

Harry had been doing nothing all day, and he was sick of sitting in bed, refreshing his Instagram feed every ten minutes. To be honest, a puzzle wouldn’t have been Harry’s first choice of a relaxing pastime activity, but there was only so much social media and movie marathons Harry could take. 

He was nervous at first to ask Y/N. Over the last few days, it seemed like there was a certain tension between them, as if they were both aware of the lust that had been swirling throughout the bathroom as thick as the steam from Harry’s shower, but didn’t want to admit it. They were testing the waters, sometimes stumbling through amorous conversations, while still attempting to maintain their indifference. 

However, he was slightly remorseful of his decision for a different reason, when he asked Y/N if he could borrow it from her, she had squealed in excitement, telling him her ‘top tips’ for completing a jigsaw for at least ten minutes. He guesses her passion and love for the shitty quarantine past time, overrode her awkward feelings towards their situation. If he was honest, Harry didn’t give a fuck about “making sure to find the corners first!” but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he nodded along and pretended to listen. 

But Harry had really come to regret his decision when he hadn’t found a piece in over an hour. He was frustrated and the stifling temperature Sarah insisted on keeping the house at, wasn’t helping. He had completed a small section at the top right corner, five or six pieces on the left, and a few random bits he had stuck together and somehow happened to get correct. He was slightly embarrassed when Y/N returned from her walk, to find him with his head in his hands, looking more than sorry for himself. Her tinkling laughter doesn’t make him feel any better, either. 

“Having trouble H?” 

He looks up to her standing in the doorway, attempting to plaster his award-winning grin upon his face, “if I’d known it was this hard I never would have asked if I could do it.” She grins back, and walks over to the table, looking down at the pieces with a concentrated focus. “Hm I never said it was going to be easy, thought my tips would help, but I guess not.” 

Harry tries yet another piece that doesn’t fit with the ones surrounding it, and sighs, “if the puzzle master wants to help, that would be lovely,” he lilts. She picks up the segment Harry had just dropped and places into the correct position on the opposite side of the puzzle that Harry had placed it in. “You’re flattering me now.” She hesitates for a tick, “lucky for you, I like it.” 

Harry loved this new dynamic between them, it was light and teasing, something he hadn’t had with her before. He’s not going to lie and say that he didn’t slightly enjoy the biting exchanges they had previously shared, but this flirty air between them was exciting.  

“I’ll keep that in mind pet. Now, what were those tips again?” 

It’s safe to say Harry was impressed with Y/N’s skill, he had never thought puzzles were that difficult until he actually tried to complete one. Y/N however, was fast, seemed to pick up pieces and instantly be able to connect to where they should go, and quickly finished at least ninety percent of the puzzle. Harry fit the odd part in place, which Y/N praised each time, with a small cheer and a “well done!” each time. Finally, the puzzle was almost complete with only one gap in the picture of golden retriever puppies climbing on one another. 

Y/N looks at Harry and hands him the last puzzle piece, “you should put the last bit in.” Harry can’t explain the warm glow that emits from his heart, he doesn’t know why it makes him so happy. She was kind and considerate, and Harry wasn’t used to people always putting him first, usually being doubtful of anyone he hadn’t known for a while, worried about what their true intentions were. “You sure? You did most of it.” She giggles, “nah, we did it together!” Harry takes the bit of cardboard from her and places it in the last empty spot. 

He looks up at Y/N who’s grinning at him stupidly, and he can’t help but smile back. It’s then that Harry starts to really look at Y/N. He notices the dusting of freckles on the top of her nose, her eyes laced with pride and happiness and her lips, the bottom one stuck between her two front teeth, but both looking so soft and sweet. Y/N must catch Harry staring at her lips because she releases the supple flesh from between her bite. 

“Did you have fun?” She whispers. 

Harry tries to reply, but his voice dies in his throat. All he can manage is a small nod, his gaze dropping back to Y/N’s mouth. He lifts his hand to her face, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, and she leans into the touch slightly. Unknowingly, they had gotten even closer, and Harry can feel her small puffs of air against his lips, could brush them against hers if he leaned an inch forward. 

“Harry, what do you want to do for dinner?” Mitch yells from the room one over, scaring both Y/N and Harry, who instantly pull away from each other. Harry coughs, “um, I don’t know man.” 

Mitch walks into the room, Sarah in tow, who sees the completed puzzle on the table and runs over, “you finally did it Y/N!” Harry looks over to the girl in question. Her cheeks a cherry red as she looks over to Harry, “uh yeah, Harry and I did it together.” Sarah looks between them, with an impish look on her face mixed with slight disbelief, “oh, that’s… nice.” 

Harry’s attention is drawn away from Y/N when Mitch pipes up again, “I was thinking tacos, so we could make frozen margaritas for game night.” Harry is grateful for the change in topic, knowing Sarah was more than likely to make a comment that Harry was not ready to address. Particularly if Y/N had indeed continued the conversation she had planned to have with Sarah a few days ago when she’d walked in on Harry in the shower. 

“You know I’m always down for a margarita.” 

—— 

Y/N was slightly buzzed. She hated feeling entirely out of control when she drank, and she’d found the perfect point between dead sober and sloppy. She felt a warm feeling in her fingertips and toes, felt slightly light-headed and was just a tad obnoxiously giggly. The group had been playing monopoly, and while Y/N usually hated the game, she was thoroughly enjoying it tonight. 

Sarah had been helping Y/N, so she wasn’t so lost in terms of properties and the differences between houses and hotels. Jeff was as quiet as usual, but somehow had a secret talent for swindling properties and hoard money. Mitch had prioritised his margarita over the game, buying random properties when he felt like it, and fucking up everyone else’s plans of winning. And Harry had made it his mission to beat Y/N. If he was honest, he just loved seeing her pout every time he would buy whatever spaces were left of the colours she was aiming for, or teasing her every time she got a smaller roll than him. 

As Harry bought another green property that Y/N was gunning for, she realised she was nursing an empty glass. “Does anyone want another margarita?” Agreements come from all around the table, so Y/N gets up, grabbing a few empty glasses. As she stands, she feels the blood rush to her head, a slight dizziness tingling through her body, and she giggles as she stumbles towards the kitchen. 

Harry and Mitch had made the previous rounds, Y/N watching the first couple be made. Which meant she probably should remember the ingredients, but if she’s honest, the copious amount of alcohol running through her bloodstream has caused a lapse in her memory. Was she supposed to put one or two cups of ice in? Y/N curses herself and her shitty memory under her breath, realising she will definitely need help. She was clearly too tipsy to think coherently. 

“Oi, how much tequila do I put in? And is it Cointreau or triple sec? And how much ice do I use” She yells into the adjacent room, sighing slightly, hoping someone would come and help her. And she can’t explain her excitement when Harry rounds the corner, maybe because the pressure of making the drinks had been lifted, but more likely because it was simply him. He comes in with a smiling face, his hair slightly messed and his eyes filled with the misty happiness of someone who is perfectly buzzed. 

Y/N couldn’t quite describe the shiver that travels down her spine or the tension she feels in her stomach, all she knows is in the last few days, the intense feeling had begun to grow stronger whenever Harry was around. There was something about him, the way he carried himself, the shy smirks he’d give her, or the gentle touches he’d provide as he walked passed her. 

In every touch, every look and every feeling she got from Harry, Y/N could sense the tension growing stronger. She was amazed the rest of the group hadn’t picked up on it, other than Sarah of course, who was watching from the sidelines, waiting for one of them to crack. 

“What’s the problem bunny?” His eyes soft as he walks over to a defeated Y/N. He watches as her eyes crinkled slightly as she giggles despite herself, “I wanted to make everyone drinks, but I realised I don’t actually know how to.” She sheepishly watches Harry’s face mirror her own with a small grin, “well that just won’t do, will it? Sit on the counter n’ I’ll show you again.” 

She jumps on the kitchen bench, the surface cold against her otherwise alcohol flushed skin. She watches Harry gather the ingredients from around the kitchen, noticing the way his back strains against the white and yellow t-shirt he was wearing, the arch of his back clear and his shoulders strong and broad.

Over the past week or so, Y/N had started to see the funny and charming personality that the rest of the household had previously been privy to. His witty and sweet persona had shone through, and it had done nothing to curb the intense sexual feelings she felt towards him, instead they were only growing, especially with each pet name that his puffy pink lips shaped around. 

Harry begins to place the ingredients in the blender, and Y/N is confident he’s giving her instructions as he does so, but she is just so distracted by his strong fingers adorned by his shiny rings, each one a different shape and size. “Are y’listening?” 

She snaps her eyes back to his face, to see one side of his pretty mouth tugging upwards, suggesting he already knew the answer to his own question. “What are you lookin’ at my hands for?” She feels the warmth rush to the apples of her cheeks, sheepishly replying, “I was just looking at your rings, they’re very pretty.” 

He smiles and jokingly holds his hand up to her face, wiggling his fingers. Y/N chuckles and grabs his pointer finger, pulling it towards her to get a better look. She holds his hand while looking at the silver band wrapped around his digit, eyeing the small red ruby shining brightly in the centre of it, “like this one,” she whispers. He matches her volume, stepping closer in order to hear her, “it was my mums, she gave it to me after my first concert sold out. Her mum gave it to her after she got married.” She runs her finger over it gently, noticing the worn edges, and tries to imagine the many stories it had experienced in the hands of three generations. “It’s beautiful.” 

This felt like a moment for both of them. Obviously, Harry and Y/N had experienced many conversations and experiences before, but none quite like this. Harry feels the warmth from her body radiating into his, can feel the sweat from her hands as she holds his own. He can hear her calm breathing, the slow rise and fall of her chest. Of course, Harry had felt lust before, but he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as he does right now.

He can’t explain how desperately he wants to inch forward, hold her pretty face in his hands and press his lips against hers. Instead, he makes do, moving closer to her and feeling a bloom of happiness in his chest when she opens her legs for him to stand between with no hesitation. 

She smiles, his hand still nestled into hers, although her focus had moved far beyond his rings. It now laid solely on his face and the way he was looking at her. He rests his free hand on the counter beside her, close enough that she could feel the outside of his thumb brushing against her upper leg. 

Harry bites his tongue, he wants to say ‘so are you,’ but even he knows that’s cheesy. Plus he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, he knows Y/N is attracted to him but is also fully aware that doesn’t equal consent. He settles for lightly brushing his thumb against her leg and watches as a shiver racks through her body. With a slight giggle, she grabs his other hand, that’s causing the mildly uncomfortable sensation, with her free one, “that tickles.” 

And Harry’s not a mind reader, but now they’re just holding hands, plain and simple. He doesn’t know if she feels the same heat and tension settling between their lips, but the way she leans in slightly, tilting her head to the left gives him an indication she does. It’s subtle, and if Harry hadn’t been sitting between her legs praying she’d do exactly that, he might not have picked up on it. But he does. 

He leans in too, leaving a slight gap between them. Y/N can feel the tiny puffs of air, leaving Harry’s mouth and drawing into hers and can feel the little tufts of hair tickling her forehead. 

She brushes her lips against his gently, testing the waters. He feels as soft and warm against her as she’d imagined. Y/N retracts slightly, unsure if she had overstepped a boundary. The only reaction she could read was a sharp inhale on his part, and she was worried that it wasn’t a positive sign. 

But she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

He lifts his hand from hers and places it against her neck, his hands big enough to tuck his thumb under her jaw, while still using the rest of his fingers to gently push her back against him.

She tasted so much better than he would’ve thought, sour from the margaritas with an underlying sweetness that he couldn’t put his finger on. Harry can barely hold in his groan when her tongue slides against his lower lip, and he gladly opens up further. He feels her whimper against his thumb before he hears it, the rumbling sending vibrations up his arm, leading him to feel dizzy. 

He feels Y/N rest her hands against his shoulders, sliding them over his neck and resting her forearms behind his head. She leans further into the kiss, somehow opening her legs further, her hips slightly bucking towards his own in a silent plea for friction. Harry doesn’t hesitate to give it to her, pressing himself against her and instantly feeling the effect of his actions. She runs one hand through the curls sitting at the back of his head, tugging gently and pushing her own hips back with as much vigour as he had.

That is until the click of heeled boots is heard echoing against the kitchen tiles. 

The speed at which Harry jumps away from his position between Y/N’s legs is comical, and she almost wishes she could see it from an outsiders perspective. However, not as much as she wishes Harry’s lips were back on her own. 

Y/N looks between the boy she had been kissing with his hair messy and fluffy, and the apparent growing bulge in his pants to the shocked Mitch standing in the entrance of the kitchen. His mouth hangs open comically, and his hands hang loosely by his sides. 

The silence is too much for both Harry and Y/N to bear and looking at Y/N’s face, now bright red, and brimming with embarrassment and stress Harry feels it’s his responsibility to put her slightly at ease. “Mitch… um look-” 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Harry doesn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before Mitch is interrupting. Harry pipes up again, “it’s nothing!” Y/N can feel her brows turning downwards and the corner of her lips curling in annoyance. She knows Harry is more than likely trying to cover their asses, but Mitch had seen them kissing, and it didn’t make Harry downplaying everything hurt any less. 

Harry sees her face and quickly tries to backtrack, “well I mean not nothing… it’s something!” 

“No shit it’s something! How long have you guys been fucking for?” This time Y/N is the first to speak up, “we are not fucking! We haven’t even-“ she starts, completely flustered, her face somehow becoming even redder, “we just kissed!” Mitch bursts out laughing, as Y/N and Harry stay completely still, both absolutely mortified. 

“Alright mate, fuck off,” Harry grumbles, praying that Mitch would just leave the uncomfortable situation alone. And he does, still laughing as he finds his way back to the living room. Y/N has no doubt that he would go straight to Sarah and Jeff to share what he’d just seen. Harry turns to 

Y/N and while he tries to maintain a serious face for her sake, he can’t help but let out a small chuckle. 

It wasn’t the first time Mitch had walked in on him during a ‘private’ moment, some a lot worse than what he’d just witnessed. But Harry doubts any would be more shocking than the kiss Mitch had just seen. According to him, Y/N and Harry were at most on civil terms. So to see them, in a more than compromising position must have been a considerable shock to the system. 

“Why are you laughing, you ass?” While Y/N’s words are anything but kind, her face gives away her true feelings, a small grin peeking through. She wasn’t too concerned, Sarah already knew the current situation Harry and Y/N had found themselves in, as well as Y/N’s feelings on it. She was probably waiting for this very scenario to occur.

However, she was worried about where Harry and her would go from here. 

She knew he was attracted to her, he wouldn’t have kissed her otherwise. Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe Harry had done it in the moment, and didn’t feel that same attraction all the time. What if he saw her leaning in and was pitying her? Y/N was terrified that now that Mitch knew, Harry would be too embarrassed to kiss her again. 

But Y/N’s worry is immediately put to hold when Harry grabs her hand again, “you’ve got to admit it’s funny.” He rubs his thumb against her knuckles, hoping to soothe any worry still running through her veins, “are you okay though?” Y/N smiles and squeezes his hand, “yeh, more than.” 

Harry leans in slowly, making sure that even though Y/N had claimed she was fine, that she would still be okay with him kissing her again. She doesn’t move away, instead moves closer and he smiles and presses a soft kiss against her lips. 

“We should probably get back out there,” he mumbles against her plush lips. She nods in response, squeezing his hand once more before jumping off the counter. “I’ll see you in the living room.” 

—— 

Harry didn’t regret kissing Y/N, not by a long shot. What he did regret, however, is two things. The first was agreeing to continue drinking with Mitch after everyone else had gone to sleep, and the second, kissing Y/N while intoxicated. 

He had enjoyed it, he knew that much. But he’s fully aware that he may not have gotten the chance to absorb every detail of the moment. He couldn’t forget the feeling of her lips against his or the way she bucked up against him. However, he is struggling to recall the way her hips felt under his fingertips, or whether or not he could smell the strawberry scented shampoo she used, that previously, he had only caught gusts of. 

Harry needs to know, when they kissed, did her eyebrows furrow the same way they do when she bites into a warm jam donut? Or when he slotted his hips against hers, did her mouth hang open, eyes shut tightly like when Sarah dug into the knots in her back? Did she make the same sounds Harry had already heard? Or were there some privy only to moments of privacy like the one her and Harry shared? He didn’t think to notice if the skin on her cheeks was as soft as it looked, or even if her hands held onto him as firmly as they had grasped onto the chair, the night Harry had first gotten so close to Y/N. 

Harry couldn’t help but feel like he’d somehow hiked up mountainous terrain, dodged every jagged edge Y/N initially threw at him, stumbled through open conversations and insinuations. Felt he had somehow navigated overwhelming selfishness and every mixed feeling, to finally reach the top and for some stupid reason just close his eyes. He was only just able to smell the mountainside air and feel the rocky surface but was utterly blind to the magnificent sight in front of him. 

Harry was also worried that Y/N was too intoxicated to know what she was doing. Harry was big on consent, always had been, and he knew the chances of drunk him doing something Y/N wasn’t okay with was very unlikely, but what if? What if for some reason he couldn’t read the body language of the girl he had spent months admiring? Or what if she had said something of opposition and he hadn’t heard her? 

Harry was stressed, and the pounding headache beating through his head was definitely not helping. 

He knew the only way to make sure what happened last night was okay and enjoyable for both parties, was simply asking Y/N. So after going to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face and changing into some sweatpants, Harry makes the trek downstairs. 

He’s met with an interesting site. Mitch is sitting at the kitchen counter, head in his hands and shaking his head. Jeff is doing dishes and looks to be purposely clanging noisy dishes in front of Mitch and then laughing at each flinch racking from the man's body. While Y/N is standing at the stove, cooking something that Harry can’t decipher, in her cloud pyjama pants and a sweatshirt that looks suspiciously like his.

If Harry listens intently enough, he can hear her humming under her breath, a soft tune that lifts all the features of Harry’s handsome face upwards. 

Harry starts by walking over to Mitch, placing his hands on both of his shoulders and squeezing lightly, “c’mon Jeff, lay off the poor guy!” Jeff only laughs in response jokingly swatting at Mitch's head, still buried within his hands. 

At the joking tone within the kitchen, and the fact that Jeff had not immediately berated Harry about his relationship with Y/N, Harry realised Mitch had decided not to tell the rest of the house. Or at least not Jeff. Harry couldn’t have been more thankful for Mitch's undying loyalty and bizarre talent of somehow knowing exactly what Harry wanted or needed. With Y/N’s relaxed manner, he assumed she had come to the same conclusion.  

At the sound of Harry’s voice, Y/N whips around, her face lighting up at the sight of the man she had kissed not 12 hours ago. And the look of delight and need on Y/N’s face works wonders to calm Harry’s nerves, while Y/N’s were skyrocketing. He looked as handsome as ever with sleep still gracing his features, his chestnut hair in a mess on top of his head and eyes slightly puffy and red. In all honesty, Y/N couldn’t get over how it felt to kiss him, and while it had happened, she couldn’t help but feel thirteen again, with a crush on the cute boy in class. 

It was like he knew exactly what she was thinking, his tongue darting out from between his lips, leaving them wet and glistening in the early morning sun. And Y/N just can’t seem to draw her attention away from them, can’t stop the image of him pressed against her replaying over and over in her mind.

Maybe it was the way her eyes drooped slightly, her nostrils flaring ever so subtly, but Y/N gets the feeling that he knows exactly what she’s thinking, his left eye dropping in a wink that leaves Y/N’s tummy fluttering. 

“Mornin’ love.” His voice is hoarse and deep with residue drowsiness, and it does nothing to ease Y/N’s churning stomach. She coughs lightly before replying, “morning H.” Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet and manner docile, as she tries to hide the less than appropriate thoughts running through her head. 

He walks over to the stove, leaving Jeff and Mitch behind in the presence of someone far more interesting. “Smells good, what are you cookin’?” 

Y/N giggles, the sound unnecessarily loud and she cringes at herself before replying, “um, pancakes. Made some more just in case you guys wanted some.” In truth, Y/N knew Mitch didn’t like pancakes, Sarah wasn’t even awake yet, and Jeff had just started a very strict ‘no sugar’ diet, and so those extra pancakes were specifically for Harry after she had heard his sink running upstairs. And well, Harry knew all of that too. He feels a certain spaciousness in his chest one can only attribute to gratitude, and it makes him want to draw her close to him and kiss her cheek in thanks. 

Instead, Harry grabs her small hand in his and squeezes it lightly, before walking over to the fridge to get the maple syrup. “What’d you want on yours, babe? Nutella?” 

Y/N smiles and nods her head, giddy with the tingling feeling travelling through her hands and the prospect of spending more time with Harry. 

—— 

The day had been quiet. Y/N felt as if she had been wading through water all afternoon, sluggish and slow but somehow using more energy than walking on land required. The whole house felt slow-moving, most of its inhabitants spending the day in front of the TV, reading books or napping. And so it made sense for their daily activity to be a movie night. 

The housemates had decided a Disney marathon would be a perfect end to a hungover day, and with Jeff’s only condition being that they watched ‘Bambi’, everyone was in agreeance. 

Y/N had offered to organise the snacks and drinks while everyone else brought down pillows and blankets from upstairs, the room looking cozier then she had seen it in the past few months, and at the centre of it, Harry.

In the same position, he had been in the night they had sat watching cartoons in the early morning together, only to fall asleep and wake up in each other’s arms. It felt like so long ago now, but Y/N knows in reality, not that much time had passed. She found herself feeling thankful for how their relationship had evolved, and the effect a little time had given them. 

It was funny how far they had come. Y/N was so worried Harry had hated her after that, she now wonders if he’d always felt some type of draw towards her, or if he really had hated her as much as he made out. She briefly wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as she is, as he looks at her questioningly, standing in the doorway of the living room, unmoving. 

Y/N smiles lightly, and begins to move towards the couch, realising that there were three blankets in total, one being used by Mitch and Sarah, seemingly very close underneath the cover, one thrown over Jeff and the other sitting across Harry’s legs. She hesitates for a moment, the obvious choice being Harry, but she isn’t sure where their relationship stood, and more importantly, how much the rest of the housemates knew about it. 

Harry quickly provides a solution, “y’can just share my blanket if you want pet.” Y/N’s tummy flips, but the blank stare she gives him as she runs through all the repercussions (good and bad) coming from her doing that, comes off more as confusion. Did he forget that Jeff didn’t know about the kiss? 

Harry sits uncomfortably in the silence. “Or not, whatever you want.” Silence again, and with each passing second, Harry’s facial expression becomes more and more exasperated. 

Mitch is smirking, giving Harry a knowing glance. Sarah is looking at Mitch confused, obviously trying to figure out her boyfriend's cryptic facial expression. Jeff was the most bewildered of all, clearly completely lost. 

“Fine, fuckin’ forget it. Y’can share a blanket with Jeff ‘Mcvomit’ Aezzof. Or maybe you can jack Mitch off under the blanket with Sarah, and all of us will pretend we don’t know. How bout that hm?” Harry knows he’s being slightly unfair to all those just mentioned. 

A month ago, during a game night, Jeff had consumed slightly too much alcohol and subsequently vomited all over the living room carpet and Harry’s rainbow Gucci boots. Safe to say, Harry was not impressed and hadn’t let Jeff forget it either. 

He also knows he’s being unfair to Sarah and Mitch, although, he’s not exactly wrong. Harry had no proof anything was happening under Sarah’s unicorn blanket but they always sat suspiciously close, and some strange movements had definitely been observed during movie nights, particularly when the crew had binged ‘50 Shades of Grey.’

No one had mentioned it to each other, until one night, Y/N had tried to subtly ask Jeff and Harry if they had noticed too. The two boys immediately agreed, admitting they both had their own suspicions. However, this was the first time anyone had brought it up with the couple in question. 

He’s instantly met with outcry from both Sarah and Mitch.

“Oh for fucks sake H.” 

“You’re so crude.” 

“We do not do that.” 

Jeff also looks unamused, mumbling under his breath, although the shouts from the couple drown his reply out, “you have too much to drink one time, and no one lets you forget it.” 

But Y/N, in true Y/N style laughs, and all of a sudden Harry doesn’t feel nearly as bad for his accusations or his teasing of Jeff. “Alright bug, alright. You made your point, scoot over.” 

Y/N settles under the blanket with Harry, tucking her legs underneath her, trying to maintain a healthy distance from him. She hadn’t really been so consciously close to Harry before, only ever being asleep, drunk or… busy. Y/N noticed his signature scent was present, a warm cedarwood cologne that somehow made her nostrils tickle and insides feel slightly warmer, like a shot of whiskey travelling down her throat and spreading through her tummy. 

Maybe it was the man the smell lingered to that made her feel so comfortable and warm, or perhaps it was the blanket and heat radiating from him, but either way, Y/N loved it. She revelled in the comfort and feeling of safety that she didn’t often bask in, and it was Harry of all people who made her feel like this. 

She briefly wonders what this movie night would entail. She was happy they were already close to each other, stealing glances. Each bout of eye contact bringing a tingle through her spine, a shiver wracking through her shoulders when she noticed him glancing at her with his signature smirk and bright look. 

She was aware that they were slowly moving closer to each other with each passing second of the film playing in front of them. When she had initially sat down next to Harry, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, but now she could feel his side pressed against her, and his leg slightly crossed over hers.

If she’s honest, she was much more focused on the handsome individual sitting next to her than on the movie anyway, and consequently, she missed the first twenty minutes. 

What she cannot miss, however, is Harry’s hand coming to rest gently on her thigh. His palm flat against the plush flesh and his nails lightly scratching at the skin lying over it. 

She looks over at him, his strong jaw and cheekbone highlighted by the dim light of the TV screen, his nose slightly pointed at the end and his long eyelashes fluttering against his skin. She watches as his pink lips tug upwards, bringing a smirk and deep dimple to his handsome face. With that smile, she realises he knows she’s looking at him, and probably knows the effect his touch is having on her. The only acknowledgement she receives is a small squeeze of her thigh. 

She can’t help but scoff, his lax attitude directly opposed her own, if she was honest, she often felt on a different plane than him. Y/N tried to deny it, but she could be highly strung. When she was in a situation where she felt comfortable and safe, she was easygoing, a delight to get along with, and was often confused as someone who was undoubtedly more affable than she really was. 

It was one of the first days of year ten at school when Y/N had experienced her first panic attack. She can still remember the way her hands shook like healthy green leaves in a summer storm, could never forget the tightness in her chest, the closing feeling of her throat, and the tears that blinded her. While the panic attacks had become less frequent as she aged, the underlying symptoms that bubbled into the panic she experienced still tended to rear their ugly heads. 

Harry, on the other hand, seemed endlessly relaxed. While Y/N had initially only seen a more uptight and priggish side of him, it was almost like he enjoyed those negative interactions between them, for the sole reason that he could skillfully get under Y/N’s skin, watch her squirm and burn red. Any other time she witnessed Harry he was almost always equanimous and the voice of reason in the odd little group that found themselves quarantining together. 

He was so comfortable, seemingly so unaffected by her, while she felt his presence made her head spin and heart race. 

He leans closer to her, his curls tickling her collarbone, “are you watchin’ the film?” 

She nods, the action sending a wave of her perfume to invade his nose, the smell somehow so addicting and familiar to Harry now. “Yeh, the sad part is coming soon, though.” 

It’s his turn to scoff, “don’t tell me you’re gonna cry on me.” 

Y/N looks up at him, watching as his bunny-like front teeth capture his bottom lip, “and what if I do, hm?” 

Harry’s first thought is to say he’d get her some tissues and embrace her until the tears seeped into her sullen soaked skin, but he knows that’s even too corny for him. Instead, he looks around the room to find everyone too focused on the movie to pay attention to them, and chuckles lightly, kissing the top of her cheekbone. “Might cry with you love. Poor Bambi, never knew what was comin’.” 

While Y/N looks around the room, she quickly relaxes as she realises no one was paying enough attention to notice Harry’s affectionate action. She stifles a laugh, “we’re in this together then, aren’t we?” 

Harry can’t help but feel like she’s not just referring to a sad Disney movie, but instead the situation they had found themselves in. It was confusing, both of them not entirely over their exes, but both seemingly enamoured with the other, something that felt like it had happened overnight. 

He didn’t know if she felt the same way he did. He simultaneously wanted to fuck the shit out of her and cuddle with her on the couch, for god's sake he wanted to comfort her when she was crying over fucking ‘Bambi.’ Harry was confused. 

He hasn’t felt like this about anyone since Elle, and while Y/N hadn’t spoken about her ex with Harry directly, he had overheard a few snippets of conversation between Sarah and herself. 

Before Y/N had come to stay with the group, Sarah had briefly explained the situation, the fact she had put all her effort into a three-year relationship that had ended brutally, with the asshole showing no remorse towards Y/N or her feelings. Harry didn’t want to push her or himself, but he felt a draw towards her that he couldn’t ignore. 

The way she placed her hand gently on top of his, still laying on her thigh, and tangled their fingers together made his heart swell, and it was at that moment he decided he didn’t care about Elle. For the first time since they broke up, Harry didn’t wish the person he was with was his cheery faced ex-girlfriend. He wanted Y/N, and he hoped with all his heart, she wanted him too. 

He looked over at her, her soft skin and red cheeks glowing gently from the light of the TV screen. 

Harry’s feelings are only confirmed, when he hears the gunshot sounding through the room from the movie, hears a small sniffle coming from the girl next to him, and feels her fingers tightening around his own. Harry knows that somehow, through everything, he wanted Y/N to be there next to him at the end of it. 

—— 

Harry sat stewing in his feelings as the night progressed, each member of the house slowly abandoning the marathon, opting for the warmth of their beds instead. 

If he was honest, Harry was exhausted, but he couldn’t bear to leave Y/N alone. She had waited patiently through everyone else’s choices, sung along with Sarah through ‘The Little Mermaid.’ She had gushed with Mitch over the fantastic visuals in ‘Hercules’ and watched carefully for Harry’s reactions to ‘The Beauty and the Beast,’ squeezing his hand when the last petal fell, and Belle professed her love for the Beast. 

Harry didn’t think it was fair that everyone had chosen bed over watching Y/N’s movie, over singing along to ‘Tangled’ with her. Chosen to sleep instead of talking about how good the animation was and squeezing her hand every time Flynn and Rapunzel were close to kissing. 

So Harry does the best he can. He listens to how excited she gets through the fighting scenes, does his best to sing along to songs he’d never heard before, and listens to her speak about how mean she thought Mother Gothel was. Each scene, he watches her eyes widen in comical child-like glee, and her cheeks flush as she laughs at Harry’s impersonation of Flynn Rider. 

It’s as Mother Gothel is falling out of the window that Harry realises Y/N’s grip on his hand has loosened and that she is resting against his shoulder, asleep. He smiles, bringing his knuckle to brush against her cheek, gently waking her up. As she slightly startles, he kisses her nose, “y’ fell asleep bug.” 

She looks surprised, immediately looking to the screen, “oh shoot. Missed my favourite part too.” Harry can’t help but kiss the small pout that graced her lips as she realises this, which she quickly returns. Harry’s lips tingle as she hums in contentment, causing them to pull apart slightly, Harry touching his lips and giggling. 

It was all so domestic and sweet, a kiss leading to nothing in particular, and Harry loved it. Revelled in the idea of kissing Y/N for the pure pleasure of feeling her soft lips against his own, and for nothing else. As Y/N speaks her lips brush against his, still flush against each other, “we should get to bed.” 

As they both make their way upstairs, hand in hand, they dawdle as if to stall their inevitable parting, and as Y/N prepares to speak their goodbye into existence Harry decides he doesn’t want this night to end. Didn’t want to part from the warmth Y/N provided, to lose the feeling of her face pressed against him or the way her hand felt nestled in his. So Harry does the one thing he can think of, something he may come to regret later, 

“Do you want t’ sleep in my bed tonight? You don’ have to if you don’t want to, of course.” 

Harry observes Y/N’s face, and he feels as if he goes through the same range of emotions as she does. First surprise, then apprehension, her head tilting as she thinks through her decision.

Harry thinks maybe she’s misinterpreting his intentions. Don’t get him wrong, he would jump at the chance to have sex with someone as lovely as her, but he really just wasn’t ready to leave her. Wanted to feel her asleep in his arms, hear the small snores he’s sure she would make and brush her hair away from her face when it looked to be tickling her in the middle of the night. 

“No funny business dove, I promise.” 

Finally, a small smirk graces the young girl's face, her top teeth hooking into her lower lip, a little giggle erupting from her mouth while she nods her head. 

Harry’s face subconsciously matches Y/N’s, a replica giggle floating through his mouth and into the air between them, “yeh?” 

She nods once again, “yeh.” Harry feels nothing but relief, a giddy bubbling feeling erupting from his chest, rushing through to his fingertips. He almost believes she feels the exact same burst of emotion when she squeezes his hand as he pulls her into his bedroom. 

It smells the same as the last time she was in his room, except this time, there was a sense of certainty in the air. While Y/N had previously tiptoed into his private space, terrified of crossing a line both physically and metaphorically, she no longer felt that same apprehension.

She entered the room with confident footsteps, aware that they had already entered a territory in which they would struggle to backtrack from. Aware that Harry would more than likely revel in the fact she was in a space he considered sacred, rather than feel uneasy.

She was correct in her assumption. He watches the way she looks perfectly placed in a room he previously hated anyone else entering, her energy already matching his own, but somehow adding an exuberant light into a space that, before her, had represented his despondency. 

Harry begins getting ready for bed, takes off his pants and shirt, left in only boxers. As the cotton of his top slides over his mass of curls, he catches Y/N staring, her mouth slightly parted, pupils dilated and cheeks pink. 

The cocky boy smirks slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion ever so subtly, and a gust of wind passing through his nose as a form of laughter. “Would you prefer me to keep my pants on babe?” 

His cheeky tone works to bring Y/N from her stupor. She stumbles over her words, clearly embarrassed Harry had caught her ogling at his body, again. “Uh.. no, no whatever’s comfortable, I guess. Do you want to keep your pants on? You can, of course, I just…” 

“Teasing Y/N,” his smirk grows into a grin, his dimple flashing her once again, “I’m only teasing.” She visibly relaxes, her shoulders returning to the normal position, and her eyes closed, trying to shake the remaining embarrassment from her system. 

“You are the worst.” 

He only laughs, “and you take yourself too seriously. Now, do you want a shirt to sleep in?” 

While Y/N might usually be offended by him saying something like that, she knows he’s not wrong. In fact, he’s entirely correct. He just knew exactly how to wind her up, what buttons to push to make a flush rise to her cheeks and for her sentences to become stuttered. 

“That would be nice, thank you.” 

Harry only nods, walking over to the dresser in the corner and rummaging through, pulling out a white shirt with the phrase “enjoy health, eat your honey” on the front. He holds it up in front of his body, waiting for Y/N’s approval, which he quickly receives, throwing it over to her in response. 

She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to give her the courtesy of changing in private. “Do y’ mind, you lecher?” 

He startles, “oh uh sorry.” Y/N watches as a blush spreads from his cheeks to his neck, a clear sign of his humiliation, and he quickly turns around. 

She changes, giving a soft cough when it’s safe for him to turn around. Harry can hardly believe his eyes, he knew she was beautiful, but fucking hell, it was like an angel had been sent to him from heaven. 

Her legs were soft, and Harry wanted nothing more than to trail kisses up her thighs, past the dotting of stretch marks, patches of missed hair, and the hem of the shirt that sat loosely against her. He could see her nipples poking through the fabric, firm, surrounded by supple flesh, that Harry had trouble to stop imagining. Her face was soft, a pleasant but embarrassed smile pulling along half her face, smoothed by the leftover makeup she hadn’t bothered to remove. 

She was fucking beautiful. 

“Stop looking at me like that you…” 

“Lecher. I know. It’s hard not to be when you look like that.” Her cheeks turn an even darker shade of crimson, and her eyebrows draw up in surprise. Harry didn’t know at what, she was his very own wet dream, and he had trouble imagining that she didn’t know that. 

Unsure of what to say she patters towards the bed, lifting the covers and lying beneath them, facing the side he usually slept on, waiting for Harry to lay in her line of sight. He does, his cheek getting gently squished against the silk pillow, his hair billowing out from his head, creating an unruly mess around his face. 

“I don’t…” she sighs, clearly struggling to string together whatever was going through her mind. Harry grabs the hand laying between them, and gives it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. He had been vulnerable in front of her weeks before they had even shown interest in each other, and he wanted to give her the same comfortable space to talk through what she was feeling. 

She lets out another breath and continues, “I like when you call me beautiful. I just don’t know how to respond, I’m not all that used to it.” She snorts despite herself, “isn’t that sad?” While she’s laughing, Harry can see the sadness set behind her eyes, and so he doesn’t laugh. Only squeezes her hand once more and replies as steadily as he can, “it’s not sad. I understand.” 

Her laugh turns more genuine, “oh so even the Greek god gets self-conscious? Thank god for that.” He quickly matches her jesting tone, “for sure, need to be humbled somehow.” He pulls her closer and rests his head in the crook of her neck, listening as the giggles she emits, vibrate through her body, and he can’t help but smile too. 

He was happy and at peace. And for the first time in a long time, both he and Y/N slept through the night, relief and giddiness seeping through their pores. 

——

Harry awoke in a daze. His arm was numb, his head slightly dizzy and body just a tad too hot. Then he sees Y/N asleep in front of him, head resting on his bicep, hair a mess, and her hand resting on his, placed on the pillow in front of her face, and all of a sudden none of it mattered.

She was beautiful. It makes Harry wonder about the last time they’d woken up together. He remembers feeling scared, denying any comfort he had found within her in his arms, and he wonders if his subconscious had always known she was right for him. 

They seemed to fit together so seamlessly, for a couple who couldn’t stand the sight of each other months prior. 

Harry uses his free hand to sweep her hair away from her neck, leaving a space for him to press his lips against. Her skin was warm, slightly tacky from sweat, and he breathed her in, dragging his nose up and down the nape of her neck. 

He hears her begin to wake, repositioning her legs under the covers and her breath beginning to quicken from the lull of sleep. A small hum of contentment leaves her lips as she feels Harry’s mouth kissing on her skin. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he whispers, his breath tickling her. She lets out a laugh, her voice heavy with drowsiness, “morning H.” 

The hand that was already resting loosely in his tightens as she loops their fingers together, “how’d you sleep?” 

He squeezes back, “better than I have in months. What ‘bout you?” 

She leans further back into him and exhales, “so good.” Harry hears the relief in her voice, and he feels it too. Was this all it took to stop his own self wallowing? Being pressed against her? It was like she brought her own kind of calmness to his unstable mind, and while he knew she would disagree with him in saying it, she was a source of purity, a way for him to feel carefree. 

He wanted to tell her, but something was stopping him. What if she wasn’t quite as committed to whatever they were as he was? Harry had never been good with his feelings, preferring to write his emotions into his music. Fuck, sometimes even selling his songs to others to avoid the message coming from his own mouth directly. 

But as Y/N turns around, her mouth inches from his, her eyes wide and doe-like, Harry thinks he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t tell her how he felt. The words creep up his throat, and he tastes them on his tongue, sweet and rich. “I... I really like you. I’m not sure how you feel about everything. I just know I haven’t felt like this since… well for a while, and that’s kind of scary.” 

Harry closes his eyes, not wanting to see Y/N laugh in his face, as well as hear it. Instead, he feels a soft hand on the side of his face, her thumb gently brushing against his temple, and then softly against his eyelid, coming to rest just below it. “Open your eyes, dummy.” 

He flutters his eyes open, met with Y/N’s gaze, revering and sweet, “I like you too, Harry. Thought I made it pretty obvious.” While Harry loved Y/N calling him ‘H,’ the slow drawl of ‘Harry’ made a shiver roll up his spine.  

He can hardly contain the smile that slips upon his mouth, leaning up slightly and kissing the thumb resting against his skin. Harry feels his heart beat a little harder in his chest, the relief freeing the worry from his lungs, his muscles finally relaxing, no longer having to uphold the weight of stress upon them. 

If he was candid, Harry had never had to fight for anyone’s affection before. As narcissistic as it sounded, people usually gravitated towards him, whether for the right or wrong intentions. But Y/N had stood her ground, immediately unimpressed by his blase and borderline rude attitude and had reverberated his energy right back at him. If Harry was honest, at first he hated that about her, but it had come to represent her honesty. It made the affection she showed him now that much more special. 

Harry felt as if he had earnt her respect and affection, because he deserved it, not the ‘Harry Styles’ found in the tabloids. He had found someone who made him feel like a real person, and a good one at that, someone who deserved the love she so readily gave him. Harry was lucky enough to be lying next to that someone. 

“You’re right… you did drool over me in the shower. Remember that?” And just like that, the moment of vulnerability is over. 

Y/N lightly slaps Harry’s arm and lets out a disgruntled sound, “aish, you really are a lecher.” He laughs and grabs the hand that just hit him, bringing it back up to his face and kisses her palm gently. He looks back at her face, all traces of aggravation wiped from it like cheap lipstick, replaced with contentment instead. She slips her hand back to the side of his neck, her fingertips trailing through the baby hairs laying against his skin and kisses him. Her lips feel slightly chapped but still so warm, and Harry let’s out a relieved exhale. 

He couldn’t explain why, but this kiss felt different from any other he’d experienced with Y/N, hell any other he’d shared with anyone. It had all the intensity and lust of their kiss in the kitchen, added with a sense of emotion that Harry couldn’t quite place. Each press of her mouth, each swipe of her tongue or gentle nibble of his lower lip felt like she was desperately trying to convey every feeling Harry previously doubted existed. 

Harry remembers the night of their first kiss, recalls thinking he had never felt lust like that before, never wanted to kiss someone so badly, but now laying in this bed with Y/N running her hand through his hair and her hips lightly bucking towards him, Harry feels as if he’s surpassed the way he had felt then. 

He feels pure unadulterated need flowing through his veins, can’t even begin to explain how much he wanted Y/N. She turned to fully face him, tangling their feet together and pressing herself further into the kiss. Harry wishes he could give her more, wants to bring every drop of pleasure to her he possibly could, wants to touch and kiss each part of her. It felt as if a spark had lit within his body, beginning at his chest, travelling all the way through to his fingertips, and straight to his groin. 

Harry brings his thigh between her legs, and she takes advantage of it instantly, rubbing against him. He groans as he feels her warmth pressed against his leg, and he can tell she is suppressing her moans of pleasure as she pushes down harder with each gyration of her hips. 

“Tha’s it baby, get what you need.” 

At this, she leans her head back, a mewl erupting from her throat. Harry kisses down her exposed neck, sucking and nipping a love bite into the skin below him. Bringing his hands to her waist lightly, he helps to guide her in grinding against the thick muscle of his leg. 

She grabs one of his hands grappling at her hip and brings it to her chest, where he feels her hard nipple poking through the thin material of her top. He squeezes and pinches gently, hearing her breath hitch directly in his ear, bringing goosebumps to the skin along his arms, her hands grabbing his broad shoulders and neck. 

With his other hand, he slowly slips his thumb past the hem of her sweatpants, running it along the soft skin there. The tickling sensation completely contradicts the harsh action of her hips rubbing against him, causing a shiver to trickle down her spine. Y/N whines into his ear so quietly, Harry wonders if he actually heard her at all. “Please.” 

“What do you need, hm? Tell me.” 

A bated breath parts her lips, “fuck…anything.” She knows it’s not enough, knows Harry wants to hear exactly what she wants from him, but she’s embarrassed. Isn’t quite used to anyone asking her what she wanted and needed, and Harry’s filthy tongue only brings her more unnecessary shame. 

“C’mon Y/N, use your words. I’ll give you whatever you want, just use your word’s for me.” 

Her hands dig into his shoulders, “fingers, please!”

He kisses her temple and murmurs a quick, “good girl,” before dipping his hand completely into the front of her pants, still only teasing along the line of her underwear. 

Y/N’s not sure how much she can take. Every move, every touch is goading and light, clearly trying to provoke her, and as much as she loves it, she needs relief. She grabs at his arm that is currently so close to the place she needs him to be and tries to force it closer to her, harder against her, anything other than what he’s doing now. “Harry… c’mon, please,” she all but cries. 

He chuckles before slipping into her underwear, feeling her wet heat against his fingertips, she was already dripping for him before he’d even touched her. He presses her clit gently while he kisses against her neck, flicking his tongue against the ghost of the hickey he had given her earlier, the pain mixing so deliciously with the pleasure. 

While he had stopped his teasing touches, it didn’t stop him from using his teasing words. 

“This the first time you’ve gotten so wet for me, pet?” She furrows her eyebrows, shaking her head side to side, attempting to hide her face into his neck. He feigns surprise, “no? Filthy girl. Ever touched yourself thinking about me?” She whines, picking up on his teasing, further burrowing her face away from him, trying to hide the very obvious flush that had risen to her cheeks. 

He laughs, nudging her head with his nose, trying to encourage her to show her face again. She mewls once more, the only indication she heard him was the bucking of her hips against his fingers, now inside of her and stroking against her g-spot. 

“Next time, just ask for my help instead,” he murmurs into her ear, biting at her earlobe. She hisses, attempting to press against him even harder, get even closer to him, although it was almost impossible, being pressed flush against each other with his fingers knuckle deep in her cunt. 

He licks against her jaw, feeling the strong bone under the tender flesh, the warmth of his breath blowing against the damp skin of her neck causes her to shiver, “can I taste you?” Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever nodded her head harder, her eyes rolling back into her head, merely thinking about Harry tonguing the sensitive skin between her legs. 

He continues to kiss down her neck, taking extra time to lick against the dip in her collarbones, revelling in the tangy taste of sweat invading his mouth. He sucks her nipples through her shirt, the material clearly wet and spit-soaked once he pulls away, the air surrounding them, making the outline of her areola obvious. 

He presses a few chaste kisses against the swell of her tummy, finally reaching where she needed him most. He slowly pulls her pants down her legs, trailing the hem with pecks against each inch of newly exposed skin. Grabbing each ankle, he pulls the cuffing over her feet, playfully biting at the bone on her ankle, causing a shriek and a giggle to erupt from her and a playful press against his cheek, imitating a kick to his jaw. 

He laughs, batting her foot away from his face. “Oi don’t damage the money-maker!” 

 Y/N bursts out laughing, shaking her head. He was an idiot, but she loved that they can switch between moods so quickly. While she’s still laughing, he’s pushing her legs apart, his hand nearly fitting over the whole surface of her inner thigh. “C’mon love, spread your legs fo’ me.” 

And with that, Y/N stops laughing. 

While continuing to push against her leg, he presses an open mouth kiss against the front of her underwear, already able to taste the heady flavour. Harry can’t help but let out a deep groan, every nerve ending set alight at his mouth finally around her cunt. The tip of Y/N’s tongue tingles with a beg for him to take off her underwear, but Harry acts on his own accord, almost ripping the garment off in his haste. 

If Harry thought the taste of her was mouthwatering through the cotton, the taste of her without it was even better. 

He had meant to tease her, he really had, but he can’t help but lick straight into her weeping hole, moaning at the taste and the smooth feeling of her smeared against his mouth. Spreading her lips with his pointer and ring finger, Harry continues to explore, flicking his tongue against the swollen bud underneath her pubic bone, causing a loud moan to erupt from her mouth. 

“Holy fuck Harry! Feels so good.” 

Harry tucks two of his fingers into her while sucking at her clit, Y/N tugging at his curls harshly in response. 

It feels so good, but Y/N needs more. The feeling of Harry’s fingers is making her skin tingle, and her legs shake, but she wants nothing more than to be stretched out by him. She wants him to give her everything, push into her slowly, stretch her pussy, and finally feel his cum spurting into her. 

So she pulls him up, one hand still intertwined in his hair and the other on his shoulder, scratching and pulling as a hint to bring his mouth to hers. At first, he’s hesitant, grumbling slightly in annoyance, not wanting to part from her, “Harry please, want to kiss you.” 

He gives her one more harsh suck, before sliding back up her body, where Y/N is waiting with her mouth open and her eyes on him. Harry smirks, slipping the two fingers that had just been inside of her against her tongue, feeling more blood rushing between his legs at the feeling of her licking and sucking them as if it were his cock. 

She bites gently, causing a hiss to escape from his mouth as he drags them back out slowly, quickly replacing his fingers with his lips, licking into her mouth.

The tangy taste of her own cum slips past her tastebuds again, and Y/N had never been one to find it hot, but with the salty flavour transferring from Harry’s fingers and tongue, she’d never been more attracted to her own taste. 

Y/N desperately wants to mix his cum with hers, wants to swallow around his cock and feel the intoxicating mixture slide down her throat, “I wanna taste you now.” 

He breathes through his nose heavily and shakes his head, “just want to feel you. ‘M not gonna last long if you suck me off as well.” Y/N whines, but by the longing look Harry gives her pouting lips, it seems he’s not entirely content with his decision either. 

He reaches over her shoulder, digging into the set of drawers next to the bed, giving Y/N the perfect view of his broad chest, littered with tattoos. He looks so tan, his muscles rippling under the smooth skin, and she wants nothing more than to litter it with love bites and scratches. She teasingly licks at his nipple, and he startles, an uncharacteristic giggle leaving his lips as he comes back to lie in front of her, in his hand a condom. 

Suddenly his eyes clear, the lust caused fog fading, “you still okay with this? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

Her heart swells, how was it possible that this Adonis-like man was also so sweet? There was nothing she wanted more than to be with Harry in every way and right now, she needed him inside of her, “yes Harry. Do you?” 

He scoffs some, “fuck yes,” he mumbles his next statement as he tucks his head under her jaw, putting the condom on at the same time, “feel like my dicks gonna fall off, I’m that hard.” 

She laughs, wrapping her arms around him, she’d never felt so happy and complete, so overwhelmed. Every positive emotion was combining within her, creating a whirlwind of passion and love, causing each feeling to increase tenfold. 

The head of Harry’s cock slips through her folds, sending a zap of pleasure through her each time it nudges her clit, and he smirks each time she twitches, unconsciously arching up towards him. “Y’ ready?” 

She nods, moving her hips closer, making her own attempt to be filled by him. 

Slowly, Harry enters her, each inch causing the delicious burn from him stretching her walls increasing. Y/N almost chokes on her own moans, can hardly stand how good he feels or the way her muscles spasm attempting to adjust to the intrusion. It feels as if each ridge and curve was being simulated, each nerve ending firing again and making her head feel dizzy. 

Harry almost looks like he’s in pain with his eyes shut so tightly, Y/N can see the wrinkles surrounding them. His mouth is parted with sharp breaths entering and leaving his mouth, his head hung back, and his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. 

“Holy fuck. You feel so fucking good.” 

At the sound of his voice, Y/N clenches, making Harry cry out. “Move H. Fuck me, please.” 

He begins slowly, pulling out before slamming back into her, reaching so far Y/N can feel him in her tummy. 

He intertwines their fingers and holds them against the pillow her head rests on. She squeezes them, and he leans his forehead against hers, the tender action contradicting the harsh snaps of his hips. “How do you feel so good?” He whimpers. She nudges his chin with her nose, pushing his lips closer to hers, each thrust smearing them closer together. 

“You’re so good to me H,” she whispers back as she wraps one of her hands behind his head, his neck in the crook of her elbow. Using leverage from her other hand against the bed, she pushes her hips upwards, creating double the amount of friction between them. The actions causing both of them to cry out, Harry seeming to be pushed impossibly further inside of her, the head of him nudging against her cervix. 

“Fuck that’s it. Look at you, usin’ me to get yourself off.”

While the new angle felt so good, it was quickly tiring. Harry could see Y/N fatiguing after a few minutes, knowing the burn in her legs would be almost unbearable at this point. So he tucks his arms under her outstretched ones, laying his torso against hers and tucking his head into her neck, kissing lightly as he completely slows down his movements. He stops the whine that leaves her throat with a quick, “shh, it’s okay. Just wanna take my time with you, never want this to end.” 

While running her hand through his curls and holding the back of his neck closer to her chest, she replies, “me either baby.” 

They spend some time like this, just enjoying each other’s company and the feel of being so close to one another. Y/N breathes deeply, the smell of sex in the room mixing with Harry’s cologne, making her relax and let out a contented sigh. She had never felt more full and so satisfied, with a hint of an orgasm sparking between her hip bones, the dull ember just waiting to be fully ignited by his movements. 

As if sensing this, he speeds up once again. The burn that stretches through her legs as Harry pulls them over his shoulders, mixes with the pleasure of his thrusts, the head of his cock nudging her g-spot with each deep drive of his hips. 

Y/N cries out, grabbing at his shoulders, her nails unintentionally digging into the skin, creating small red crescents along the tense muscles connecting his neck to his scapula. 

He just feels so good. Every movement of his hips, each inhale and exhale, each brush of their lips and dig of his fingers brings Y/N even closer to her orgasm. She can’t tell if Harry plans each of these things with her pleasure in regard or if it’s the chemistry between them that’s causing every sensation to be felt tenfold. All she knows is that she would happily lie under Harry for the rest of her life if it meant she always felt this weightless. 

Harry’s balls make a sharp ‘thwack’ against her ass each time he thrusts, the sound of her arousal echoing through the room, in such a crude fashion, Y/N almost has time to feel embarrassed. On the other hand, Harry revels in the sound, loves the fact he can see, hear, touch every part of her arousal, surrounding them in their own cocoon of sex and pleasure. 

“C’mon Y/N, please. Cum on my cock.” While Y/N had already been feeling the building pressure of her impending orgasm, Harry’s words only work to bring it faster. “Please Y/N,” she bucks up against him, chasing the feeling of his pubic bone rubbing against her already sensitive clit. “Good girl. Fuck, you’re my good fucking girl, aren’t you?” She whines a response, the noise high pitched and hoarse. Harry sees Y/N’s desperate search for her finish, and brings two fingers down, rubbing at her clit. 

“Fuck, yes, Harry!” Y/N can’t describe how overwhelmed she is with pleasure and feeling. Her face feels flushed and sticky with sweat, her legs are slightly cramped from her constant strain to get closer to Harry and his cock buried in her cunt, and when Harry brings one of his ring adorned hands to wrap comfortably around her neck, suddenly Y/N feels weightless. She feels the burst of pleasure from between her legs, a zip running up her spine, leaving her limbs with a tingle. 

Harry hears her cum before he sees it, the moans dripping from her mouth, her eyes widening before she’s squeezing them tightly together. Harry knew he would play that exact moment on replay for the rest of his fucking life. 

He watches as she brings her hand up to his that’s still spread around her neck, and Harry almost can’t stand it when he feels her squeezing it tighter, begging for Harry to give her more. If he wasn’t so close to cumming, Harry might’ve teased her, loosened his grip on purpose to watch her squirm and whine, whisper in her ear how hot it was to see how desperate she was for Harry to simply touch her, alas he’s too close. Can barely form a coherent thought, let alone tease her. So instead he appeases her, tightens his grips and begins to pound into her harder, searching for his own release.

Finally, it comes, Harry releasing a deep groan, grabbing onto the pillow next to her head, letting out a deep moan. Both of them can feel each rope of cum, as Y/N’s own orgasm works to milk each drop from him. 

His movements slowly come to a stop, leaving him tucked inside of her as his length softens. Wrapping his arms around her once again, he revels in the warmth and comfort she brings, his lips pressing against hers gently. “Fuckin’ hell.” 

Y/N giggles and nods in agreement. How had they spent so long fighting when this was the result of them getting along. She still feels Harry shifting above her, the aftershocks of her orgasm, creating an increase in sensitivity, each movement from the handsome boy above her sending a jolt through her whole body. 

“Fuck you’re still squeezin’ me pet.” She hugs into him tighter as yet another twitch is brought from his prick still buried deep within her, “mhm, still sensitive but you feel so good.” 

He kisses her soft temple, “lucky for you, in about fifteen minutes, we can go again.” Y/N scoffs, her head leaving the crook of his neck to give him a dirty look only to be met with his deep smirk. His famous dimples indented next to his smile, as he giggles and brushes his nose against the swell of her cheek. 

“You really are…” his giggle is joined by her own. 

“A lecher,” they finish together. 

[maxwell-grant]

Excuse Me what is pulp and why is it importan?

Good question! And probably one I should have answered sooner. Time to put on the historian hat for this one.

"Pulp" is a term used mainly to describe forms of storytelling that sprang out or were dominant in 20th century cheap all-fiction American magazines from the 1900s to the 1950s. The pulp magazine began in 1896, when Frank Munsey's Argosy magazine, in order to cut costs, dropped the non-fiction articles and photographs and switched from glossy paper to the much less expensive wood pulp paper, hence the name. The pulp magazines would mainly take off as a distinct market and format in 1904, when Street & Smith learned that Popular Magazine, despite being marketed towards boys, was being consumed by men of all ages, so they increased page count and started putting popular authors on the issues.

It was specifically the 1905 reprint of H.Rider Haggard's Ayesha that not only put Street & Smith on the map as rivals to Argosy, but also inspired other companies to start publishing in the pulp format. Pulps encompassed literally everything that the authors felt like publishing. Westerns, romance, horror, sci-fi, railroad stories, war stories, war aviation stories. Zeppelins had a short-lived subgenre. Celebrities got their own magazines, it was really any genre or format they could pull off, anything they could get away with.

Nowadays, although they came quite late in it's history, the American pulps are most famous for it's "hero pulps", characters like The Shadow and Doc Savage that are viewed as a formative influence on comic book superheroes. The pulp magazines in America lasted until the 1950s, when cumulative factors such as paper shortages, diminishing audience returns and the closing of it's biggest publishers led to it dying off, although in the decades since there's always been publishers calling their magazines pulp. That's the American pulp history.

But pulps are a phenomenon that spans the entire world and has a much bigger history to it, because pulps have become synonymous with cheap fiction magazines and those have a much bigger history. In America, before the pulps, you had the dime novels, the direct predecessors of the pulps, as well as the novelettes. England had it's penny dreadfuls and story papers, and continued publishing pulp-format magazines past the American 1950s, and that's how we got Elric of Melniboné. France and Russia arguably got to it first with it's 1800s coulporters, chapbooks and particularly the feuilletons which lasted all the way to the 20th century and created characters such as Arsene Lupin, Fantomas and The Phantom of the Opera. The Germans published pulp under the name hefteromane. Japan also published pulp magazines both original as well as imported, and the current "light-novel" phenomenon started off as an equivalent of pulp magazines (it's even on the Wikipedia page). China has wuxia, Brazil has cordel, Italy has gialli. There were Indian, Persian, Ethiopian, Canadian, Australian pulps and much more. Look anywhere in the world and you'll find examples of "pulp" happening again and again, under different circumstances and time periods.

Even if we stick to American fiction, it's impossible to state that all pulp heroes must come from the 1900s-1950s pulp magazines, because that forces us to exclude some of the most popular pulp heroes like Indiana Jones, Green Hornet, Rocketeer and The Phantom. Pulp may have once been a term meant to refer to pulp magazines exclusively, but it's morphed and lost structure and it's become the closest thing we have to a general umbrella term that allows us to try and consolidate these under a shared history. It's a lot, as you can see, and it's why several pulp historians that broaden their scope outside of 1930s American fiction have adopted Roland Barthes's definition of pulp as "A Metaphor With No Brakes In It", which is still the closest thing to a true working definition we have.

Why is it important? You tell me. I don't like to stake claims about stuff being "important", everyone's got their own priorities in life. Surely a lot of people would scoff at the idea of old populist fiction published in what was functionally equivalent to toilet paper having any sort of "importance". On the other hand, some people definitely want to talk big about the pulps as a cultural bedrock of fiction, something that's baked into the lifeblood of all fiction as we currently know it. Which it is, mind you, but I don't like to talk about pulp fiction's value being derived mainly from merely the things it inspired.

There is definitely a historical importance to be had in cataloguing them. According to the US's foremost pulp researcher Jess Nevins, 38% of all American pulps no longer exist, and 14% of all American pulps survive in less than five copies. Many libraries have very scant, if any, records on them, many collectors are hard to locate and are uncooperative when it comes to sharing information and letting outsiders view their collections. A lot of them are bound up in legal complications that prevents them from taking off in the public domain, and a lot of them ARE public domain but are completely inacessible as research material. And that's the American pulps, foreign pulps have fared far worse in posterity, with records inaccessible to people unfamiliar with the language or locations, many existing merely in mentions on decades-old records, and hundreds if not thousands of them being completely gone beyond recovery or recall.

Gone, dead, wasted, destroyed. They can't be found in barbershops or warehouse or bookstores, not even in antique stores. Hundreds, thousands of characters, stories and creators, gone. Time and posterity have crushed them to dust, forgotten and ignored by their successors. Unfettered by pretenses of respectability that repressed their glossier counterparts, in packages meant to be destroyed after reading, proudly announcing itself as trash. Things that should have never even lasted as long as they did have died many times now. It's heroes peripherical shapeshifters, nearly all of whom seem dead, quite dead, as dead as fictional characters can possibly be.

But they do not die forever. Many of them have, maybe most of them have, but many of them linger on.

"The strange red flickering of 1930’s fiction seems distant now.  You hold in your hand the product of a time too remote to recall, and feel a slow stir of wonder.  The smell of pulp pages, an illustration, an advertisement, these fragile things mark the slow hammering of time and display what it has done.  About you are today’s machines, today’s shadows.

Outside the window, leaves hang against the sky, as did leaves during the 1930’s.  The sound of voices are no different then than now.  You hold the magazine and feel something quite delicate slipping past. These solid forms surrounding you are all insubstantial. Time’s hammer will also pass across them, leaving little enough behind." - Spider, by Robert Sampson

Many of the things people call dead are just things that have been sleeping for a while or haven't had the chance to be born. Pulp fiction is dead on the page, inert, unless your imagination breathes live to it, and every now and then, one way or another, these characters dig themselves out of dustbins. Maybe it's a brief revival, maybe it's a successful reboot. Maybe they find publishers, or maybe the public domain allows them to find new life. Maybe new creators do interesting things with them, and maybe, just maybe, they live again because some won't shut up about them online. Some curious impulse led you to me, did it not? 

We all have our Frankensteins to obsess over, and these are some of mine. As someone who's lived a life perpetually restless over pursuit of knowledge, pulp has lured me like a moth to flame, because I literally never run out of things to discover within it, I never run out of possibilities. As the years pass and the public domain starts being more and more open to the public, more and more narrative real state is brought forth for writers and artists and creators to play around.

Pulp is the dark matter of fiction, the uncatalogued depths of the ocean, the darkest recesses of space. It's the box of your grandfather's belongings, the treasure you find in an attic, a body part sticking out from an old playground. It's the things that don't work, don't succeed, the things that don't fit, that are out of place. That shouldn't live and succeed, and did so anyway. The things that slither in the cracks, the shadows behind the curtain.

Aren't you interested in peering on what's behind the curtain?

The exquisite workmanship of the head, of a pre-pyramidal age, and the hieroglyphics, symbols of a language that was forgotten when Rome was young–these, Kane sensed, were additions as modern to the antiquity of the staff itself as would be English words carved on the stone monoliths of Stonehenge.

As for the cat-head–looking at it sometimes Kane had a peculiar feeling of alteration; a faint sensing that once the pommel of the staff was carved with a different design. The dust-ancient Egyptian who had carved the head of Bast had merely altered the original figure, and what that figure had been, Kane had never tried to guess.

A close scrutiny of the staff always aroused a disquieting and almost dizzy suggestion of abysses of eons, unprovocative to further speculation. - The Footfalls Within, by Robert E Howard, quoted by Stuart Hopen’s The Mythic American Culture

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (6)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: PTSD, flashbacks/panic attack, a hint into our girl’s past, the sweetest fluff, another book rec 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“So, you really melted ice man's heart, huh?”  

You pouted, throwing Sam a warning glare as you turned back to the stack of books on the cart.  

It had only been a few days since the night on the park bench and you had seen Bucky nearly every evening since. Most of the time you’d find him waiting by the chairs at the entrance to the library for you to get off shift, hair tucked under a baseball cap and hand brushing down at the thigh of his jeans, like maybe he was nervous enough to find the evidence in his palms. He’d brighten up as you spotted him, a lightness coming over his features. You’d lead him down the residential side streets, through canopied trees and flowerbeds along the sidewalk, to spend a few hours at Luciana’s sipping decaf and nibbling through pastries.  

The crowds didn’t bother him as much lately it seemed, or maybe he was getting used to the hustle of rush hour after spending so much time avoiding it. Part of you wondered whether your hand slipping into his and the constant pressure of a slight squeeze had anything to do with it. You wondered if it grounded him like an anchor when his body was eager to float off into space.

He was so impossibly sweet with you; hesitant, like Mrs. Jefferson had said the first day he wandered into the library, but still, there was a lingering charm in it. It sat in the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize the lines on your faces, in the way he listened to your long rambles on the latest book you were assigning him, how he had no interest in cutting you off, like maybe he could have listened to you talk for an eternity if you’d let him.  

Bucky Barnes was a little rough on his edges, with some fraying seams and broken pieces, but he was still whole – still complete and wonderful and beautiful. He was soft in his undertones, glimpses of a subtle charm and confidence slipping through the cracks in the small moments when he let his guard down. You didn’t know the Bucky before the war that Sam and Steve spoke so fondly of, but you knew the man he was now and well, this Bucky was everything.  

“He seems like he’s doing better,” Sam said, a little softer this time as he leaned his back to the book shelf. His arms folded over his chest, a smile resembling a sort of pride pushing up at his cheeks. “Took me months to convince him to leave the apartment long enough to check out the VA and you’ve got him down here visiting you almost every day. He’s walking through rush hour just to see you, Y/n. That’s huge for him! Hell, his face might break from how much he’s been smiling lately...”

You laughed, hushing Sam as an elderly woman shot a pointed stare in his direction. Sam held his arms up in defense.  

“He seems happy, Y/n,” Sam finished as you set another book onto the shelf. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I get you’re implying that it’s my doing,” you said unconvinced, “but he’s stronger than you give him credit for, Sam. He would have come around on his own. He just needed time. All of you did when you got back. Clearly some more than others. But Bucky... he suffered an immeasurable loss over there. Imagine what that must be like for him to have to readjust to his own body. Of course, he needed time.”

Sam was still smiling at you, nodding along, like maybe you were only proving his point. You believed so strongly in Bucky that it didn’t even cross your mind that maybe it was because of you that he’d started to find himself again. You hadn’t known Bucky when he was holed up in his apartment, shielding himself from the light and drowning in his own anguish. It broke your heart to imagine him sitting alone in a dark, messy apartment, staring at the walls and wishing he were someone else.  

You couldn’t imagine him like that because the man you knew was sweet beyond measure and he made your stomach twist into knots from a simple look across the room. It didn’t seem possible that the light could be drained from the blue of his eyes.  

“I’m not trying to fix him, Sam,” you mumbled under your breath, keeping your eyes trained on the task at hand. “He doesn’t need fixing. I just... I like him and... I like spending time with him. If that means he’s doing better, if he’s starting to look more like the guy you knew, then... that’s good.”

Sam paused, pursing his lips as he studied your face for the subtle reflexes upon your features. You weren’t sure what he was looking for or maybe it was that he was debating whether to argue with you further on the subject, but eventually he resided to concede, letting out a heavy exhale.  

“Just... thank you,” Sam said, relief etched into his voice. “It’s nice having my friend back.”

You looked up at him, a little stunned. “Sam, I haven’t done anything. We haven’t even...um... We aren’t...”

He smiled at you, something genuine, something softer than the cheesy grins you were used to from him. It was a glimpse into who Sam was behind the jokes and the comedic breaks in tension; a man who cared so deeply for the people in his life that he’d cross mountains to see them smile again. He’d come to your aid without so much as a second thought when you’d needed him most, when your world was thrown completely upside down, and here he was again, putting everything he had into making his friend feel whole again.  

Sam put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve done more than you realize.”

You stared at him for a moment, a little lost for words. Could just a few extra days spent wandering around the library, sitting across a café table nursing coffee and scones, and curling up on a park bench have that kind of impact? If you let yourself stop to realize how much brighter your days felt when Bucky was in them, maybe you’d understand what Sam meant.  

“Besides,” Sam shrugged as his smile drifted, “it’s nice to see you happy again, too. Moving on.”

You swallowed and it tasted of bile. The book nearly slipped from your hand.  

Sam chewed on the edge of his lip, a hand swiping over the top of his head. “I know it’s been a few years since we lost—”

“Please— don’t,” you choked out. 

Sam bowed his head, nodding, and you could already feel the swell in your throat. You exhaled a tense breath that struggled to push past your lungs and forced yourself to continue restocking the books, concentrating on the alphabetizing and weathered feel of the covers.

“It’s still hard for me to talk about him, too,” Sam admitted, leaning against the shelf. He shoved his hands into his pockets, a frown pushing on his lips that felt so incredibly unnatural to the man you knew. “But the pain of it doesn’t hurt as much when we have reasons to get up in the morning. Reasons to smile, still. Good things to look forward to.”

You nodded, willing yourself not to cry. It had been so long since you let yourself drift into the memory of the man you’d lost, the name behind the membership card of the loved ones left behind to war heavy in your pocket.  

“All I’m saying is Bucky’s good for you too, kid,” Sam smiled softly nudging you in the shoulder and tickling your sides until a laugh escaped. You clamped a hand down over your mouth as the two of you earned another pointed stare from the elderly woman lurking in the romance section. Sam raised his hands in defense.  

You wiped at your eyes, cheeks burning from grinning. “I could have told you that, you know.”  

“Speak of the devil.” Sam nodded over to the top of the staircase where a man emerged, holding onto the banister; a mop of long brown hair swayed down into his face, a dark green army jacket hung over his shoulders with a sleeve draped down at his left side untouched.

Whatever remained of the lump burning in your throat dissipated, the weight in your pocket feeling a little lighter. A smile grew so wide on your checks you’d nearly forgotten the frown that had ached in the very same muscles just moments earlier.  

“Bucky! What are you doing here?” you laughed as he approached, a little surprised to see him. You nearly wrapped your arms around him before you stopped yourself. You’d only gone as far to hold his hand and you weren’t even sure he’d be comfortable with it given Sam was standing directly on your left.

“Hey,” he replied nervously, pushing a hand through his hair. It looked noticeably softer, a bit of a shine to it, and you wondered if he’d started to care for it again. It was the first time you’d seen him without the baseball cap on. He exchanged a look with Sam before turning back to you. “You said that it got pretty slow on Thursdays and I just wanted to offer you some company but... seems like that’s already covered.”

“Sam can leave!”

Sam pouted dramatically at you as Bucky started to laugh under his breath. It wrinkled up into his eyes and you saw for a moment what Sam had meant; a brightness had returned to the shimmering shades of the open blue skies in his eyes in favor of the muted and darkened ocean waves you’d seen that first day in the VA.

“That hurts, you know,” Sam whined, hand clutching at the fabric on his chest as if he could reach inside and touch his own heart. “We were friends long before this one wandered on scene.”

“Bye Sam,” you sang, waving him off with a nudging on his back. Hands pressed into his shoulder blades, Sam dug his heels into the multicolored carpet under his feet to keep you from pushing him along. You started to laugh loud enough for the woman who scolded Sam earlier to turn in your direction with a scowl upon her face.  

“Alright, alright,” Sam groaned. He stood up straight, brushing you off. “Have fun, kids. Buck, I’ll see you Thursday for the game, right?”

Bucky nodded; hand tucked into his pocket. “Steve’s on nacho duty and we both know he’ll bring enough for twenty people, so you better.”

Sam grinned, pumping his fist in the air. “Exactly what I want to hear.”

“Weren’t you leaving...?” you teased, arms folded over your chest. Sam stuck out his tongue at you and quickly disappeared down the steps. You could hear the rhythmic bounce of his footsteps all the way to the bottom floor. You turned back to Bucky. “So, Thursday night football, huh?”

“Steve started it,” Bucky chuckled, a nervous hand raking through his hair. “They’ve been trying to rope me into game nights since baseball season started. Never had the interest before, I guess.”

That was what Sam was talking about; the small changes in his friend, little pieces of hope embedded into each day, small allowances of motivation and joy. He was finding it again.  

“And now?” you inquired and Bucky shrugged.  

“Sounds like it could be nice. Haven’t watched a game with them like that since before—” He swallowed, eyes darting down. It took a minute, a short breath in and a tense exhale before he cleared his throat and pushed out a smile. “Anyway, how are you? I didn't mean to interrupt if you were hanging out with Wilson, honest.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Sam. He likes the attention too much.” You laughed, stepping a little closer.  

Glancing down at his hand as he held it down by his side – not tucked into his pocket, not curled up in a fist – and you dared to reach for it. You felt the slight twinge of surprise as he jolted under the touch, but relaxed almost instantly as you intertwined your fingers.  

“I’m better now that you’re here,” you said simply, running your free hand soothingly along his arm. It wasn’t unfamiliar contact but it was still new. You could tell it still felt like the first time for him any time you touched him, like he was trying to retrain his body on how to accept touch like this; something gentle and affectionate. You put as much compassion and warmth into each embrace as you could, hoping it might help alleviate some of that anxiety.  

He smiled at you, squeezing your hand in return. “Was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

“Yeah?”  

He nodded, a smile growing on his face as he watched your right hand slide along his arm, running over the bumps in his jacket and feeling for the muscle underneath. If it bothered him, he gave no indication. Instead, he squeezed your hand again, readjusting his fingers, rubbing his thumb sweetly along the back of your hand.  

“Come on,” you nodded, gesturing to the book shelf behind you. “I’ve got more books to put away and I could use some of that company you promised.”

***

Three hours later and Bucky was sitting on one of the beanbags in the Children’s Corner, reading the latest book on a seemingly never-ending list you’d assigned for him: The Silver Linings Playbook by Mathew Quick – the story of a man determined to find the good in the bad as he navigates an evenly matched chaotic love interest, the approval of a strict, suburban Philadelphian family, and an undying loyalty to Eagles’ football.

After Bucky had helped place a few of the novels on the tallest shelves, you insisted you weren’t intent to put him to work and pushed him onto the beanbag chair. Most of the time he pretended to read while he watched you weave around the aisles. Always bright when patrons approached and sneaking a few lines of narrative from each book as you placed it on the shelf, as if you could capture a glimpse of each story and hold it for later.  

You were never more than a few aisles away and he caught you peering over at him every so often, just checking to make sure he was still there. He winked at you as you caught his eye and a laugh would escape passed your lips despite your effort to hide it before you disappeared back to your task.  

He was nearly halfway through the book, using the same clip you’d given him the first day of book club, when he heard the small voice of a child clear their throat.  

A girl, no older than eight, stood behind you as you stocked one of the children’s shelves. She tapped on your spine and backed up a few paces, holding her hands tightly in front of her.

Bucky couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but you knelt down to her level – the same as you’d done for the boy in the café – and nodded intently to what she was saying. Then, after scratching at your head, scrunching up your face in thought, you brought the girl over to a different aisle and pulled out a book for her.  

She glanced over the cover for only a few seconds before she tugged the book tight to her chest and squealed. She thanked you quickly with an enthusiastic wave before she rushed off to a couple standing by the elevator. She wrapped her arms around her father’s legs, excitedly showing her mother the book you’d selected for her.  

But Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. You stood from your place in the aisle as you watched the interaction between the girl and her parents; how the father patted her on the head and ruffled up her hair, much to the child’s infectious delight, how the mother picked up the book and raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Your hands were crossed over your heart, a smile brimming bright on your face. Bucky couldn’t imagine how anyone had come to be as genuine and warm as you were; filled with an unending compassion for others beyond anything he’d ever seen before and a love in the simplicity of kindness. When you looked back over at him, he could hardly catch his breath.  

“Hey,” you called sweetly, skipping up to him. The sleeves of a golden yellow sweater hung past your fingertips and you curled the excess fabric into your palms.  “My shift’s over in a few minutes.”

Bucky blinked a few times, pulling himself from his stare before he glanced over at the clocking hanging high above the books. “Wow. That went fast.”

You nodded, swaying on your heels.  

“Luciana’s?” you asked as you bit down on your lip, that nervous kind of look about you like you might actually believe he’d ever turn down more time with you.  

Bucky exhaled a breath of relief, closing the book in his lap. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Come on,” you grinned, extending your hand to him.  

You took the book first, placing it into the small bag draped over your shoulder, and slipped your hand into his. Bucky let you tug him up to his feet, though he didn’t need the help despite the sinking feeling of the bean bag chair numbing his legs. He liked the feeling of your hand wrapped tightly in his own and he liked it even more so when you didn’t let go.  

“Heading out, dear?” Mrs. Jefferson called by the front desk as you passed by. She ran her eyes over Bucky, that signature smirk present upon her lips, though you didn’t seem to notice. She winked at him and he felt the tips of his ears burn red.  

“Yes, ma’am! I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving her off as you pulled Bucky to the doors.  

It was warmer outside than he was expecting, with children running down the sidewalk and tourists in matching t-shirts chasing on their heels. They carried pinwheels in their hands and bags of popcorn as if they’d been by a carnival – which seemed odd in the middle of Brooklyn. Another family across the street pushed a small child in a stroller with paint on her face in the shape of rainbows and a bag of cotton candy curled up tight in her hand.  

Bucky narrowed his eyes, confused.  

“I love this time of year,” you sighed, leaning your head to his shoulder as you walked. “Look at the sky. It’s beautiful.”

The sun was beginning its decent beyond the horizon, the dark cast of a night sky peering over the light blues as they faded into reds and oranges and a distant glimpse of purple. The stars had begun to peak through the clouds.

“Forgot how dark it can get,” Bucky said as you guided him back to the residential streets.  

You shrugged. “Earlier sunset though. Makes for a nicer walk after my shift.”

Bucky smiled at that. You always managed to find the silver lings in every cloud, no matter how dark or grey or filled with rain – you found the good. He wondered for a moment, if you could manage to do the same in him, too.  

“It was nice of you to come by today,” you said. You nudged his hip as you adjusted your hold on his hand with a gentle squeeze. When he looked down at you, you were smiling at him.

“Just like spending time with you.” Bucky shrugged, trying to play it off casually, though his heart was racing. You nodded slowly, the smile growing even wider on your face, though you didn’t say anything.  

The sidewalks were empty on this part of the walk and while a silence had taken over between you, it was comfortable, like the wrap of a warm blanket. Your hand still tucked into his, a gentle squeeze now and then to remind him you were there, a soft humming under your breath. There was a sense of peace in it, a safety he hadn’t known in a very long time.  

The quiet had been his enemy for so long. He’d done everything he could to avoid it; favoring instead the white noise of a broken satellite channel, the clanging of the radiator he’d never fixed, the static of an empty radio station. The quiet allowed too many memories to come through, memories he would have rather left behind when he boarded that plane for the last time. The quiet mocked him and pushed him so far inside himself, he was underwater.  

But now—now there was a kindness in it. The quiet granted him the moments to listen for the gentle rise of your breaths and the hum in your voice. It allowed him a chance to focus on the click of your boots to the sidewalk and the way you said his name like he was something to behold. The silence gave him you.  

And it was ripped away in an instant.

He felt the vibration of it, felt the rumble in his chest and the skip in his heart, before he ever heard the thunderous echo of the explosion.  

No time to react, Bucky shoved you to the ground, throwing his body on top of yours, his arm casting up to shield your face. He couldn’t feel the heat of the fire, but he knew it must be close.  

“Bucky!” you called, frantic, but your voice sounded too far away. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding so loudly he wondered if it could jump straight out from his chest, if it would spill broken and bloody onto your sweater below.  

You called his name again, trying to grab his attention, but it was muffled, like you were calling to him from beneath an ocean.  

He dared a glance back over his shoulder, searching for enemy soldiers, IEDs, tanks, trunks, anything, but he was only met with empty streets, autumn-colored leaves, and brick buildings when he was sure all he would find was dirt and desert.  

Something was wrong.

“Bucky, you’re alright. You’re safe. Focus on my voice,” you called to him again and he felt the touch of something cold on his face. Your hands. Cupping at his cheeks, your thumbs brushing gently over the rush of heat on his skin. He stared down at you, breathing heavy, but you were steady, calm. “Bucky, breathe for me. Come on.”

You took in a deep breath, urging him to follow.  

But no—he didn’t have time. He had to get you to safety. He had to get you out of the line of fire before—

Another explosion.

He flinched as it erupted, wrapping himself tighter around you, caging you down against the sidewalk in an effort to take the brunt of debris though he felt nothing on his back. You groaned underneath him, a slight pain in your voice.

“Bucky, honey.” Your voice was miles away. He could only hear the last remaining remnants of an echo at the end of a tunnel. Your hands pressed against his face again, urging him to look at you. Your eyes were wide as you searched his, full of concern and maybe even sadness, but no fear. Why was there no fear?

“Look up for me,” you told him gently, gesturing to the sky. “You’re safe, Bucky. It’s only fireworks. Look.”

Bucky kept his focus on you. His vision was blurry, a painful ringing piercing in his ears. When you looked up at the sky, tenderly tilting his head to follow, he saw the trail of illuminated sparks against the backdrop of the setting sun as it raced into the sky.  

Then – the explosion.

He still recoiled at the sound as it erupted into his chest, but he kept his eyes focused on the stream of red and gold as it fluttered against the backdrop of deep navies and the peppered brush strokes of fading purples along the horizon, the smoke disappearing in ghosted shadows against the clouds. His lips parted in shock, his breaths coming in a little quicker.  

“No, I... I thought... I was so sure it...” He couldn’t finish a sentence, his mind racing faster than he could speak. He shook his head, staring up at the outlines of the firework long after it faded, the wind carrying it away. It felt so real.  

“Let’s get out of the street, okay?” you soothed, drawing your fingers down his cheeks, smiling encouragingly at him. He nodded, feeling a bit out of it, like maybe he was in some sort of trance.

But then, it happened again.

The firework exploded high into the air and Bucky pressed his face to the crook of your neck, drawing you in as close as he could manage. He was shaking as you ran your hand along his spine.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you.” Your voice was the only thing keeping him from disappearing inside himself entirely. He focused on the imprint of your hand on his back, the feel of your fingertips as you traced the lines on his face. He concentrated on the heat in your breath as it touched his cheeks and the pressed of your body under his.  

“I live close by,” you told him, gesturing to a street off the corner. “Let’s go now, alright? Before the next one goes off.”

Bucky nodded quickly, too lost within his own head to feel the rush of embarrassment seeping into his features. His felt nauseous, his arm shaking, his legs weak and numb as he slowly backed off of you.  

As you began to stand, he noticed the tiny rocks embedded into your clothing when they fell down to the sidewalk, bouncing against the concrete by your feet. There were scrapes on your elbows and a tear in your sweater.

“Come on,” you called to him, extending your hand, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the patch of red on your skin.  

But then he spotted another stream of light flying high into the sky and he reached for your hand, gripping it tight before the firework went off. Even prepared, it made him stumble on his feet as it echoed down into the empty streets.  

“Focus on this, alright? Focus on what you can feel,” you said, squeezing his hand tight in your own. You picked up the pace as you guided him a few blocks away from Luciana’s, further into the residential streets.

If Bucky had been in his right state of mind, he would have thought it was rather pretty; the way the sunset cast a stunning illuminated glow onto the faded brick and the pots of flowers hanging from the windowsills. The fireworks lighting up the darkest parts of the sky in effervescent colors.  

You were beautiful as you tugged him along – hair a little misplaced, leaves trapped in the fabric of your sweater, cautious looks back in his direction as you pulled him by his hand. So beautiful, it kept his focus as another firework went off and he felt the hardened pressure of your grip.

“Go on inside,” you instructed, and Bucky realized he was standing at the door to an apartment – your apartment. He didn’t even realize he’d walked up a flight of stairs and crossed inside a building.  

You were staring at him when he looked at you again and it was only then he saw an ounce of fear in your eyes. You squeezed his hand. “Come on now, honey. Please?”

Bucky swallowed, nodding as he stepped inside. He tried to look around, wanted to know the sort of things you kept around your apartment; if it was littered in as many books as you carried in your bag or if it had the warm tones of the colors you wore in your clothing decorated around your living room. He wanted to look at old pictures on the wall and the stand of DVDs you held onto, even without a workable DVD player, as they piled by the television. He wanted to know so much more about you.

Even in the distance, through the walls and the locked windows, he heard the firework erupt into the sky, the flash of it echoing into your apartment and lighting up the living room, and his whole body winced.  

“Couch,” you told him, quickly kicking your shoes to the mat and shrugging off your jacket. You grabbed a book from your bag and tossed it onto the coffee table. When Bucky didn’t so much as move, you took careful steps closer to him and stilled.

“Do you know where you are?” you asked cautiously, almost instinctively, like maybe you’d done that before.  

Bucky swallowed, though it tasted of bile. He nodded.

You bent down to untie his boots. He stepped out when you asked him to, the slight chill of your fingertips against his ankles as you removed the shoes. Then, you grabbed his hand and led him to the couch.

You laid down with your back pressed against the arm rest, one leg draped down along the back cushions, the other hung over the side. You gestured for him to follow, patting at the space of the couch between your legs.  

“I...” Bucky started, finding the words lost on his tongue. He knew it would help. The pressure, the feel of you to ground him back to reality, to keep his mind from the memories swarming back to the surface, but all he could feel was the emptiness on his left, the shame of a missing piece and he couldn’t stand for you to feel it, too.

“Bucky, please,” you urged. “Let me help you.”

The echo of another firework broke into the sky, the light illuminating your apartment, and despite Bucky’s best efforts, his body flinched.  

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to keep himself in the present moment, to focus on you and the distant scent of a pine candle on the coffee table, but all he could see was a rush of wind, sand in his eyes from the storm, the laughter of a kid far too young to be carrying a weapon of that size, the low hum of a jeep, a reflection over a hillside, someone screaming, his throat raw and burning and—and—and—

“Bucky? Are you—”

He crawled down onto the couch, sinking you into the cushions and resting the full of his body weight against you. He set his head against your chest; his ear pressed to your heartbeat so he could hear the steady thumping inside, the rise and fall of each breath. His right arm snaked up around your shoulder blades, tucking his hand against you like he was cradling a pillow.  

You were incredibly still for a moment, stunned that he gave in, but then he felt you relax under him. A hum nestled in your chest as you slid a hand along his spine, drawing lines and circles to ease the tension in his muscles. The other swept against his hair, pushing it from his eyes, raking into his scalp.  

You laid there with him like that for a moment, soothing your hands along the tension in his body and humming soft melodies under your breath to distract him from the fireworks as they lit up the night sky. He still flinched, but he recovered quicker, focusing on the steady beat of your heart under his ear and the movement of your hands on his spine.  

He felt something warm touch other the crown of his head, a shaken breath brushing over his hair. Then, the book from the coffee table made its way into your right hand, the clip you’d given him on the first day of book club, affixed to the last page he’d read in the library that day. Resting the binding on his shoulder, you began to read.  

“’When I read the actual story- how Gatsby loves Daisy so much but can't ever be with her no matter how hard he tries- I feel like ripping the book in half and calling up Fitzgerald and telling him his book is all wrong, even though I know Fitzgerald is probably deceased,’” you started, a soft smile evident in your voice. “’Especially when Gatsby is shot dead in his swimming pool the first time he goes for a swim all summer, Daisy doesn't even go to his funeral, Nick and Jordan part ways, and Daisy ends up sticking with racist Tom, whose need for sex basically murders an innocent woman, you can tell Fitzgerald never took the time to look up at clouds during sunset, because there's no silver lining at the end of that book, let me tell you.’”

Bucky sighed, sinking further into your embrace. He didn’t even notice as the final firework took its bow amongst the stars or the burst of applause in the distance, too focused on the gentle vibrations in your voice, the smell of an old book as you flipped through the pages, stealing glances up at your face as you smiled with every word.  

When you finished the chapter, you closed the book and set it gently upon the table. Your hands returned to his hair, carding through it and drawing a hum from his lips.

“You alright?”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little dizzy. He certainly felt alright enough for the numbness to wash away and a steady stream of shame and humiliation to rush in and take its place. Slowly, he lifted himself from your embrace, crawling back against the couch and sitting on the edge of the cushions. You followed him, scooting up against his side.

“I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders sank. “Bucky, please, don’t apologize for—”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff, Y/n,” Bucky sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Bile was etching its way up his throat. He’d never felt so helpless, so small, so vulnerable as if he were no more than a child. He was dead weight on your shoulders. He couldn’t put that on you, he couldn’t let you carry the burden he’d become.  

“What if I want to?”  

He dropped his hand, looking over at you to find you watching him with that same desperation he’d felt to keep you safe when he’d heard IEDs exploding in downtown Brooklyn just moments before. You reached out for his hand, putting it gently into your lap when you were met without resistance and began to trace over the lines in his palm.  

“What if all I want to do is be with you? What if it’s all I can think about?” you continued, a low ache in your voice he didn’t expect. You lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles and drawing a shuttering breath from his lungs. “I’d hold you for an eternity if that was what you needed.”

Bucky stared at you in stunned silence. He was a mess, barely stable and breaking apart at the seams and... and here you were, willing to stitch him together with needle and string. You saw a mosaic when all he could see were broken pieces. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came out.  

Instead, your hand made its way to his cheek, cupping at the side of his face. Your eyes softened, flickering down to his lips, the touch of your fingertips grazing over his jawline and along his neck like maybe you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat.  

Could you feel his fears, too? The ones that warned him that you wouldn’t like the broken, disfigured fragments he’d become? Could you tell that he was sitting on the edge of a waterfall with the rush of water under his legs, just waiting to be pushed off the ledge? Did you know it was your hand on his shoulder pulling him back to the shore?

He leaned in closer, testing his courage, until his nose brushed against yours. So impossibly close, the heat of your breath warm against his skin. You stayed there for a moment, waiting, foreheads pressed together, until Bucky dared to close the space between.  

Chaste and honest. Slow and aching. He kissed you and the first touch left him breathless, shaken as he drew in an inhale. You pulled him closer, hands wrapped tenderly on the sides of his face and he could feel your lips curve up into a smile as he turned toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you closer.

God, he’d never wished more for his left arm to find its way back to his body than he did in that moment. He just wanted to feel you in every way he could, to wrap himself around you in his entirety, to hold you the way a woman should be held.  

You pulled back suddenly, laughing under your breath, and he realized your phone was buzzing on the table. You didn’t move for a second, just staring at him, trying to contain your laughter, and he found himself smiling so wide, it reached his eyes. His cheeks ached a little, too.  

He realized it the moment you reached out and wiped your thumb over his lips, how you handled him with such intricacy and care, how you touched him like he was made of worth, how you looked at him like he was something to adore – he was in love with you.  

You lunged for your phone, still smiling as you brought it to your ear. “Hey Nat, I’m kinda busy right— Oh.” Your face fell. “Are you alright?”  

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his hand setting on your knee to give it a slight squeeze.  

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” you said into the phone, pressing your lips into an apologetic line. “I’ll be right there.”

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked as you hung up the phone. You nodded, reaching back out for him and your hand found its way to the side of his face. You held it there, thumb brushing along his cheekbone fondly before you leaned in and pressed slow, brief kiss against his lips – something so casual, so intimate, as if you’d done it a thousand times before. He wished you’d do it a thousand more.  

“I’m so sorry, but... I have to go,” you sighed, a frown pushing down at the corners of your mouth. “Please believe that I’d stay if it was anyone other than Natasha... Something happened at her job and I—”

“No apologies, right?” Bucky eased, resolving your guilt before you even had a chance to allow it to rise to full display. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” You weren’t convinced, but he could tell from the hope in your eyes that you wanted it to be true.  

“Yes,” Bucky replied sincerely. With the fireworks long faded into the night sky and the gentle chirp of crickets beyond your window, the only remaining cause of his racing heartbeat belonged to the woman sitting beside him, the casual touch of your hand against his face. He turned to kiss at the inside of your palm before he lowered your hand into your lap.  

“You could stay here, if you want,” you offered nervously, glancing out to the window half wondering if a new set of fireworks would begin to light against the pitch black of the sky.  

Bucky shook his head, though he smiled for you. “I should head home anyway. I’ve got a book to finish.”  

He reached for The Silver Linings Playbook and held it up in his hand. He had a hard time letting his own smile fall with the way you were looking at him and he tucked the book against his chest as if it could feel his heartbeat. He wondered if you picked this particular book for him in hopes he might start seeing silver linings the way Pat did along the pages of the novel— how you seemed to, as well.  

If anything, you might be his very own silver lining.  

“Come on,” Bucky said, standing from the couch and extending a hand to you. “I’ll walk you there.”

You bit on the edge of your smile in an effort to contain it. It did no use and for that, Bucky was thankful.

[softxsuki]

Hello Han! I am here again requesting for a soft fluff with Bakugo and Fem!Reader. Kacchan will be writing to his future wife, his baby/babe, their wedding being on the day after Valentine's Day because he doesn't want to be too cliche on the date and knows he and his SO deserve their own love day. He'll be a Pro Hero by then and would have met reader at UA, the overly competitive girl who both irritated and impressed him. Their story went from friendship to romance. Thank you Han <3

Bakugou's Letter To His Future Wife

Valentines Day Letter Event Masterlist (CLOSED)

Pairing: ProHero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff, Wedding AU (is that a thing?)

Post-Type: Letter

Word Count: 680

Summary: In which Bakugou leaves a letter for you under your keys in the morning before leaving for patrol.

[A/N: Hey! Thank you again for the inspiration behind this event. I had a great time writing these letters even if it did get a little tiring sometimes. Hopefully this came out the way your imagined it. It was my first time ever writing letters so I feel like it was a learning experience for me. Hope you enjoy! And Happy Valentine's Day <3]

It was Valentine's Day and the day before you’d be wed to Bakugou.

Your heart was fluttering the whole day in pre-wedding day excitement. Bakugou was out doing his last rounds of patrol for the day before he’d get a few days off to spend with you for your wedding and your honeymoon. You were already running late for your first appointment of the day, needing to get your hair, nails, and all the other necessities completed to ensure you looked your best on your special day.

You scramble to throw your shoes on your feet and grab your keys before racing out there door, but an envelope placed just under your keys with your name written on it stops you completely in your tracks. The fact that you were running late flew completely out of your mind as you grab the envelope, cautiously opening it before reading it’s contents;

Y/N,

Happy Valentine's Day, but babe, moving forward, our Wedding day will be the New National day of love for us–way better than some commercialized day of love, ours will be real. Though I know you enjoy it so Happy Valentine's Day. I’m sorry I can’t be with you today, it’s my last day of patrol before you have me all to yourself for the next two weeks.

I still remember the day we first met, you irritated the ever-loving life out of me. If you had told me back then that I’d one day be marrying you, I would have laughed in your face because it felt so impossible. But then I saw how capable you were–you truthfully impressed me beyond words and we became some-what friends; from the occasional training we did together, that progressed to hanging out outside of the gym, and getting lunch together, my feelings eventually grew. They came out of nowhere and confused me as I had never felt that way about anyone before, so I pushed you away, thinking it was for the best and I saw how sad I made you. Then I let all my feelings out impulsively one day after you yelled at me for being insensitive to you, and that’s where we began. Now look at us–about to be husband and wife for the rest of our lives.

I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle knowing that I’ll officially be able to call you mine; to love and protect you until I take my last breath. I know I don’t sound like myself right now, maybe because I’m writing this instead of saying it to your face, I feel like my emotions are just writing themselves out like I’m writing a diary entry shut up, don’t laugh.

But all in all I just want to say that I love you and I can’t wait to be your husband. We’ll forever be celebrating our true day of love on the 15th of February every year from now on. Wait up for me?

Your future Husband,

Bakugou Katsuki.

Your heart was hammering in your chest at the uncharacteristically sweet words that you’d probably never let him forget–forever teasing him but appreciating his heartfelt words for years to come. You knew marrying Bakugou would be the best decision you could make and you couldn’t wait to start a new chapter of your life with him as your husband.

Though your joy is cut off by the sound of your phone ringing, the name of your hair salon pops up, making you realize that you were supposed to be in a rush. You pick up the phone hastily.

“Yes yes, I’m so sorry for making you wait for me. I’m on my way now, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Sorry for the delay!”

You hang-up the phone quickly before tucking the letter into your bag and once again continuing your race out the door before all your appointments for the day get pushed back.

You made sure to make a mental note to call your future hubby later to thank him for the sweet letter, hoping you’d make him as flustered as he made you.

EVENT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

REGULAR REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Posted: 2/14/2022