#and has had borderline no chance to even begin to care about beyond how much she cares for EVERYONE?

[norris55s]

the summer i turned pretty - charles leclerc & arthur leclerc

a reader x charles leclerc & arthur leclerc love triangle, pt. 2

pt. 1

warnings: none other than angst?

a/n: a million years later here is part 2 but it’s not over ladies and gentlemen! i hope it doesn’t suck lol. part 3 will come. also i’ve now added charlotte siné as the fc for practical purposes!

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Day 4

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As I opened the door, terrified at who I was going to see behind it, I met Charles’ bloodshot eyes staring daggers into mine.

“Y/N, let’s talk, please. I screwed up, but let me explain,” he quickly said before I could even mutter a word.

I was still as speechless as I had been last night. Without a word, I moved aside to let him in my room, but he shook his head and insisted on talking to me at the beach. I just obliged, trying my best to be quiet around the house so as to not wake anyone up.

As soon as we arrived on the shore, Charles invited me to sit down and I once again just obliged. My heart was pounding on my ears and I felt like it would jump out of my body at any second.

“I feel like I should start at the beginning,” Charles said, while I looked to the sea instead of looking at him.

“I’ve always loved you. There has always been something about you that comforts me and makes me happy. I just didn’t realize how deep it went until last summer, when I realized that you kissing Antoine ruined the entire season for me.”

I tried to recall any reaction from Charles when I hooked up with Antoine last year that could’ve been a sign, but I found nothing in my memories. I was too busy sulking over the fact that he didn’t and would never like me, but I had been proved wrong 365 days later. The words were in my head but they didn’t make sense. Why would Charles Leclerc like me, much less love me?

“I’ve tried to avoid it, I’ve tried to think nothing of it, I’ve tried to deny it and it’s been no use.”

The irony of me doing the same thing for years was not lost on me. How I have pined for years not realizing he spent some of that time feeling the same way was borderline funny.

“Will you please look at me?” Charles asked with a hint of desperation in his voice, making it impossible for me to deny his request even if I knew any resolve or strength I had left in me would evaporate the minute my eyes met his.

The butterflies in my stomach felt like a swarm of wasps, and I’m sure the blush in my face evidenced it. Charles’ green eyes, the object of all my hidden wishes for as long as I could recall, stared into mine looking to decipher my emotions.

I wished I could say he found nothing but love, but in between all those beautiful feelings of loving and being loved in return, I could still sense a wretched feeling of disappointment.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” a stronger voice than expected called him out. All this time he had to know I felt the same way, but he let me believe there wasn’t a chance in hell he could care about me beyond a friendship.

“It took me too long to even understand it. Even then, I couldn’t justify changing your life on a crush, or hurt you and ruin it all. I still don’t know if I can justify it, but I know I can’t stand it anymore. I love you and I’m done pretending I don’t, or that you don’t love me too.”

When I searched into his eyes, all I could find was sincerity. And it was enough for me to jump into the deep end, leaning closer to him in hopes he would initiate the kiss I’ve desperately wanted for far too much time.

He granted my wishes, placing both of his hands on my neck to connect our lips. It was just like I imagined it.

Soft, passionate, unrushed, warm. I felt the fireworks that everyone speaks of go off in my head, and I just knew Charles felt them too.

As we pulled away to breathe, struggling to even think of ever separating me from him ever again, Charles smiled brightly.

“Can you say you love me too, mon cœur?” he asked so prettily I could coo at him.

“I love you, Charles Leclerc,” I obliged, because how could I say no to him?

“And I love you, Y/N L/N,” he replied, smiling even bigger, and kissing me even better.

Our bubble of a newfound love lasted a while, but was eventually meant to break when I received a text from Arthur.

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The conversation about Arthur with Charles wasn’t the hard part at all. The older brother brushed the kiss off as a drunken mistake, and was a little too confident on who my choice would be.

The conversation about Charles with Arthur would be the hard part, and I didn’t even have time to settle down in my bed after the rollercoaster of emotions I had just gone through when Arthur barged in.

He looked happy to see me, and it broke my heart.

In trying to find the words to say I couldn’t be with him, and before I could mutter them, he hugged me.

“I’ve been trying to find you all this time, where have you been chérie?” Arthur smiled, but it quickly faded once he realized my energy wasn’t the same.

“Arthur…”

“Chérie, don’t say it was a mistake because you know it wasn’t. Fuck my brother, you know that this is right.”

“I’m so sorry…” I began and pushed back further away from him, as if my next words would hurt him any less because of it. “Charles and I spoke, and we have realized our feelings for each other…” I looked down, cowardly, unable to face his reaction. “You know I’ve loved him forever and I am just so sorry for leading you on.”

Like it always happened between us, I didn’t have to look at him, and he didn’t have to say anything. I just knew that we were done.

He stormed out of the room.

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charles_leclerc added to his stories

y/ninstagram added to her close friends stories

arthur_leclerc added to his stories

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[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. 

[londonskies]

DON’T SAY THE S WORD!!

https://images.app.goo.gl/JKKNVtwZNGAVVwzB9

In which Corpse has a secret girlfriend and his insomnia is driving them both up the wall, putting precious Sykkuno in danger because he said the word “Sleep”. 

Hi! This is just a once in a blue moon, feel good, fluff fic cause I have commitment issues on my writing lol. 

Yes, my writing style is long winded, I’m really sorry, but I hope you enjoy it! 

credits to  u/balderdash_lee on reddit

Corpse had not slept for close to 50 hours by the time that they had started their latest month prior pre-planned plasmophobia session with Rae, Sykkunno and Toast, but it was like he was hyped up on sugar for the last hour or so and Y/n was really beginning to get worried. 

This was a tattletale sign of the huge crash her boyfriend was about to go through, and yet the stubborn man just would not step away from his computer.

She had tried everything, from luring him with pizza (to which he had snatched a few slices and had just retreated to his gaming room once more) to telling him that there was a fire in the kitchen (to which he replied was virtually impossible given how meticulous Y/n was in the kitchen) to faking an injury (which corpse called bullshit on without even looking at her).

It was getting really frustrating and she knew for a fact that the longer her boyfriend was going to wait this out, the worse he was going to feel.

And the worse he was going to act. 

He would never hurt anyone, ever. The man was the definition of a soft boi beyond his brain meltingly amazing voice. But when he was beyond bone dead tired like he was right now, he had the tendency to act mean, and the only person who had the capability of calming him down in the middle of the pandemic was Y/n, and she would have to hijack his stream. 

The stream that was filled with hundreds of thousands of people who didn’t even know that their precious Corpse was in a relationship with anyone. 

Would she have the chance to mute him before he went on his tired, angry, borderline crazy monologue? She would try, but probably not. 

Y/n had to bring out the big guns. 

Rae and Toast were pretty easy people to conspire with and were almost always down to do pranks and other shit that Y/n came up with, and always, always down to do whatever it took to get Corpse to take care of himself. 

Sykkuno though, bless him, the cutest, most clueless person Y/n had ever met. 

He was always very concerned for Corpse’s health but was the worst at going incognito. So Rae and Toast were the ones who used their code word (lights out) and had always been the ones who had the role of making sure Sykkuno knew what to do. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaanddd, lights out baby!” Rae screamed as she made her way past Sykkuno at the entrance of the house they were in at the moment, but Sykkuno, the precious little boy that he is, just watched Rae with a bewildered face, getting even more confused when Toast made his way past him as well, whispering “Lights out.” and moving back to the truck in the game. 

From inside, Corpse’s character was busy laughing at a joke he made about a picture in the wall and had not noticed the other two missing. He did notice though, when Sykkuno appeared near him to ask him what was up before convulsing and dropping to the floor. 

Corpse’s laugh was noticeably more manic now, getting a lot more high pitched and erratic. For a second, Sykkuno laughed with him, then when Corpse’s went on for too long, suddenly looked confused on his stream, turning to face the general vicinity he Corpse’s character was. 

So he spoke through their always open discord chat. “Uhh, Corpse? You okay there buddy?” 

The stubborn man just kept laughing, Y/n increasingly getting concerned as she watched all 4 player’s streams on different devices one room over. Rae and Toast were chatting about the pills in the truck, so as to not alarm Corpse of the lowkey distraction they were doing to finish the game easy (aka getting at least 3 of them killed), and then giving excuses to stop streaming and giving Y/n a chance to haul his ass to bed. 

Sykkuno on the other hand, was now (against all plans spoken about prior) continuing to talk to Corpse. 

“Corpse?” the timid man spoke once more, finally reaching the ever more manic Corpse. 

All of a sudden, an eerie silence fell around the two of them, settling for a few seconds before getting filled by a flat “Yea?” from Corpse. 

Y/n could almost hear the sentence that Sy would reply to that, and at that moment, she knew, they were fucked. 

With a quick “Fuckin shite” to both Rae and Toast’s chat, Y/n bounded over to Corpse’s office, hearing tail end of the question that was about to make Corpse’s brain go kaboom. 

“You sound tired man, maybe you should sleep for a bit?” 

She knew he only meant good. Sykkuno was just one of those guys that would never want to hurt anyone. She knew it, Corpse knew it, everyone knew it. 

But her secret boyfriend was sleep deprived and going batshit crazy because of it, and currently, his trigger word was the word Sleep.

Y/n would give poor Sy a viking funeral if she can’t stop this.

“I am not tire-” Corpse was pretty intimidating when he wanted to be, and I knew that that low voice of his would scare every single hitman in a 1000 mile radius when used in a booming, angry way. And the way his voice was escalating was sure to end in said booming, angry way.

Y/n sprinted into his recording room, only partially wincing at the horridly loud bang the door made when she wrenched it open to fling herself at her boyfriend. The world seemed to slow as she soared through the air, uncaring if she knocked things out of the way. 

Gotta make sure their baby Sy would never be at that end of Corpse’s fury. 

She partially landed on his lap, torso hanging off the side. It hurt as her ribs made contact on the armrest of his computer chair, but it stopped his tirade with a surprised “Ooof!” and knocked him away from his PC.

“Honey!! Don’t yell at Sy!” 

“Y/n???”

Oh shit. 

Of course Sykkuno had to yell out her name during a stream. She had bet Toast 200 dollars that Sy would be the one to drop her name, and it was high time she cashed in. 

Y/n fixed herself on Corpse’s lap, shoving his headphones off of him and forcing him into a hug. Of course he protested, but eventually relaxed in her grip, muttering about how his eyes and wrists hurt now but he promised to play with the OTV peeps and his insomnia hit him too hard these past few days. 

“Baby,” he whispered hoarsely, his grip tightening on her as well. It only took a moment for Y/n to realize that her boyfriend was shaking, trying not to fall apart. “It hurts.” 

She ran her fingers through his hair, putting a kiss on the top of his head as he relaxed even more. They had to move to a more comfortable space soon or else Corpse would fall asleep here and she would have to move him (which at 5 feet, is not very easy.) but he was relaxing and Y/n couldn’t make herself distract him from that. 

“I know babe, it’s okay. We’ll breathe through it. You can do it, I know you can.” Corpse would never fess up to crying, but the growing patch of tears on her sweater was evidence of the amount of pain that he was experiencing. 

His dedication was amazing, but a lot of the time he sacrificed his health for it. So as much as she didn’t want to hold him back, sometimes she really just had to step in and meddle to save him from himself.

They stayed like that for a while, Y/n occasionally having to coach him through his breathing, but overall, they were doing fine. 

Y/n smiled into his hair when he finally stopped shaking. “That’s it babe, you’re doing amazing.” she whispered, moving to get off his lap. She wasn’t the lightest person despite her shortness, her curves never letting her be skinny, so she was sure that her sitting on his lap was making his legs go numb. Corpse, on the other hand, only held on tighter, basically turning into a koala at this point. 

“Corpse, Honey, your legs are gonna go numb, babe.” she giggled. She tried to put him at arm’s length, but her apparently octopus boyfriend had planned to never let her go. 

“No.” he mumbled, pressing his face ever tighter into her sweater, making her giggle, in turn, making him smile. 

Eventually, he detached his face from her sweater and peeked up at his girlfriend, the visual of his tousled hair, pout, one sparkling eye and the other now only partially covered by his falling eyepatch, but both with smudged eyeliner and mirth, made her melt.  “Don’t go, please?” Y/n giggled at him. “I’m not gonna leave babe, I just gotta get off your lap before I make your legs undergo hypoxia.” 

“I’d let them cut off my legs if it meant having you here forever.” if she hadn’t already fallen in love with this man, she would say that this was the moment that she fell in love with him. But falling in love with him over and over again was probably something that she would never stop doing, even if Corpse ever decided to not love her back one day. 

They were jolted out of their happy little bubble when they heard a loud screech coming from his headphones making a sound more akin to blasting speakers than headphones, which had apparently fallen just beside them on the table instead of the floor like Y/n anticipated. “STOP YOUR LOVING AND GO TO SLEEP CORPSE!” Rae screeched, making the both of them laugh out loud, but one look at his screen stopped them at their tracks.

Corpse was miraculously still alive in game, Rae’s character moving back and forth in front of his. 

Rae… was streaming, right? 

Oh shit numero dos. 

One look at the chat showed that they had just outed themselves. The sappy couple making everyone watching go absolutely bonkers at the chat. 

“WHO IS THAT?” -ijustlovemakingsounds

“HONEY???? BABE?????” - corpseybae

“WHAT IS HAPPENING??” -randomuser

“IS CORPSE OKAY?” -ShinigamiEyes

“CORPSE??” -corpsekkuno28

“BABY?????” -honestlywtf

“HE’S SO SWEET OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!!!” -cutiepiecorpsey

“WAIT WAIT WAIT IS HE OKAY????” -omgilovehim

“WHO THE HECK??” -wifeyyyycorpse

Both parties were staring wide eyed at the screens. Even with slow mode on, the chat was going a hundred miles per hour and all they were seeing were screaming chats in all caps zooming up. 

For a second Y/n just kept staring quietly, and then the first giggle escaped her and soon, both of them were a giggling pile of sweaters and limbs on Corpse’s computer chair, not even trying to stop their antics. Rae screamed another “YOU’RE BOTH CUTE AND WE ALL KNOW IT STOP AND SLEEP!!” 

The laughter seemed endless. 

It was the sound of Y/n’s phone ringing from the other room that finally got her up from the warm confines of Corpse’s lap. But before she left, she was going to make sure that Corpse was not just going to continue streaming in her absence. 

“Sooo….” Y/n turned them over so that she was facing the screen and not him, talking directly into the mic as she scrambled for the headphones she had shoved off of his head. “Yes Corpse Husband has a Corpse wife and she’s now taking him back to their coffins because the hubby is a stubborn piece of shit and has not slept in more than 50 hours.” 

The casual information drop made the chat go even crazier, people now freaking out about her, trying to find out who she was, what she did, when and where they met, stuff like that. “I’ll see what I can do to answer your questions, you simps. But I gotta knock him out for now, and I promise you won’t be left hanging.” 

She felt him wrap his arms around her waist once more, feeling him press his face tightly against her back. “Baby,” he started to say, but Y/n cut him off with a few pats to wherever she could reach behind her.

“Sorry, but the jackass is now cut off from the mic and shall be cut off until he sleeps, so I shall be the one to say, good day to you sirs and madams, he shall see you on the next one! Bye!!!!” 

Then a pause, and a quietly frustrated “Hun, how do you turn it off??”

The chat was flooded with variations of “She’s so cute!!” and as tempted as he was to keep it going for a bit, he knew that it would upset and worry his adorable girlfriend to do so. 

So from his vantage point, he just mumbled a quick “Bye!” before cutting off stream. Normally, he would stay and read superchats and see how many new members he had gained, but this time, his tiny, but determined girlfriend was dead set on getting him to chill his ass out. 

And he let you.

He watched as you dragged him off to bed, tucking him in all the fluffy blankets you’d gotten for his comfort, smiled as you eagerly burrowed yourself under the fluff with him, sighed contentedly as your warmth surrounded him as you cuddled into him. 

He basked in your presence as he held you back just as tight, feeling you plant a kiss in his hair and smile as he relaxed ever more. From across the room, the mirror reflected the image of the two of you, touching the deepest recesses of the soul he would never claim to have. 

And as he drifted off, he watched as you glowed in the streaks of the fading afternoon sun, peeking through their heavy curtains, he thought:

What more was there to ask for? 

[300iqprower]

3, 12, 20

3. Favorite Childhood Game...Well, I don't really deal in favorites cause my mind is perpetually in flux, but if we're talking EARLY childhood I'll throw a dart and go with the two games I loved so much that many years later I went out of my way to track down new copies so I could play them again: WarioWorld and The Legend of Spyro: A New Beginning (both on GC). And I don't care what apparently every other person on the planet says, that second one was and having played it again recently STILL IS amazing.

12. Most bizarre game I've played...again, 2 picks, one if we're talking bizarre in a positive "unique" sense, one if we're talking in a negative "wtf is this crap" sense. The latter is White Knight Chronicles, a PS3 exclusive by Japan Studio (as per with Sony Exclusives) and Level 5 (yes, THAT Level 5, the Professor Layton people) that I found in a bargain bin for 5 dollars in 2020. Story and visual wise it is one of the most generic fantasy games I have EVER played, something I can comfortably say even though it's main selling point is what are essentially Gundam Personas. How did they mess that godly idea up you ask? It's actually really simple, and why I consider it so bizarre: Make the gameplay some unholy combination of Korean MMORPG and Final Fantasy 13. It boasts over 100 hours of stuff and I believe it, in that I believe there's about 5 times that amount of grinding and back and forth slow ass walking across big open areas that are blatantly reused MMO assets. The game launched with a heavy multiplayer element but it's still clearly a solo story driven game.

In short, it's the kind of game where I look at it and go "how in god's name did anyone think this was going to work?" because nothing about it makes sense on any level without the context of current trends to justify it (which is how FF13 happened as well but that had the excuse of being an oversaturated IP trying desperately to find a new hook) and yet they went into it with this big idea for it to be a massive franchise, partnering with Atlus to release soundtracks and audio tapes, wanting a manga, and releasing two different sequel. The term "Single Player MMO" gets wrongly thrown around a lot. Kingdoms of Amalur is a good example, calling that a single player MMO is basically like calling Skyrim one (another game it's wrongly compared to) or Darksiders 2 one. WKC, now THAT is a single player MMO, and it's as bizarre and miserably tedious an existence as it sounds.

As for the positive example, it's the fittingly titled The Infectious Madness of Dr. Dekker for which the premise alone will explain why I pick it: It's a murder mystery FMV Therapy-em-up set in the UK with you as the psychiatrist typing in questions (with responses based on autodetected keywords) to ask your incredibly varied patients about the things they were seeing the eponymous Doctor for. I won't say anything beyond the fact it has supernatural thriller elements, it's a Clue style mystery where each run has a randomly assigned culprit and multiple endings, and that as someone big on proper portrayal of mental illness I don't find any of it to be reductive let alone harmful. The acting strikes a balance of genuine and incredibly hammy in the best way, and between such acting and the supernatural elements it's made very clear that this isn't meant to be anything rooted in actual mental illness. Oh and you should absolutely play it, that too. It's only $9 on Steam which is borderline robbery. It's also on console, running $12 on PS4, XBOX, and Switch, although I can only vouch for performance on Steam and PS4.

20. Favorite Publisher/Developer...Well the only publisher I trust is a self-publisher, firstly, and secondly I've learned many a time the hard way corporations are not people and should never be treated as such let alone emotionally attached to in such a way. Although there's a 50/50 chance that question is actually meant to be taken as "what publisher has your favorite overall output". Thankfully either way the answer is Supergiant Games, who along with Thunder Lotus Games are basically the only two non-solo developers left who haven't stabbed my past love of them in the back or met a terrible Tencent/trend chasing fate (Fucking RIP Arkane and Platinum). I've been following both of them ever since their first titles, in fact I own 5 copies of Bastion (8 if we count those I've given away to my friends). Needless to say, seeing Hades and Spiritfarer reach the levels of acclaim they deserve has damn near brought tears to my face.

[thevividgreenmoss]

My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

[xxtraord1nary]

𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝐿𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!mc (Charlotte West)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Pretty angsty I guess.

Summary: When a lonely soul decides to spend her morning on a beach she is unpleasantly surprised to find that she isn’t alone and a lot has changed except her feelings.

Warnings: None

Taglist: @katkart122 @missmiimiie @maurine07 @custaroonie @romewritingshop @lucas-rennells @omgfheishot @schnitzelbutterfingers @openheartfanfics

A dreamy sea has a rhythmic pulse to it unmatched by any other part of nature. It forges its own sounds and kindles its own symphony as the waves crawl gently to the shore. Maybe that’s why she admired the Aruban beach so much or maybe it was the isolation of it all. Something she’d come to be so accustomed to. Her loneliness is like standing in the middle of a bustling city, watching people rush by without feeling like you're even remotely connected to them.

No, it's not the same as being alone; being alone is more a state of physical being than it is a state of soul and emotion. You're surrounded by all these people who never seem to truly understand you and who seem like they will never understand the fears and deepest thoughts that tug at your heart. It's not that they don't care about you or truly try to help you -- it's simply that feeling that they will never understand you, no matter how much you explain. It's that craving for love and connection beyond the surface level. Loneliness leads you to feel like you're literally watching the world go by, not part of anything in particular.

Being physically alone though on the beach was nothing new she had to say, but much to her displeasure she wasn’t alone. She spotted a figure in the distance much closer to the shore bare feet in the sand because washed by the gentle waters inching closer. The figure was tall and held a domineering stance and rigid posture she couldn’t shake.

He stood with his face up toward the sun as if taking in the rays of shine and simply basking in its warmth like a bath. He donned white shorts and a plain light blue short sleeved shirt just regular beach attire she shrugged off. He ran his hand through his tussle of chocolate brown curls and visibly breathed deeply taking in the silence quiet and free from disturbance but loud enough to be calming all the same.

It wasn’t until he turned around and they locked eyes from her sitting position did her grow wide and her posture go rigid did she realize this was no mere man or stranger on the beach at all. It was him. Her one that got away. The man that used to make her heart skip a beat with just a simple touch or look, the love of her life. The one that got away. After all this time he was still a part of her. She could still feel the way she beats nearly out of her chest at his mere presence and there’s a certain ache that still makes her feel like she is still in love with him.

For years he’d been the last thing on her mind before she went to sleep the reason for the teardrops on her pillow. Why even after all this time she hadn’t been able to get over him even after deciding to let him go which was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She tried to get rid of them, the memories, yet she still cannot, because those memories are so ebullient and hard to forget. They're still in her heart's chamber.

She wanted him to know so much, that she loved him. Still she did, her feelings were never a joke and that everytime she told him “I love you” way back when it came from the bottom of her heart. The moment she told him that his embrace made her feel so much comfortable and forget all her problems in life, yes she was honest with that. She was so honest for all the feelings she harbored deep inside. She cherished the moments shared and wouldn’t ever forget how she felt every time she was with him and all she’d put them through.

She wanted to go to him. Her heart told her to run into his arms and rekindle what they had once had but body stayed situated and stuck in place as she continued to stare at the once love of her life and the man she couldn’t ever seem to get over. That she still held a flame larger than life for. He sent a gentle smile but his eyes told a different story of love, so much love. But her happiness died disgustingly hard when realized he hadn’t seen her at all. Instead his attention had been directed behind her where his eyes alighted unfathomably bright at the sight of a woman and a small girl with a little brown dog.

The woman was absolutely stunning. She truly was what women paid to look like, if perfection didn’t exist she was an exception truthfully. Her tanned brown skin could’ve been glowing in the bright sun and beautiful features were highlighted stunningly by the carefree smile alighted on her face. As she held the smallest girl who took after her seeming to be mother exponentially. The girl held their mother’s golden brown complexion and dark curly hair but those eyes; they were unmistakably blue. A bright blue that resembled those indigo blues she knew all too well.

They were Ethan’s and the woman’s children. Her thoughts were only confirmed when the little girl wrestled her way out of her mother’s arms, raising a laugh from the woman as she ran into her fathers arms with the puppy trailing behind her. She hadn’t ever seen him look so happy and at peace. But when the woman made her way to him and hugged him from behind the way his face lit up was foreign to him; even in their time together she’d never made him look like that with just a simple hug.

He wasted no time in bringing her into his embrace and kissing her deeply, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and being borderline affectionate. There was no doubt in her mind that Ethan Ramsey, a man who had no time for marriage or family loved the woman that donned a heavy diamond ring on her finger as he held it up and kissed each knuckle tenderly earning a moan of discontent from the little girls. It was adorable really they looked like a picture perfect family. What you’d see in movies really. Hell they even had a small dog with them that she hadn’t noticed till now.

It had finally hit her, she had to move on. She needed to let go of all that held her back: her love for a man who’d absolutely moved on, after all he was her first love. The very first love that she had experienced in her whole life. It felt melancholic for she had lost him. Maybe they were meant to spend the good times together, it’s just fate took its turn, she was able to hurt him and he did too and well she guessed that was inevitable. Then they parted ways and new beginnings came their way, you chose her over what a naive girl thought was forever kind of love. But it’s okay because she’ll get used to it. She promised herself and hopefully soon it’ll be without bitterness or anger.

Her therapist had told her some time ago before she left for the medical conference in Aruba that when she needed to get something out and she wasn’t available to try and write it out, in a letter of sorts. So she did just that and she wrote a goodbye later her lost love would never receive and not for him but for her. So she swiftly left the beach as undetected as when she arrived and made her way back inside the resort and found a pen and paper in her hotel room and got to writing. She wrote till her hand cramped and her tears stained the paper.

Dearest Ethan,

I wish you happiness love, even if that happiness doesn't include me anymore. It's just that I have to accept the fact that I was no longer a part of you and you of me. Thank you for everything. If I would be given a chance to get back from where we started I will still have that small talk with you in the hallway about her physics class we had together. I will still choose to fall in love with you because you're the best thing ever happened to me, maybe our bittersweet love story has ended after I’d hurt you the way I did. I thought the grass was greener on the other side and I was wrong but I found out all too late. But the last thing that I want to say is in another life I would be your girl so I don't have to say you were the one that got away. And I’m sorry not only to you but to myself...and Tobias.

Love,

Someone you used to know

As she sealed the letter she closed a chapter to her life that wouldn’t ever be opened again. And somehow she moved on. Ethan belonged to the beautiful with the brown skin and curly hair and somehow someway Suparna had to be okay with that. She wasn’t thinking when she sent the letter via bell boy to his room she only asked that it be deliverers to Dr. Ethan Ramsey and lied saying it regarded information about the medical conference he’d been invited to. And with that she went to her bed and fell into a restful sleep dreaming of what could’ve been.

————————————————————————————————

After an eventful day at the beach which was great until Charisma decided to put sand in Jenner’s fur. The act prompted the family to make their way back to the suite and give the girl and the pup a good bath before dinner which was much harder than it looked. Jenner was absolutely refusing and kept shaking his wet little sandy body as often as he could making the largest mess he possibly could. He had given up on chasing the three year old who’d decided that baths weren’t her thing and decided she’d rather run naked throughout the hotel room. Finally he’d washed and dried Jenner and put him in the dog bed with some toys to keep him busy. His love thankfully relieved him of his daddy duties and got Charisma ready for bed. A knock on the door interrupted his short reprieve that involved what he needed most at the moment a glass of scotch.

He answered the door and was met with a bellhop delivering him a letter that he took suspiciously wishing the boy a good night. He wasted no time in opening the letter and reading its contents that quite confused him. His thought process was soon interrupted by a warm hug from the love of his life as she placed her chin on his chest.

“Who’s it from?” She gently inquired. He only shook his head and shrugged in response. “No one important.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah I’m alright.” And with that he took his wife’s hand and couldn’t help but to admire the diamond ring that was just made for her and kissed her ring finger tenderly as he and Charlotte made their way to their daughters room to read her at least three stories before she finally turned in only to have her come in their bed later. But they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[agirlandhermonster]

Starter for @rulesxunbroken

30 days. One full moon cycle. Okay, yes, more accurately put, it would be 29.5 days, but Samira wasn’t about to split hairs about a measly 12 hours when her own soul hung in the balance.

Just a few years ago, she would have said that there was no such things as curses and demons and horrifying other realms where life wasn’t really life, it was just survival until death. But now? Now she was in possession of an Eldritch horror all her own, complete with tentacles and a host of strange side effects that came with living in symbiosis with said creature.

The demoness that had tricked her into this particular situation had come to Samira in her hour of need, when the girl was mere hours from the other side, offering her her life back if only Samira would fulfill a small favour. Thanks to the amount of medications pumping through her system, the hospital’s attempt to help ease the pain and pressure of her failing organs, she’d seen the frightening horned woman as nothing more than a near-death hallucination.

What harm could indulging a hallucination do? And hell, if she were real, then Samira would live to see 30, all for the low cost of giving what she assumed would be another demon a place to stay for a bit.

But we all know how deals with the devil tend to go, and so they went.

30 days.

For the first time since that fateful deal, Samira had found herself in the company of the demoness who’d tricked her into hosting the monster she’d come to call Poppy, and the woman almost wished she were still enjoying the calming effects of a truly ridiculous amount of morphine pumping through her veins, as it might have made the meeting slightly less terrifying.

It’s about time you fulfill your end of the deal, my little horror.

The monster in Samira’s head seemed to cringe. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it. But when she opened her mouth to try and ask just what was going on, it was Poppy that spoke through her.

Already? Poppy’s voice was Samira’s voice, accompanied by a lilt, high and low, like an echo. Samira prodded Poppy inwardly for answers but the monster paid her no mind.

You’ve had your time, now it’s my turn. You know what to do, and I expect you to do so, lest you find yourself in a far more unpleasant situation than the one in which I found you.

Poppy’s anxiety raised Samira’s heart rate, and yet the woman was still ignored. Poppy nodded with Samira’s head. And just like that, the demoness vanished.

30 days, Poppy told Samira afterwards. In 30 days they needed to be in a very specific place. Poppy wouldn’t say more, not until Samira threatened to heave herself under a bus.

Poppy needed to be somewhere far north by the end of the current moon cycle, and it was going to result in the death of their host. Terrified beyond reason, Samira panicked. But what could she really do? Poppy had agreed to complete a task that they wouldn’t explain in return for passage from the Lower Realms to the Middle Realms and the acquiring of a host so that they could survive.

From the visions that Poppy had shown Samira over the years, the woman couldn’t blame them for not wanting to return, much less get sent somewhere worse.

Searching for a way out, Samira was determined. There must be something. A new host? Doubtful. And Samira couldn’t stomach the idea of dooming someone else to her same fate just to save herself. Besides that, she’d formed a bond with her monster, despite the uncomfortable nature of their meeting.

But there was only 30 days, Poppy argued, and Samira shrugged it. A month wasn’t so bad. Surely they could find someone with the sort of power they needed in that time?

Samira liked to call herself an optimist, Poppy liked to call her naïve.

Either way, travel was necessary, though not cheap. The first part of their trip north (all the while searching for some sort of strange power that could possibly help the both of them) was taken by bus, all the way up the eastern coast from Florida on.

Upon reaching the border of New Jersey, they followed the strings of rumours that led them to a town rumoured to have been touched by an odd magic. Some said it was a demon, some said there was a portal to another world.

Samira and Poppy couldn’t confirm either, but as they traveled, there was a certain note of..something in the air. Static maybe. Or magic?

Don’t get your hopes up, Poppy commented in Samira’s mind as they entered the town that seemed to be at the center of it all. Doesn’t look like anyone has lived here for awhile.

Samira shrugged, walking steadily towards where the air felt thickest.

“It’s worth a shot”, she responded aloud. “Obviously something happened here.”

The houses were nice enough, and Samira could see this was probably once a fairly nice suburban neighborhood. Nothing look broken exactly, but there were some things that didn’t seem to belong. A brand new house with a car in front that looked new but from fifty years ago. A streetlight with an odd grayish hue. Just little things, but odd nonetheless.

There was an empty lot with just a few wooden planks and concrete blocks, like someone had given up on building a house an hour into the process. Beside it was the house that caught Samira and Poppy’s attention however, giving off an energy that seemed to swirl, and Poppy swore that it was gleaming, though Samira brushed it off as a trick of the light.

The front door wasn’t locked. Even if it had been, Samira had been participating in the borderline illegal activity of urban exploration long enough to know how to pick a basic lock.

Stepping into the home was like stepping into a museum. Everything was dark and dusty and felt stuck in time, but the energy moved almost like a breeze as she walked through the house, seeking the source of the unusual sensation.

Careful, Poppy warned as Samira approached what she assumed was a cellar door. This feels similar to her energy.

Samira suppressed a shudder and pushed the door open, throwing caution to the wind as was her habit.

Down into the darkness, she pulled the flashlight from the side pocket of her backpack, always in easy reach. The first section of the basement was normal, but as she kept going, following the string of energy she swore she was starting to become visible, the beginnings of greenery began to creep over the walls.

“This must stretch under more than a few houses”, Samira muttered as the size of the basement mystified her. The hallway stopped abruptly, expanding into a circular area with doors heading off in several directions.

I don’t like this, Poppy asserted. This doesn’t feel right. We should go.

Samira flashed an irritated expression to the room at large. “Well I don’t like the idea of not going for any chance I’ve got at surviving to see my next birthday.”

Poppy sulked in Samira’s mind, the miniature tentacle that resided in her mouth full time, Poppy’s connection to the physical world, lashing anxiously against the inside of her cheek.

Turning in place, each door got a good examination. They appeared rather average, as much as a door in the oddly large basement of a house in a damned ghost town could be anyway.

“This one has a weird light. Are you seeing this too?” Samira asked aloud, gesturing to a door that shone shades of red and purple at the edges, just enough that it was only noticeable if one were looking for it.

The monster remained silent, so Samira pressed on. Stepping towards the door, she reached out for the doorknob. It was warm in her palm, like somebody had just been holding onto it.

The moment she opened it, the world went silent. There hadn’t been any real noise a second ago, but still Samira somehow felt as if there was not just an absence of sound. There was Silence. On the other side of the door was what probably served as a storeroom of some sort, if all the crates stacked one atop the other were any indication.

“..okay?” Underwhelmed and vaguely disheartened, Samira sighed and closed the no-longer-shimmering door. But when she turned around, the entire presence of the area had changed. Walls and floors and doors were still all where they were meant to be, but there was new life in the air, and the greenery wasn’t limp, but lush and thriving and seemed almost like it was reaching out for her.

“What the hell?”

[naralanis]

I wish you would write a cissamione fic where Draco likes Hermione but Hermione is just head over heels for Narcissa and vice versa, but Narcissa knows that Draco is like in love with her

“One of these days, Granger, one of these days...”

Hermione’s laughter is almost lost to the din of the party—these Ministry functions always drew in quite a rowdy crowd—but Narcissa zeroes in on the sound almost automatically, as if her body has been conditioned to seek the young witch out no matter where or when.  

That’s how she catches it—an innocent gesture, really, but she still feels it like a punch in the gut. Hermione is playfully squeezing Draco’s arm as she laughs. It’s not a yes gesture; it’s not even a maybe, not with the way the hand holding her champagne flute puts some space between them.

But it might as well be confirmation, Narcissa thinks, ignoring the ache in her jaw when she grits her teeth a little too hard.  

It’s hardly fair of her to be this upset, this possessive of something—someone—that doesn’t belong to her. Not in the way she wants. And of course, there’s just no way for Hermione to know how her little harmless flirtation is anything but harmless when it comes to Draco, because Hermione simply has no idea that Draco is completely infatuated with her. 

It hurts, to carry this secret, entrusted to her so innocently by a son who only recently begun taking the tentative, painful steps to mend their fractured family after the war. Narcissa turned her back on Lucius, on her old alliances—she lied to the Dark Lord’s face, all for her son, to save him from further pain, and now? Now she carries secrets like ticking bombs in her bare hands.

Hermione sidles up to her about an hour later, at the balcony overlooking the dance floor. She expertly and kindly extricated herself from Draco’s attentions—Narcissa saw her grace and poise in doing so, and her heart aches because aren’t those just the things that make Hermione so special to not one, but two members of the Malfoy family?

“Hi there. You’ve been gone a while.”

All Narcissa can give her is a tight smile in response. Watching Draco interact with the brunette always feels like a knife twisting deep in her gut. It’s a reminder she’s on borrowed time—always has been, with Hermione, because it is only a matter of time until someone better, more worthy, someone like Draco or any of the other young men fawning over Gryffindor’s Golden Girl comes in to whisk her away.  

Hermione cocks an eyebrow and hums at Narcissa’s poignant silence, likely already aware of what weighs in her mind. She takes another step and a hand comes to rest at the Slytherin’s waist. The touch is light, gentle even, but there is something about the way Hermione’s fingers twitch over the fabric of Narcissa’s robes that reads as possessive, and Narcissa has to fight to ignore the fire it ignites in her belly.  

It also does nothing to quieten the fury of her guilt, and Hermione knows this—she knows it and, oddly, seems to revel in it.  

“I was thinking,” the brunette speaks again after a dainty sip of her champagne and a furtive glance around the room. “We could... get out of here?”

If her tone wasn’t suggestive enough, the flex of her fingers on the flesh of Narcissa’s hips certainly is. It sends a jolt down her spine, and as much as she wants to quell this fire, Narcissa knows all too well that she is absolutely and utterly powerless. She is weak, Hermione made her weak—at the knees, her mind, her heart. Narcissa could never do anything but buckle—and willingly, oh so willingly—under Hermione’s weight, figuratively and literally.  

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Narcissa wishes her voice held more conviction. She wishes she had been able to say I can’t keep doing this, because she’s the one who holds the cards here—she's the one with the power, even though Hermione makes her powerless.  

The only response the brunette deigns to give her is a disapproving tut—a displeased little sound that comes with the soft grazing of teeth upon Narcissa’s neck. Narcissa wants to pull away—no she doesn’t, yes, she does, no she doesn’t — but she’s frozen in place, drifting as Hermione drags her into her orbit.  

Her eyes inevitably find Draco, weaving through the dancing crowd below them, and that pang of guilt renews itself in her chest. Hermione follows her gaze, and the annoyed scoff she releases is a surprise to Narcissa.

“Don’t tell me,” the brunette says, and the derision in her voice is something altogether new. “We can’t keep doing this because of Draco dearest.”

Narcissa bristles—she can’t help it, not when her son’s name is uttered in that way, but Hermione doesn’t give her the opportunity to respond.  

“I must be quite the catch, if two Malfoys want me so badly. Should I pay dear old Lucius a little visit in Azkaban, see if I can go three for three with you lot?”

Narcissa spins in the witch’s grip; she cannot conceal her anger as it burns in tears behind her eyelids.  

“You know—you knew,” she accuses, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve known all this time Draco is in love with you, and you still pursued me.”

Hermione’s eyes grow dark, her lips tighten into a thin line. When she speaks, it is through a snarl.  

“Why the fuck should I care about what Draco wants, Narcissa?”

Narcissa backtracks, even as she shivers at the expletive. She tries to extricate herself from Hermione’s grip, and that proves fruitless.   “He’s my son,” she says, as if that little fact explains everything. “My only child.”

“Congratulations,” Hermione quips sarcastically. “I still don’t care. You are the one I want, Narcissa. Not Draco. Not anyone else. You.”

“You shouldn’t,” Narcissa shakes her head, because that doesn’t make sense. “You shouldn’t. I’m... I’m not right for you.”

Hermione barks out an incredulous laugh. “And Draco is?” She sounds exasperated. “No offence, baby, but your son’s a prick.”

“You’d be good together,” Narcissa insists, ignoring the name-calling, because the more she thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Draco and Hermione just... match. They’re both stubborn, incredibly intelligent, talented beyond belief, and would make an altogether stunning couple. “You’d be a good match—you'd... challenge one another, you’d look good together.”

Hermione’s eyes are wide, almost comically so, awash in disbelief and anger. “Narcissa,” she hisses, but Narcissa keeps talking.  

“You should give him a chance,” she continues, words coming out of her mouth before she can even begin to think about stopping the barrage. “I know he would be good to you, and I know you’d certainly be good to him. Think about...”

“Stop.”

Narcissa does stop then, because she notices something unexpected, and that throws her off completely. Hermione’s grip has tightened to be borderline painful, but what takes the wind out of her sails is the rare and vexing sight of tears pooling at Hermione’s eyes.  

“I know you want me, Narcissa. And I want you. Why the hell is Draco in this equation?”

Narcissa feels struck dumb. “He’s my son.”

That disbelieving laugh is there. Hermione releases her, only to wipe at the tears that now run down her cheeks. “I know. Again, why is he a part of this?”

Narcissa can only stare, because it’s obvious, why can’t Hermione see the obvious? She vowed to never hurt Draco ever again—how can Hermione ask her to break his heart like this?

Hermione straightens in the face of Narcissa’s silence, and her hazel eyes have turned to glass.  

“You have a choice, Narcissa—and it’s simple maths. You either break one heart—Draco's—or you break three. Because if you think Draco and I would get together just because you choose to end this —” she waves across the space she’s put between them — “you are sorely mistaken.”

Narcissa wants to speak, she does, but finds she just... can’t.  

“What about what you want, Narcissa? What about what I want? Draco is a grown man. When are you going to stop living for him and start living for you, now that you finally, finally have the chance?”

Narcissa is an idiot—a complete and utter idiot. It’s like something clicks in her brain at Hermione’s words, at her tears, and it doesn’t completely erase the guilt she feels, but it does push it to the back of her mind, instead of the forefront. She glances back at where Draco charms the crowd in the ballroom below.  

She hears a sniffle behind her—Hermione is still wiping at tears. She doesn’t turn to face her, not yet, because she wants to give her son one last look before she tries—and tries and tries again, for however long it takes—to erase that guilt.  

How many nights with Hermione has she wasted wallowing in it? How many touches and caresses were enjoyed as if they were illicit, hurriedly, secretly, guiltily?

“Just... make up your mind, Narcissa.”

She registers Hermione walking away just as Draco’s eyes lock with hers when he glances up. He gives her a smile and a wave, and in that very moment, Narcissa decides it’s about time.  

She returns his playful wave with a quick smile of her own as she turns away. Before Hermione has turned the corner, Narcissa runs after her.  

[diegosclownshoes]

alright, continuing within the same au, here’s the relationship progression + more on what they’ve got in common aside from being sarcastic assholes

they start of as enemies (which needs no explanation) to exasperated allies facing up against a common enemy (though for the agent she isn’t going against the handler specifically, who five wouldn’t hesitate to off if the need for it came, it’s more her mission to bring on the apocalypse that the agent’s trying to stop) to begrudging mutual respect for each other (five once he sees the agent use her abilities at her own risk to help his family make it to the alley in time, and the agent realizes five isn’t just some snotty brat but a highly skilled professional with the biggest soft spot in history for his family)

if they didn’t have the 10 day deadline, they’d probably move on to growing fondness concealed by snark right now, but unfortunately the agent faces the huge feelings of betrayal that come up once the 743 mission is revealed to her by lila. finding out this guy (and his family) that she’s been dedicated to helping, even going against the women who raised her (thought she doesn’t ever see the handler as a mother figure, she’s still a mentor who taught her everything she knows, from how to kill men 3 times her size before she learned her multiplication tables, to how to tie the laces on her boots) was the one who killed her parents. cue major feelings of conflict: she still remembers them but it’s more of a distant memory + she’s done her own fair share of killing innocent people without question. she has no right to feel this angry at five when they both spent so long knowing no other way of living. but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when she thinks of the life she could have lived beyond the commission.

however this also means once the truth is revealed, that it was the handler who put out the hit, not carmichael, and they slowly reconcile, it comes with a much greater understanding of each other. the agent already knows deep down that it was never anything personal, that it couldn’t even have been considered five’s kill, and that she knows firsthand how that disconnect from a job becomes ingrained in you. and five gets how even if he was literally doing what he had to do in order to survive, to have a chance of making it back to his family, if the same thing had happened to him and his family were killed, he would want to get revenge on the person who carried it out as well.

a few months post s2 they reunite to handle the sparrow academy situation. when the hargreeves go back to 2019 reginald immediately kicks them out with a warning to stay out of his business, and they have to decide on their next course of action. they figure hey, might as well get all the help that we can get and decide ask the agent for her help. this is where her and five’s strange friendship really solidifies itself, especially bc of the unspoken understanding between them. the agent agrees to help out not only bc she genuinely wants to, but at this point the lack of a life outside of the commission is driving her insane and she welcomes any distractions to delay the inevitable. this is also a major problem for five as well; he doesn't know what to do with himself now, not just because he's now without a purpose in life, which used to be getting back to his family, but because he doesn't know how to be happy or even take in normal experiences after spending decades with nothing to be happy about.

this’s the point where they’d be able to have a deeper understanding of each other. i’ve mentioned before that even though he’s older and considers himself more mature than his siblings, five spent decades alone. he definitely had to grow up much quicker to survive, but he missed out on his entire youth, years of social experience that he never got. he didn’t really get that time to actually mature. and when someone is forced to grow up quicker, when they reach a point in life where they don’t have to be the grownup to survive, they live out those experiences of youth that they never got the chance to before, and there’s no doubt that same thing would happen to five too.

the agent also goes through a very similar experience. though she does grow up alongside lila, it was by no means a regular childhood with friends or peers either. and because of the training she had to undergo, both for fighting and better control over her abilities, and the handler consistently drilling in her head the fact that she has to be extremely careful w it, she’s become much more guarded as well. and then when she was18 and actually did get to live on her own, it was for the sake of a mission and she was sent to 1960 all alone and had adapt to the time period. so even though she did get more experience interacting w others in more normal ways, aka not trying to kill each other, it was always with the sense of ‘this is just temporary until the mission is over’ combined w the constant state of caution she lives in too.

after the apocalypse is stopped and the imminent danger’s gone, they have the chance to actually spend time in a normal setting. now there’s that weird, almost shy type of awkwardness that comes when you meet someone who you’ve only met once before, which is made even stranger considering they’d seen each other at their worst, rage-filled and sleep deprived, borderline manic and bloody and yelling, a week into knowing each other. so now this feels like a more “real” first meeting with everyone sitting down together and having a civil conversation instead of pointing guns at each other.

+ now that they’re not in a state of crisis/survival mode anymore and their arguing isn’t as aggressive and biting, they’re both actually able to appreciate each other’s sense of wit and humor and how easily they can get lost in a back-and-forth snark session. they also spend a considerable amount of time alone together doing recon around the former umbrella, now sparrow academy given how their abilities compliment each other (five can blink them in an out and the agent can give them quick bursts of extra time to scope out the scene and get their hands on any documents that they can). plus they’re the only two who don’t have any other affairs to get in order considering that neither of them have any trace of existence beyond the commission anymore, so they’re automatically put together as partners.

also, considering that at this point five’s managed to add 10 years to himself physically neither have any major qualms about the age situation anymore either. which means there are definitely some unexpected... feelings that crop up too (to no one’s surprise). and so now begins the beloved mutual pining stage with a side of classic repression where they do anything they can to tell themselves they don’t like each other that way, don’t be ridiculous. and since the agent and five are both textbook examples of emotionally stunted adults via their poor childhoods, their attempts to cover up their feelings basically amount to even more bickering and teasing than usual (”sure you don’t need a crate to stand on, agent?” “sure you don’t need me to knock out some of those baby teeth that you’ve got left, five?”), some creative nicknames (”no they’re not pet names, shut up diego”) and extra long side-eyes. aka, the growing fondness concealed by snark stage. between this and the fact that they’re now both attractive early 20 somethings who, for the first time in their lives, have the time to actually develop feelings for someone, the resulting tension is more than palpable.

meanwhile the hargreeves roll their eyes at the two arguing like they've been married for five decades and wonder when they’ll realize that the constant ranting/grumbling about each other just means they can’t get each other off their minds.

[op-peccatori]

Ruffled Feathers (nsfw) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 5900

Summary: You’re aware that you're dating a man who doesn't lose his cool easily; it's a trait you've come to appreciate about him. However, that doesn't stop you from trying to ruffle his feathers every chance you get. What happens when your latest attempt at poking does wake the bear?

a/n: *looks at all my WIPs* ok time to write another Victor thirstfic!! I actually dreamt of the smut part and had a tough time writing everything that comes before lol. I'm gonna have to come back and edit this properly

(tags under the cut)

Tags/Warnings: explicit content and explicit dialogue, PWP, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), spanking, somewhat rough and dom Victor, MC pushing buttons

Thursday

The soft pitter-patter of rain falls across the courtyard, bringing the hint of a chill with it. 

You run through the hallways, cursing your lack of foresight; you didn’t think to bring an umbrella. Victor and Goldman are dropping in on the set, and you want to be the one to welcome them. After all, it's not every day that your boyfriend finds the time to come meet you. You try to calm the rapid fluttering in your stomach–you're going to leave for a work trip in the morning, and you're going to be tied up on set until late in the night. He's just trying to get a little more time with you, just as you requested.

As a set of all too familiar shoulders come into view, you fight the urge to speed up and slow to a walk instead, unable to help the widening of your smile as you meet his eyes. His severe expression softens minutely, his mouth perking up as he meets you halfway, a strange tension buzzing between you both as you waver between options, each more formal than the previous. Throwing yourself into his arms like you want to is out of the question; there's no need to add fuel to the fire. You know people are curious about the nature of your relationship, and whether or not it goes beyond professional. 

You settle for beaming up at him, waving at Goldman when he pops out from behind him. "I'm glad to see you both!" You're also grateful when Goldman takes Victor's umbrella and hurries ahead, under the pretence of wanting to inform the director of their arrival himself. He leaves you both smiling at each other as you follow at a much slower pace. 

"How are you?" he asks quietly. His expressions slips into something fonder as you sigh loudly. 

"Tired. Hungry. Borderline homicidal," you answer honestly. "What about you?" "It was a smooth day. I brought you some food, I thought we could eat together." 

Once again, you fight the urge to hug him. Instead, with a quick glance around, you reach out and take his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. His hand is warm under your touch, and you wish you could just wrap yourself around him and bask in his warmth. The way his shirt stretches over his chest doesn’t help matters in the slightest, and you wonder if he’d left the jacket behind on purpose.

"That would be lovely, Victor." You pause when you realize there's a sudden stillness in the air, one you're more than familiar with. Fingers curve around your jaw and with your heart kicking into gear, you look up in time to see him leaning in, slotting your lips together firmly. As his arm slides around your waist, affection morphs into a hot liquid that pools in your abdomen. With the rain frozen still behind you, you press up against him, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, your hands coming to rest over his chest. It's relief, it's like putting warm socks on after a shower, and you just want to sink into him. The want that has been creeping around in your body finally settles down.

A sound of a complaint leaves your lips when he pulls away, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. "Now, how about you show me around?"

After that kiss, all you really want to do is find an empty room. But it also reminds you of what you've been toying with in your head all day, so you agree with a smile only slightly dazed. Victor smiles back, unaware of the devious ideas you've been playing with, and takes a small step away. Well, it can't be helped. You won't get to be alone with Victor for another week, and chances like this one are too rare to pass up. 

With a kernel of regret in your heart, you lead your oblivious boyfriend further into the building.

Monday

All chatter in the room ceases as he walks in, some of the occupants scurrying out of the room and some greeting him meekly. You watch quietly as Goldman leaves your side and hurries to his, informing him of all the meetings scheduled for the day. 

You watch, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and wait. Your patience is rewarded when he glances your way: the slightest of pauses in his stride, a twitch of his mouth, the softening of his eyes. It's taken a considerable amount of time for you to become familiar with the minute changes in his expression; it took a lot of testing, a lot of risks, and you hoard this knowledge jealously. He says something to Goldman while still looking at you before he walks through the doors to his office. 

Goldman relaxes slightly and walks back over to sit at his desk. "You've got fifteen minutes. He's such a generous man, isn't he? You're a lucky girl!" 

'Or he knows I didn't get enough sleep last night and need this cup.' Goldman eyes the little smile on your face suspiciously. "Actually, never mind." 

"Well, actually, Goldman," you begin with a sweet smile. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something." 

"No."

"You don't even know what it is."

"With the kind of face you're making? I don't want to know."

"Oh, c'mon! It's just a little favour. And it's for Victor too!" you cajole softly, and he slumps slightly. "I just wanted to know his schedule for Thursday."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" he asks confusedly, adjusting his glasses nervously.

You roll your eyes. "Then it wouldn't be much of a surprise would it?"

"Hmm. And it's something he'll like?" You feel a stab of guilt at how sincere he looks, but it's not like you're planning something terrible. It's just something new, that's all. 

"Oh, trust me. He'll like it," you say, unable to help the little smirk that curls along your mouth. You're not sure what Goldman interprets from that, because he looks a little nauseous. 

"Right. I regret asking," he sighs. "Well, he's got a few calls and meetings scheduled in the morning, but he does have some time after 5."

"Perfect." 

Thursday

And so, having ensured you have some space to yourself, you invited Victor for a short visit to the set. You're filming a fantasy show here, and tomorrow you'll be off to visit other potential shoot locations. You weren't expecting Goldman to tag along, but you figure he's more or less part of the gang now, and knows better than to interrupt your time with his boss–mostly because he would rather not know what you're doing. You've done most of your work, and with Anna stopping by, you're not exactly required to stick around to supervise. With a quick meal, you begin the tour.

You're careful as you lead Victor to different parts of the building. It's an older building on the outskirts of the city, and the lighting leaves much to be desired. But the stonework is beautiful, as are the paintings hanging in the halls. You can't tell if the house had actual floorplans because the rooms and staircases seem to have been constructed at random places. You pass by the windows, admiring the plants in the courtyard that are bright in the soft rain, and as you walk to a quieter part of the building, you reach for his hand, curling your fingers around his firmly. Stepping into your favourite part of this odd little mansion, you show him the room you stop by every time you feel the urge to cry or rage. 

There are mirrors of various shapes and sizes on all four walls, and the first time you had come in here you had been so dizzy you'd nearly missed a window in the corner. You had dragged an armchair in here, positioning it in front of the window that had its own private little view of the courtyard. As you declare the room as your spot, an excited skip in your step, Victor eyes you speculatively. 

"You sounded a little haggard when we spoke yesterday," he begins, glancing at the door as you step closer and wrap your arms around him. "Yet, you seem almost cheerful now." 

"Ah, well," you laugh nervously, a sliver of triumph slithering through you. You turn your head until you can see your reflection in few of the mirrors, the way Victor’s hand slips down to cup your ass before he seems to catch himself and bring it back to safer territory. "Yesterday was pretty rough. But, well. I have my ways of cheering myself up." 

"Pancakes?" 

'Well, that too.' You smile into his shirt, inhaling the subtle tones of his cologne. The familiar scent relaxes something in you, nearly making regret your plans of breaking this peaceful atmosphere. "Not quite." 

He doesn't respond, merely waiting for you to come out with it. Your pulse quickens as you peer up at him sheepishly, hoping the expression isn't too exaggerated. "Well, I was so tense, you know. I needed something to take the edge off. So...you remember that voice note you once sent me?" 

You wait for it to click, and you know the exact moment it does, the slight parting of his lips giving him away. "Yes."

"It helped me take care of things."

"Take care of things," he repeats, his hands flexing where they rest on your back.

"Uh, yeah. It's quite effective, I really have to thank you for that! Never fails to bring me to-"

"How often do you...use it?" he cuts you off, hands tightening their grip on you. You blink at his strained tone, adopting a look of slight confusion.

"...often enough. Is there a problem?" You pat yourself on the back for how concerned you manage to sound, snapping to attention when Victor scowls at you. 

"Not a problem. But...why don't you just call me?" 

"Sometimes I just wake up wanting you." You shrug casually and try to take a measured step away from him, but he doesn't let you, pulling you close to brush his lips over the tender spot underneath your ear.

"Then next time, call me," he murmurs, pressing soft yet insistent kisses down your neck as if trying to emphasise on how much he means it.

"Victor-" you try to protest, hoping dearly that your smile doesn't break free.

"I don't care. This is my job. Call me." 

With cheeks warming at his stern tone, you laugh and begin to walk out of the room. "Fine, I'll try. But it won't be possible all the time, you know."

"Why not?" he asks, following you with a deep frown crinkling his forehead.

"Well, I'm going away tomorrow, and who knows what schedule will be like?" You do. "And I can't always disturb you." 

A hand curls around your arm, pulling you back into the room just as you exit it. You crash against him when he drags you back towards him, his arms tight around you and keeping you in his hold. You're half expecting the way he kisses you, the way his tongue curls around yours demandingly, the moan it draws from you. Fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you in place for him to plunder your mouth greedily–but then it turns softer than you would like it to. His eyes are clear of any irritation when he pulls back, the dark hints of desire swept away quickly.

"I guess I can understand that. But I hope you know I'm always here to take care of anything you need," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. You nod dumbly, not having expected him to be so agreeable. 

"So, is this you giving me permission to finger myself to your voice anytime I want?" you joke weakly. His fingers dig into your skin for a moment, almost painfully, but his expression is still clear when you look at him again. 

"You don't need my permission. Again, I do hope you'll make use of your willing boyfriend more often, hm?" he teases you lightly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You're rendered speechless by his inaction. He isn't tempted in the slightest, and you're not sure if you should be offended. No dragging you in front of the mirrors, demanding you to show him exactly how you touch yourself. He leads you out of the room, completely unruffled.

As you both head back to check on the crew, one last thought occurs to you. The final card. You pull your phone out quickly, opening Victor's chat and tapping the icon for attaching images.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” you begin, watching everyone run around as they pack up, and then you hit send. “It happened yesterday too, in the afternoon.” 

Victor stops in his tracks as his phone vibrates. “But you were here yesterday afternoon.” He's still distracted by your words as he checks his messages, and you assume that's why he doesn't realize what he's looking at right away. You barely catch the way his breath hitches in his throat and his fingers tighten around the device, his fixed on the screen.

“Mhm. I was just so tense.” You study him as several emotions flit through his eyes in quick succession, and then his expression smooths out into something carefully measured and blank as he puts his phone back in his pocket, giving you a tight smile.

“Glad I could help.” 

You feel like screaming, and not in the way you wanted to. Your grand plans of making Victor snap, lose control and take you in a shadowed corner of the building have turned to dust. Not even a picture of you, reflected in several mirrors with your hand up your skirt, could do it. And you'd wasted so much time on experimenting with the angles too. The aesthetic! Not even a compliment? You watch sullenly as the director comes up to him, drawing him into a chat easily. 

‘I mean, I tried,’ you think resignedly, and go help with pack up. 'What does a girl have to do to get some dick around here?' Your shoulders remain slumped with disappointment throughout the process of wrapping up, and it's only when everyone's trickling out that the first seeds of doubt begin to bloom. The sky has cleared up and the fresh smell of rain still lingers in the air when you turn to the director. 

"I'll see you in the morning?" 

Jason nearly trembles with the force of what looks like excitement. "Actually, ___!Oh, we're so lucky–we don't have to go!" 

"What do you mean? We still need to finalize the next location," you ask with no small amount of confusion. You've already packed. 

"Yes, but I was just talking to Victor, and I think we’ve found the perfect location! We can go next week, he said he'll take care of it." 

"He will?" you ask numbly, turning to the man in question who has just stepped up to stand next to you. 

"Yes! I'll text you the details. I'm so glad you invited him. Thank you!" He takes your hands in his and shakes them enthusiastically, contrasting greatly with the sinking sensation in your gut. "What a great man!" 

You watch mutely as he turns to Victor, who waves off the other man's praises with a small smile. A hand settles briefly on your shoulder, and you turn around to see Anna grinning at you. "Need a ride back home?" 

"Yeah, actually-" you pause and look back over your shoulder, your eyes locking with a pair reminiscent of wild storms. "Uh, I think Victor's going to take me home." 

"Oh?" Anna asks just as a hand settles on your lower back.

"Yes. Don't worry, I'll get her home in one piece," Victor assures her, an odd twinkle in his eye as Anna laughs in response. 

"Oh, you two! Alright, have a good night." 

You wish everyone else a good night, aware of the curious eyes boring into your backs as you both walk away. Your heart thumps loudly as you wait for him to say something, but Victor only makes idle chit-chat as he drives. How you feel about the filming, the cast, the predicted responses. He's at complete ease. It's when you're back in the main city, and you've relaxed into your seat. that he chooses to ask you something different. 

"I was wondering if you'd like to stay over tonight. Now that you're free tomorrow, I mean." His tone remains casual, his eyes staying on the road as you perk up. "We haven't gotten much time together this month." 

"Oh?" 

"I baked something new yesterday, it would be nice if you could try it too," he tells you.

"Yeah, I think that's perfect!" you acquiesce at once, the prospect of getting to eat food cooked by him convincing you easily. Hopefully, after you've gotten to taste other things. "I've really missed you." 

"Mm, I know." He flashes you a quick smile. "My babygirl's been misbehaving too. I think I need to make time for a quick lesson, no?"

For a moment, you think you've misheard. Your stomach tightens, and there are no words you can come up with in response, so you remain quiet. Even as he pulls up to his building and anticipation begins to pump through you like a slow drug, you think you could've imagined his words. There's an almost placid look on his face as you both enter the elevator, while you're sure you look like a nervous wreck. You shouldn't be anxious, you're getting exactly what you wanted. You've been feeling so needy it's pathetic, and Victor's going to take care of it. 

Except, it didn't go according to plan, did it? You messed with him, but you had planned for him to have enough time and space to cool down while you were away. You hadn't expected him to derail the whole plan so easily. 

His phone rings as he opens the door to his penthouse, and he takes the call. Thinking it must be important for him to answer right away, you take this chance to try and sneak away.

"Oh, ___?" You halt right away, but you can't bring yourself to see his expression. He's pressing the phone to his chest in an attempt to muffle his words. He drags a knuckle across the soft skin of your cheek, before a finger under your chin tilts your head up until you can look at him; he looks amused by your nervous demeanour. "Go freshen up. I want you in the living room in twenty minutes." 

"O-okay." You're a little embarrassed by the high pitch of your voice, and as you hurry to his bathroom your mind races through the possibilities. An apology would have to be made, but it wouldn't be enough for him to let you off the hook. At this point, you can only appeal to the soft spot he has for you. With that thought in mind, you rush to his closet. 

You clean up as well as you can within your time limit, braiding your hair back quickly, your face clear of any makeup. As you walk back into the living room, you see Victor sitting on the sofa, tapping away at his phone. Stopping by the kitchen to get you both some water, you remain silent as you come to a stop beside him and wait. 

When he finally turns his phone off and leans back, you rush to get the words out. "Um, Victor, I-I'm really sorry about earlier today...I didn't mean to make you angry.”

He studies you from underneath thick lashes, stretching his neck and taking in the way the hem of his shirt falls to the middle of your thighs and the way your fingers play with it in a well-crafted picture of remorse. "I'm not angry."

"What?" you watch as he sips his water calmly.

"I'm not angry," he repeats, even though you think the dark look in his eyes says otherwise. "I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" You curse your inability to form full sentences. 

"Like I said, we've both been busy this month," he gestures for you to take a seat next to him. "You must've been frustrated." 

Relief washes over you at the understanding in his voice. "I-yeah. I'm sorry. I should've just told you." He simply nods, stroking your cheek tenderly. Just as you begin to smile, his hand cups your jaw tightly, preventing any more words from leaving your lips. His grip his firm enough for your cheeks to feel squished, your lips forced into a pout. Your heart skips and drops as the tranquil curtain of his expression falls away, leaving behind something much more austere. 

"Yes, you should have. I'm not angry about you touching yourself to the sound of my voice," he says, the gentleness in his tone slowly transitioning into fierceness. "I'm glad I could help." He leans into your space, his gaze locked on you, your eyes widening with panic. "What I don't appreciate is you trying to play games with me. And touching yourself in public? Where someone could have seen?"

You try to shake your head, somehow trying to convey the fact that you had been careful. 

"The very thought of it..." he exhales forcefully and releases your jaw, leaning back a bit. "Now, come." 

You're not completely sure he means what you think, and the thought of it sends fear and excitement racing through you. You hadn't expected things to take this turn, for him to have seen through your games so easily and taken steps to ensure you couldn't see them through. As he pats his thigh, you crawl over his lap, positioning yourself carefully until you're lying across it. He runs a hand over your back, caressing the back of your head lovingly as you try not to tremble. 

"No need to be nervous. You've told me yourself–I'm a good teacher." His tone remains calm as his hand wanders over your body, sliding down the length of your spine to stroke your thighs before pulling the shirt up and dragging your underwear down roughly, baring your ass to him. Nimble fingers stroke and squeeze the plump flesh of your rear, and your breath begins to grow heavy. "Did you really think you could get away with it?" 

His hand comes down on your skin in an open-handed blow, not too hard, and you jolt more from the surprise than the sting. You manage to bite back a whimper, and the way Victor's hand massages the skin feels like approval. His hand is warm, and the other settles over the back of your neck, as you rest your head over hands that clutch at the cushion.

"Tell me what you did wrong." Another slap, this time on the other cheek. 

"I-I played games." You yelp at the hard smack delivered over the top of your thigh, right where it meets your ass. Your cheeks feel uncomfortably hot–both the sets.

"I know you can do better than that," he coaxes, his tone wicked. You whimper softly as he massages the stinging skin, squirming on his lap until his hand squeezes with a warning.

"I tried t-to tease you," you whisper, and he hums in approval. 

"Yes, you were a filthy girl today. Tormenting me with thoughts of coming just by listening to an old voice not. And that picture," he growls. You expect the strong smack this time, your eyes brimming with tears as you try to breathe steadily. "And what should you have done instead?" 

"I should've been honest." You hasten to continue when he pinches your prickling skin. "I should've told you how...how badly I needed it." 

A smack, and the tears spillover. "Needed what?" 

"Y-your cock, sir." It slips out automatically, and you know he likes it when he spends more time soothing your flesh. 

"And the picture? Touching yourself where anyone could have walked in?" Smack. "All because you were hungry for my cock. All you had to do was ask." Smack.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I thought you w-would like it." You part your legs as his hand ventures further down; you wince when you hear him click his tongue and feel him yank at your underwear hard enough to tear it in half. In a rare show of mercy, two of his fingers probe your entrance, although you're immensely embarrassed when you realize how wet you are. 

He sighs loudly, sounding disappointed. "Here I am, trying to teach you something, and look at you. You're dripping." If you hadn't known him as well as you do, you wouldn't have been able to detect the pleased edge to his voice. "Answer me honestly. If I hadn't put a stop to your misbehaviour, would you have continued while you were away?" 

You freeze in place, blinking through the blurriness as you remember the videos you had planned to film while you were beyond his reach. A gentle pinch of your clit has you moaning, scrambling to get hold of your thoughts, which becomes more difficult when his finger pushes into you.

"I want an answer." 

"Y-yes, sir. I was going to..." He continues to slide his finger in and out, rubbing along your walls firmly.

"More pictures?"

"Yes...and videos," you whimper. He only hums thoughtfully, pulling his finger out, and in the next second, he delivers a loud smack on your throbbing cunt.

 You can only sob as your mind blanks, trembling in earnest as you struggle to breathe. "I-I'm sorry, sir. Please...I'll be good, I-I promise." 

"Shh," he slides two fingers along your heat, rubbing gently. "What do you want?" 

"Please...please make me come," you beg, squeezing your walls tightly. The drag of his fingers over your slit is slow, achingly slow, but you don't dare move. 

"Alright. Mouth?" The thought of his tongue on you nearly makes you come right there, but you manage to remember what you had been aiming for earlier. 

"Could I...could you..." you stumble over your words, frustrating yourself more, but the hand now stroking the stinging flesh of your rear is patient. "Please fuck me. Please. Please."

"Hmm. We'll see." He manoeuvres your body until you're curing into his chest and you feel as if you could pass out from the force of your relief–until he continues. "But first, get on your knees."

You know your face is set in disbelief and despair as you lock eyes with him, but he just gazes back steadily. You know it's better to go along with what he says and be rewarded. You've had enough of the punishment, and you'll do whatever it takes to get to the goal. With his help, you're soon kneeling between his legs, grateful for the plush rug cushioning your knees. Victor continues to look at you expectantly, prompting you to unbuckle his belt as swiftly as you can. Before you can unzip him, he stops you. 

"Not yet." 

Uncertain of what he means, you remove your hand from his crotch. His fingers slide into your hair, tightening until you feel the sting, and pull you forward until your nose brushes against the soft fabric of his pants. You can feel the way it strains against the restricting cloth, and it makes your mouth water.  You mouth at his clothed erection and he loosens his grip on your hair, content to watch you trace his bulge with your lips for a long moment. 

"Now." 

You scramble to obey, unzipping him with shaky fingers and pulling his pants down along with his boxer briefs, eyes fixed on the way his cock bounces, it's head glistening temptingly. You can't help the hungry kisses you plant along his muscled thighs, barely refraining from sinking your teeth into the firm skin. Resting your chin on his knee, you peer up at him for the next order. 

Victor inhales sharply, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Good girl. Suck." The first taste of him on your tongue is salty, and you suck on his tip softly, pleased at the soft groan he lets you hear. "Deeper. Don't use your hands." You take his cock in until it hits the back of your throat, trying to relax your jaw around it. As you begin to bob your head up and down, his hips begin to thrust shallowly. Your fingers dig into your thighs, fighting the urge to touch him, and you keep a smooth pace.

Until a hard thrust has you choking on his length, over and over again. 

"See, that's the problem, babygirl," he growls, cupping the back of your head as his cock hits the back of your throat painfully. "If you insist on acting like a disobedient slut, then I'm going to have to treat you like one." 

You're unsure if you're really crying or if your eyes are just watering from the force of his thrusts–not that it really matters. He stills when he's deep in your mouth, watching you struggle to breathe and keep your mouth open. "You have to show me you deserve to have my cock in you." 

He pulls out of your mouth, his fingers pumping his length urgently as you cough pitifully. "Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out." 

His words are a hot jolt in your core, and you obey him immediately, with your eyes still watery and your jaw still aching. Your walls squeeze around nothing as he comes on your tongue, and despite your attempts at catching all of it, some dribbles down your chin and cheek. And still, you wait.

"Swallow." You do so, wiping the rest off your skin as best you can and licking it off your fingers. Every bit of it seems worth it when you see the glazed look in Victor's eyes, and the little smile curving his lips up as he watches you lick enthusiastically.

He pulls you back onto his lap, holding you close and rubbing your back gently as you accept the glass of water he hands you, taking only a small sip before slumping into his chest. You stay there for a while, your ear pressed against the skin over his heart, and you feel it gradually slow down from its quick thumping.

You gather the remnants of your resolve and tug at his shirt. "Sir–pease fuck me." You feel him pause against you, and then shake as he begins to laugh. 

"Ah, you're so greedy, sweetheart. You want my cock that badly?" he teases, as if he doesn't already know how desperate you are. 

"Yes. Please." 

"And what if I don't want to give it to you?" 

You know you're way past feeling any embarrassment when tears pool in your eyes, the depth of your need endless and the prospect of it remaining unanswered terrifying. "Please, please, I'll be good, I'll do anything." Thumbs sweep away the tears sliding down your cheeks, and you feel his lips on your forehead. 

"Don't worry, I was just teasing," he assures you, his previously rough tone taking on a soothing note. "I could never leave my babygirl in such a state. You've more than earned it." He helps you slide your knees apart until they rest on either side of his hips, kissing you softly the whole time. As he pushes through your swollen lips, sliding into the hilt with little resistance, you think you could stay like this for the rest of your life, keeping his cock inside you and his arms around you. He pulls you to rest against him, adjusting himself until he's able to begin thrusting with progressively stronger thrusts. "Is this what you wanted?" 

You moan nearly incoherently, nodding fervently. His hands cup your ass, and the nexus between the pleasure from him fucking you and the pain from the stinging skin of your ass makes your eyes roll back into your head. He uses the grip on your cheeks to bounce you on his cock, syncing the motion with his thrusts. "A-all I wanted..." 

"It's yours. All you have to do..." he presses his face into your hair, driving his hips up into yours relentlessly. "...is ask." He keeps you in place with one arm, and then there are fingers rubbing tight circles into your clit and beginning the start of your end, as you begin to shatter into pieces. You forget everything but the heat pumping into you, working you through the daze, warm arms and soft lips slowly putting you back together. You barely register the deep groaning he's unable to suppress as his pace kicks up to rush to the finish line, as you press lazy kisses up his throat. 

"Could I ask for one more thing?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and your lips brush against his earlobe, teeth scraping against the tender skin as he gasps. "Sir?"

"Anything," he rasps out, the flush on his cheeks spreading down to his chest. "Anything." 

"Could you come in me?" you murmur. "Just...fill me up. Till the last drop. Please?" 

You can't help but smile at the curse that leaves his mouth, and the bruising kiss he pulls you into as he fulfils your request, his thick seed filling you in quick, hot spurts. Neither of you pulls away even once he grows soft within you, losing yourselves in the meeting of your mouths until you can’t keep your head up and let it fall onto his shoulder. 

“I’ve got you. You did so well, sweetheart,” Victor murmurs into your hair as you smile sleepily. “Let’s get some lotion on this cute butt, hmm?” 

The laugh you’re startled into turns into pained croaks as your throat protests the action. 

“And some tea, I see. Just relax and let me take care of you, okay?” He carries you to the bedroom carefully, holding you close as if in possession of priceless jewels. You spread out over his bed on your stomach, letting your body melt into the sheets. A pleased sound leaves your lips when you feel him rub the cool lotion into your abused skin. 

You’re not aware of how much time has passed when you’re startled awake, and look up to see Victor smiling apologetically at you from his seat at the edge of the bed. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You crawl forward towards him, letting him pull you up so you can curl into a ball between his legs. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the cotton fabric soft and soothing on your skin. “I made you some tea.” 

The first sip is painful, but within a few more you’re able to swallow with some relief. “Thank you.” 

“Let me know if you feel up to eating something.” 

“Mm.” With the taste of honey on your tongue, you nuzzle his neck as he pulls a blanket over you. His arms are warm and reassuring around your tired body. “I wanted to have sex in the mirror room.” 

“I know.” 

“Mean.” 

“I’m not that easy, darling,” he says imperiously, soft lips brushing your temple. “If you want me to drop my pants in public, you’ll have to try harder than that.” 

[musingsofaperpetualdaydreamer]

THIS HAS GONE TOO FAR.

You don’t have to agree with what I’m about to say, you’re allowed to have your own feelings and opinion, this is just my post reflection re-examined take not just as a black fan but as human in general but I hope it gives you a new perspective. I’ve been thinking about this whole situation and wanting to see if there’s something I’m missing because something feels badly wrong and I just can’t shake it. 

I think what genuinely started off as respectful constructive criticism has now become people nitpicking on a whole new level and some people just being flat out hateful. I’m talking DEMONIC level vile and twisting things to fit some messed up agenda they have. To be honest some non black or poc fans seem more upset about this situation than black fans themselves. I feel like this whole thing has now gotten out of hand and taken a lot of focus off the movement that could honestly be a lot better spent.

The class of 2020 video I felt was her just trying to be light hearted and connect with people who yes, many are going through a difficult time, but their graduation was supposed to be a really happy day. She was bullied a lot in school, so graduation must’ve been something she held on to during dark times and looked forward to to give her hope. Then she never got to fulfil the ending she imagined but she celebrated in her own way with her mum who was her rock the whole time in a not so glamorous setting but she was happy. So I think she just wanted to make them feel better and focus on the positives. Which I thought was nice of her. Taylor’s going through her own difficulties also. I didn’t see it as her trying to trivialise what other people may be going through at all. What did you want her to do? I’m pretty sure if she took a focus on the serious issues approach you’d say she’s being too negative or it wouldn’t be right in some other way.

As for the BLM situation, I too wished she’d do more and felt she had so much potential to still do better. I wrote a whole rambly post explaining my feelings. Here’s my original post for reference: https://musingsofaperpetualdaydreamer.tumblr.com/post/620145959803961344/maybe-i-am-stupid-for-feeling-this-hurt-and-its

After taking some time to think about it, I’ve come to some realisations that have given me a new perspective. Do I think that Taylor could still do better? Yes she has lots of potential to improve. But what is better? Who gets to decide what level of better is enough? What I’ve come to realise is though I think a lot of people are genuinely coming from a place of love, we’re holding Taylor to an unfair standard. Before you get all outraged just hear me out.

Like I said in my original post I think most of us feel this is odd and confusing for the same reasons. In any case, I think our special bond with her is the major part of why we’re holding her to this high standard. The fan/celebrity dynamic can be incredibly toxic for both parties. She’s grateful for her fans and goes above and beyond the norm to really make us all feel special and loved, like we’re friends almost. But the truth is, fan love can be very toxic and in reality she’ll never be able to love us back the way we love her or want her to. Not because she doesn’t care enough to but the very nature of our relationship makes it impossible to do so because this relationship is an unnatural one.

Essentially she is one human who is and or does something we like (ie. make music), that we often also attach our own super meaningful significances and emotion to. So it’s more than just what they are/do it’s also what that means to us. We are over a million individual STRANGERS who obsess and sort of stalk her in a socially acceptable way (for the most part) and we love her and believe we’re special to her because she approves and acknowledges and interacts with us as a collective group through posts online and during in person events. But because we also feel that we love her in our own unique way as individuals distinct from the group and have our own ‘love story’ with her, we believe we all have a unique special bond with her. Logically we know we are just a stranger but emotionally I guess deep down we crave that love being reciprocated as an individual. We don’t just want to be loved as a collective, we want to be special to her, we want to let her know how much we love her and have her listen to our thoughts/feelings and essentially feel like her friend and for us to tell us personally she loves and appreciates us back or to praise or validate our displays of love in some way.

Without meaning to we can often put her on a pedestal. She is our perfect idol, queen of whatever safe haven we’ve created in ‘her magical world’ we escape to. We love and defend her. In some cases it almost becomes like borderline worship. We would do anything for her or anything to feel close to her no matter how humiliating or whatever the cost, because it’s for her she is our everything and no one could understand your love, they just don’t get it. Who cares if you look crazy, love is crazy right? We obsessively learn facts about her as a way to feel closer. Or save up for ages just to buy objects she sells or pay to be in her presence for an hour or two. Those who get to meet her report back to the group details which would be viewed as incredibly creepy outside the context of fan/celebrity, like what does she smell like, how long you remember her holding your hand for in seconds, the instant you saw her you fell on the floor overcome with emotion and ugly cried, despite this being your first time ever meeting her, so you are again likely a literal stranger to her, you profess your love and proceed to tell her your deepest darkest and most intimate thoughts, feelings, life traumas and secrets and want her to be completely chill and loving and instantly say something beautiful and profound in response to treasure forever. The group fawn over you when you return, you become a chosen one, the chosen elite are specially selected and invited to her home (the HIGHEST honour) where she shares her work with you before anyone, you then have a secret to keep because she trusts you and loves you.

Human beings cannot form deep intimate friendships with over a million people. It’s just not possible. She will never be our friend friend, but the closest thing we have is her momentarily acknowledging our existence. We know this and so it becomes a competition for her attention. This kind of one sided love and weird relationship dynamic, allows us to more easily tap into the darker sometimes more destructive sides of love; obsession, jealousy, rage, neediness, possessiveness. I’m not saying this to make fun of anyone (trust me, I have humiliated myself in ways as fangirl especially as a teen that continue to haunt me to this day), I just wanted to give you a very literal description of our relationship with her so you’ll understand my point that our relationship is unnatural.

We would say we love Taylor like a friend, but when you’re a fan you don’t really. Not because you don’t know enough about her or she doesn’t talk to you enough but for the very nature of what I explained above, she may mean something to us but to her we are literally strangers. Besides, imagine a good friend of yours right now, imagine doing everything you do for Taylor for your friend. Put pictures of them all over your bedroom wall, frame a tissue they touched, make web pages dedicated to them, wearing clothing with their face on it. Yeah, there’s a high chance they’d get a restraining order against you.

From Taylor’s perspective it must be incredibly strange. She’s said she often feels like she’s in a fish bowl. Well what we essentially do is all smoosh our faces against the glass and repeatedly tap it to get the attention of the pretty fish (Taylor). Every time it comes out of the little castle in the bowl, the frenzy begins. Could you imagine what it must feel like to be her? All that attention? All those people pinning all their expectations hopes and dreams on you. Thousands of people making you their sanctuary and safety comforter so if you did something to loose them their worlds would come crashing down. That’s an insane amount of pressure. It must be genuinely terrifying. 

Taylor said she struggles with wanting to keep everybody happy and giving too much of herself to do so, she’s a perfectionist and hates letting people down or she beats herself up about it. I know she loves what she does, but at the same time it must be so exhausting and really drain you. She must read lots of really happy & silly posts, but then some might be people sharing really emotional things about a very difficult and dark time they’re going through, though we mean well when we share it, it must be really hard knowing that you can’t help them. I don’t even want to imagine the vile hate that she reads, because imagine how one hate comment makes us feel but she gets hundreds and sometimes it’s on magazines at the store so it follows her everywhere. She can’t even go outside to do regular human things without the risk of getting mobbed or just knowing everyone’s staring at her and watching her every move. Look how we all hate being trapped at home because everywhere we go outside is dangerous due to COVID-19. It’s a huge amount to take in and process emotionally.

Sometimes I think she research’s people before she meets them, not just because she cares, but for her own sanity and to make it less strange. So the interaction can be more normal. She seems to really like reading people just talking about their ordinary life, day to day things because her life is far from normal. But she meets us like a conveyer belt, people that she makes a connection with and then they get taken away and she’ll never get to meet them again. When she wants to see someone again, people get upset because why aren’t they getting a chance to get picked or that person had already met her, but they don’t think about how Taylor feels because maybe she likes that person and wants to talk to them again. We think her life is incredibly privileged and yes she’s incredibly smart and knows how to handle her career but in reality in a lot of ways it must be so maddening, sad and lonely because human beings were not designed to live this way. “And they tell you that you’re lucky but you’re so confused, ‘cause you don’t feel pretty you just feel used.”

It’s okay to be a fan of someone or look up to them or connect and find meaning with them and their work. As long as it’s done in a healthy way. We need to really work on that or we’re really going to hurt her more than we have. For Taylor to live the life she does, you have to develop really thick skin or turn to things to just numb everything, I see how celebrities end up with addiction problems or suddenly acting out because they can’t cope anymore. You have to learn to shut it out to survive. We made her our comfort blanket that we’d find it hard to live without. So we want her to behave in a way that we approve, not just because we want her to be her best self but also because we struggle to think how we’d cope without her. But we have to remember she’s human just like us. She’s going to make mistakes, not always be her best self, have bad days. Just because she might have more money or more people that know her doesn’t make her magically stop being human. She goes through life like everyone else. It’s healthy to give her constructive criticism but we have to watch the tone in which we say things. I’m not saying we baby her but we have to remember unnatural dynamic we have. It’s not just a few posts, it ends up being thunderously loud because it’s thousands or more than a million people saying the same thing. Social media makes you forget you’re talking to a human being because you can’t see their face or their reaction to how your words are impacting them. Sometimes you can’t shut it out and to her it must feel like a million people are suddenly very angry or disappointed with you and are going to take their love away. Because I guess in a way she becomes attached to us also. You don’t stop caring no matter what people say, you’re human. Remember how it feels when one person you love is disappointed or angry with you. Now amplify that. Mentally that’s...wow. I feel so so bad for her because I honestly don’t know how she copes and does this so well. This could all really send someone over the edge and we’ve seen it happen. We’ve gotten a tiny glimpse into how badly it can affect her. I’m glad she has an amazing family, Joe and true friends who are there for her but God only how she copes behind closed doors.

This fandom sometimes reaches an ugly level of entitlement because the truth is she has spoiled us. We expect things that we shouldn’t expect because she gives us more attention and puts more effort into making all of us feel special than we deserve. I can’t believe after everything she’s ever done, people would think it was all a lie. Mess up one time and everything you did was fake? People who are fake mess up, especially when things aren’t going their way or to plan and they snap and reveal what they’re really like. She’s been through so many trials time and time again and proven her character. Come on, we know who she is. Like all humans she might not be perfect but she is truly good person and she has a good heart and a pure beautiful soul. She’d have to be an insanely good actress and dedicate a huge amount of time to planning all of these lies. You guys have met her, you’ve seen how good she is at connecting with people instantly. She’s warm and loving and even the cats love her as much as she loves them. For someone who has so much money, she seems to enjoy the simple things in life the most and making everyone happy and she’s so humble. I think a lot of that is also in part to the people around her who keep her grounded. 

Anyhow, that black and white thinking of you are either all good or you’re all bad, is so immature and dangerous, because people are more complicated than that because we’re not simply one thing. Which one of us is a perfect person that has never made a mistake or let people down? Ever made a resolution that you stuck to or you needed more time to work on, or were just unsure how to begin or feel overwhelmed? Exactly. I know a lot of us came from a place of love, we don’t hate her at all we just wanted her to do better. And we’ve come up with all kinds of conspiracies of why she doesn’t want to post more because we feel that this doesn’t match the Taylor that we know in our hearts that she is. 

We need to stop judging and shaming each other. Virtue signalling for the sake of looking woke and outrage culture needs to end because it honestly does more harm than good. I’ve seen it become like dangerous mob behaviour and people get hurt. We all learn at our own pace and handle things in our own way and prefer helping in our own preferred ways. Don’t always assume the worst about people. Like I said, social media isn’t the be all and end of everything. Just because you don’t post about it doesn’t mean you don’t care. You could be doing lots of things offline to help that could be really impactful. Often times these can have huge meaningful long term impact, because we literally don’t live inside the internet. Humans connecting with each other in the real world as nature intended us to be is actually super important. I think a lot of problems could be resolved by people logging off the internet and talking to each other in person; people say things behind a screen that they wouldn’t in real life or may regret because it’s easier to not access empathy and not view the person you’re talking to as human this way. It’s good to take your own time to properly think about things before you just open your mouth. Besides everyone starts somewhere. 

There’s lots of really graphic stuff online at the moment and even I had to take a break. Someone not being black doesn’t mean they don’t need to care for their mental health or don’t get affected. The virus has been really hard on a lot of us in many ways, it can infect anyone and honestly all the panic and doom and uncertainty starts to really get to you after a while and sometime’s you just have to disconnect. Her mother is very vulnerable and Taylor is a human with feelings. You have to fill up your own cup before you can pour into other people’s. We need to be kinder to each other, you never know what someone is going through or what their circumstances are. It might not always be safe for someone to speak out publicly, it’s often more complicated than we think. We know white supremacist groups have made Taylor a focus before, maybe her recent activity could make her a target and put her in a lot danger. I pray not and that she and everyone she loves is safe. 

We have to remember to try and have empathy for her and not look at her as just Taylor with the huge fan base, but Taylor the human being. We all have our flaws. Her mother is really gravely ill. I know lots of you will be like so? that’s not an excuse. But I think we all need to examine who we’ve allowed ourselves to become because that’s such a gross attitude and we’re not being fair with her. Her mum is her best friend and the most important person who comforts her and is her source of security and stability. She means so much to her, she’s her mum. We too should care about her mum because she’s been such an angel to us as fans and is a pure bright light in this world. Remember soon you’ll get better? That broke my heart. God only knows how Taylor is coping with all of that, the scrutiny of fame, the pandemic and whatever threats she could have received. If you’ve ever had someone you love go through something like this, you know how hard it can be, how helpless you can feel and how your head might not always be in the right space. Every second with them is precious because things genuinely change in an instant and you could suddenly lose them. Imagine your own darkest moment. Maybe given her circumstances that’s the best she can do right now. It’s not our place to judge her. 

Why can’t she get her team to simply post for her? I imagine she’d rather do it and select things herself given the sensitive important nature of this cause (it’s not like merch promo) or else we’d then start to question everything else. She would make headlines for anything she did. It would draw attention to her and could put her family in more danger. Remember how her dad was so afraid for her? Well I don’t think any added stress is what her family needs with her sick mother in the midst of a global pandemic. When does Taylor get a break from everyone and just get a second to look after herself? We can wish but we cannot demand that she come and explain to console us. We are not her responsibility. 

I’ve noticed she’s been different the past few months. She doesn’t look like herself in the pictures she’s posted, she just looks blank and this whole situation has felt very off and I’ve really worried something was wrong. Watching that class 2020 video Idk you might think I’m crazy but it genuinely sounded like she was holding in tears and she looked sad. Like she was somewhere else when she was talking but forcing herself to look happy. Just because she may look like she’s holding it together doesn’t mean she actually is. My heart is broken for her and I pray for her and her loved ones. Go back and watch it yourself. 

We all need to really reflect and deeply think about how our actions can affect others and take a long hard look at the people we have become and ask ourselves if this is who we really want to be, myself included. You can still have your own feelings and opinions on this situation but I really hope this helps you see a new perspective. We have to remember there are multiple injustices and hardships going on all over the world at once. We need to check our pride and our egos and humble ourselves. Be less judgmental and more empathetic. Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. 

Taylor if you’re reading this (I know the chances are teensy), I’m genuinely so sorry. I hope you and your loved ones are safe and well. I love you so so much and I’ll keep you and your family in my prayers 💖

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Deleted Scene; Off-Chance Meeting

What if Jimin met....Jimin?

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, romance, angst, comedy, supernatural

word count: 4.2k

Related works: See masterlist under guardian demon!Jimin

A/n: So this was like....a half developed scene that I was going to put in for Interlude: Second Best buuuuut I didn’t want to make the chapter too long because the main focus was guardian demon!Jimin’s POV from the events in the previous chapter. However! It’s been mentioned as a ‘what-if’ so I completed it as a fun deleted scene. Hope you like it and hope yall are doing okay! take care, be safe and I’ll hopefully see you soon again for another update, this time with story progression LOL

BTW! Thanks for the 1,026 follows!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖💖💖💖

Tag List: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatinagirl @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct

Jimin’s game plan to blend in is quite simple because it really only consists of one step; grab a staff member so that he can duplicate the lanyard ID they have. Even though he promised to not use his powers to you for the most part, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t found ways to work around it. He easily locks onto a target — a male staff exiting the artist room to step out into the hallway Jimin’s in, presumably on a short break as he strides down to stop by a vending machine. The male staff has his head down, eyes glued to his phone for a while until finally, he takes a quick glance up to view the selection of snacks before ducking his head again, clearly in no rush at all.

Jimin’s lips quirk and he makes quick work at slipping closer, steps light and so undetectable that he may as well be a ghost rather than a demon. At the last minute, Jimin cloaks himself, sneaking up on the unsuspecting male just as he reaches into his back pocket to grab some change. The demon’s touch feels nothing more than a draft, fingers barely caressing the back of the colourful lanyard hanging around his neck but it’s all he needs. The male staff carries on, punching in the numbers and watches as the bag of chips falls into the slot below. Taking it, he walks away, none the wiser.

Jimin pays no mind to him anymore, focused on slipping the thin silver chain necklace out from under his shirt and with a soft blow of his breath, the silver chain morphs into the lanyard, a perfect copy. Normally, he would do without a need for something tangible to cast the illusion but this way, he wouldn’t have to use too much magic to keep it up — a weight to the illusion is more believable than simply thin air.

Satisfied, he lets the cloaking spell disperse, rolling his neck a little at the relief that he can finally walk around more freely without the worry of hiding or arousing suspicions.

“Now… where to go?” He mumbles quietly to himself, eyes darting before deciding that he should scope out the way to the area under the stage. Just as he rounds the corner though—

“Woah!”

Jimin’s fast reflexes has him jerking back in time before he collides into the other body. With a step back, his eyes immediately catch sight of the sparkly jacket and they widen almost simultaneously in realization.

Face to face with him was none other than his own mirror, Park Jimin of BTS, only he has honey blond hair and a glowing complexion.

“Ah, I’m really sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” His eyes are a little wide, stormy grey contacts shining as he apologizes.

For a moment, he’s frozen, stuck rigid in place with shock and split second panic before realizing that he has the safety of his mouth mask and drawn up hood to protect his identity of being the idol’s face stealer. Also the fact that the idol has yet to pass out from shock at seeing his own clone or give any sort of huge reaction was a good indicator.

“A-Ah….” The demon’s voice catches in his throat, and he awkwardly coughs, embarrassed as he ducks his head and mutters gruffly in Korean, “No, it’s my mistake.”

The singer smiles amicably, teeth showing and gaze so warm and so friendly that the demon almost has trouble meeting it.

“Hey now, don’t worry! It’s nothing serious.” There’s a pause, a slight tilt of his honey blond head before those artificial stormy grey irises blink, brows furrowing. The demon starts to actually sweat, eyes refusing to meet as he unconsciously begins to lean back to put space in between. But there’s no escaping the curious gaze of the twenty-four year old singer. “Ah, I— I don’t mean to sound rude or offensive but…. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before?”

Oh shit, shit, shit, shit…

He swears his plan would’ve been completely foolproof if he hadn’t ran into the very person he’s going around parading as. The chances of the demon running into said idol was 1 in 200 and yet it’s as if fate had cursed him with the unwanted luck a fan could only dream of having. But there’s no time to curse heaven and fuck all because his mind begins to race with possibilities of escaping this situation. Maybe he could get away with enthralling the idol for a quick second, trick him into thinking this is all some sort of hallucination from being overworked and then when he’s all good and spaced out, the demon can make his escape. His fingers just about twitches when the singer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, face alight with an epiphany.

“Are you perhaps new?”

….What?

A beat unknowingly passes between them, with the demon blinking owlishly at the young man, completely gripped in disbelief and the singer staring back expectantly.


“Am I mistaken…?”

The hesitancy creeping into that question snaps the demon from his stupor and he finally blurts out, “No, I’m new.”

Relief washes over the idol’s handsome face (he’s never gonna get over how fucking trippy this is to watch), shoulders visibly losing some tension and the singer even places a hand over his chest.

“Ah, that would’ve been really bad — I usually am able to recognize everyone on the team.” His eyes creases again from the smile forming on his face. “Why haven’t we met yet, um….?”

“Ju—“ The demon stumbles on his words, thinking at the last second that your impromptu Korean name you had given him when he met Jaehee sounded too similar to the idol’s so his mind jumps to the next one he remembers off the top of his head. “— yeon….Kang Juyeon. This is my first day.”

Jimin the idol makes a noise of understanding, presumably taking his sloppy introduction as nerves in good strides. He inclines his head graciously in an almost small bow that catches the demon off-guard. “It’s nice to officially meet you Juyeon-ssi. I look forward to working with you.”

He bows robotically in return.

“Are you on break right now?” The young singer asks innocently.

“…Yes…” The answer comes out unsure, like he’s testing the waters and seeing where this could possibly lead — hopefully with the idol leaving him be and carrying on back to the artist room, surely much too busy to entertain a seemingly nervous new recruit. To his surprise though, the demon is proven wrong.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I must be taking up your time. Have you gotten anything to drink or eat yet?”

“Well, no but—“

The idol’s mouth gapes open almost immediately, “Would you like to head over to the catering room now? We can grab something.”

The demon is baffled, to say the least; so taken aback by Jimin’s friendly disposition to someone who he only just met that even though he really shouldn’t be overstaying his welcome like this, a part of him would actually feel guilty for turning down the offer. He’s so glad he’s wearing a mask right now because then the idol wouldn’t have to see the borderline crazed smile slowly stretching over the demon’s lips, the disbelief too strong.

But looking at the original owner of the face he wore, seeing it completely reflect a drastically different personality than his own invokes something in him; a morbid curiosity taking hold and stoking the fire to a long buried question —

Who is Park Jimin?

Beyond the worldwide renown Korean idol and a pretty face with killer vocals and dancing, the demon knows very little about who this person is, this person whom you adore so much. What is it that drew you to him specifically amongst the other members. He highly doubts its looks alone (you’re definitely not the shallow type), or maybe even the amount of talent because from what he gathered, all the members were pretty much on par with each other in all departments.

So what made Jimin special?

He really shouldn’t follow this rabbit down the hole, but he’s a demon by nature and impulsivity is practically his middle name. Without another second thought, he agrees with a nod of his head, “Okay.”

Curiosity really should be a sin.

He gets a blinding smile in response, eyes disappearing and pearly teeth on display (he spies the slight crooked front tooth that somehow only seems to add to the singer’s charm rather than a flaw). They walk off towards the room that acts as a communal dining area for the staff and artists themselves, the large selection of hot foods lined up like a buffet self-serve while there are tables available for anyone who wants to sit down for their meal. There’s only a few staff members gathered there, each preoccupied with their phones or simply grabbing a quick bite to eat before rushing back to where they’re needed.

The singer walks in and of the few people that are hanging around, he inclines his head in greeting to them. The demon has no choice but to follow in order to not draw suspicions (even though he gets a few raised eyebrows from wearing a full hood and mask but is ultimately brushed off).

“There’s a lot of choices here so please help yourself. Don’t be shy.” Jimin gestures, grabbing a plate and going for one of the rolls of kimbap. Though the demon has no intention of eating anything — for obvious reasons, he still makes the effort to thoughtlessly pick out random food items to place on his plate for the sake of keeping up the facade. He gets as far as two scoops of sweet and sour pork before the young idol turns to him and his eyes dart to his modest portion.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“Uh…Yes?”

That immediately draws out a noise of disapproval, handsome face pinching along to match the tone. “Ah, Juyeon-ssi; you need to eat to keep up your strength. You can’t hold back on something as important as that.” Before any words of protest can be formed, a kimbap roll is placed on the empty space of the demon’s plate.

And then another.

And then a spring roll.

And then a hefty scoop of black bean noodles and some rice.

It goes on until his plate is adequately full, the idol satisfied as they migrate over to an empty table. The demon takes a seat and he feels his lips quirk as he observes the fact that Jimin’s own plate only consisted of two kimbap rolls and a few pieces of fruit he’s currently nibbling on. The stark contrast and adamancy is already so telling of his character, sans personal dietary considerations.

“Has the job been hard so far?” The singer asks casually.

“Not particularly….”

“Ah, that’s good to hear. Have people been nice to you?”

“Uh…Yeah, I guess.”

He gets a nod of approval, and the demon vaguely likens the feeling of a mother asking their child if their first day of school went well (or if he’s being generous, an older brother). It’s strange experiencing something so familial yet coming from the idol, it all seems so natural as if they’ve known each other for years and not just in the span of less than an hour.

It’s quite the culture shock — something he admittedly doesn’t have a good grasp on and it’s that curiosity to know that has him daringly (or perhaps, no doubt to his colleagues, foolishly) diving deeper. The wooden chopsticks in his hand push around the food on his plate meaninglessly, a gesture meant to disguise the hidden agenda he has; dissecting the idol and seeing what makes him tick.

His lips instinctively quirk under his mask but he makes sure that it doesn’t translate in his gaze as his eyes focus on the idol.

“I’m sure your job is much more tiring.” He says, taking on a tentative tone, implicating for an open ended discussion.

The singer takes a pause, eyes wandering in thought before he sucks in a breath after some serious considerations, “I don’t really think my job is any harder than some of the other staff here…” He stops, as if collecting his thoughts again and then continues, “I think it’s thanks to everyone’s efforts that the members and I are able to do these show successfully and safely. If I were to really break things down…. I really only do a small part.”

“But there’s no point to a show if there’s no performers.”

There’s a hum in reply to his statement but after the idol swallows the strawberry he’s popped into his mouth, he says, “I can see how you would say that, but I think more importantly, there’s no point to a show without the fans.”

The demon doesn’t miss the gentle affection that slips through — that quiet, soft whisper that carries the words near the end, giving way to something much deeper. It’s something he’s seen before, reflected in himself, and it’s whenever his thoughts wander to you.

Fondness.

His chest gives a twinge at the memory, jaw clenching a little as if to physically repress the feelings that begin to stir.

“You don’t even know the fans….” It comes out more as a low murmur to himself, but the contempt underlying his tone seeps through all the same. It’s just…. How could the idol possibly share the same sentiment he has with you, someone who he’s actually spent time with and come to know all the little quirks to — what makes you happy, sad, laugh, the way you laugh, the little noises you make when you eat something you love, see you at your highest and lowest points, with a group of people (not even a single person) who he’s had less than ten seconds worth of interactions?

It’s far too superficial, too scripted and said too many times with no real meaning. He wants to scoff at how impractical it is.

“Maybe so, but it goes beyond that.” The familiar sound of the idol’s lilt halts the demon’s thoughts quite suddenly, still in that soft spoken way but there’s something else with it. A sureness — steady and unwavering, and just the barest hints of….passive-aggressiveness?

That gets a quirk in the eyebrow; so this kitten does have claws after all.

“There are times where I wonder why there are so many people who like us and support us the way they do.” The singer continues seriously, already getting lost in deep thought. “Probably because we work hard, but who doesn’t work hard? Others make good music and do their best too so why us? We try our best to communicate to our fans but everyone does too…..These sorts of things are something I often think about.”

A pause, as if to find the right words, “But whenever I read the fan’s letters or things they post on SNS to us, saying how much we’ve helped them with our songs when they’re going through a hard time, it makes me realize that we’re not so different. We all have flaws and maybe it’s because we’re not perfect that they like us. Starting off with nothing and then little by little, seeing more people coming to support us…. They’re the ones who put us on the stage, so I— We cherish them a lot. They give us energy and comfort us, and we do the same back, like a deep connection, an understanding.”

The young singer stops in pushing around the remaining strawberry on his plate, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips, like he’s recalling a particularly pleasant memory. “So we want to give back by making good music and showing them our best. Ah, reminds of something really cool Namjoon-hyung said.” He takes the time to tilt his head, “He said how even if it’s just one person he could help, he’ll continue to keep trying. That really touched me, so even if we might not know them personally, they’re the ones who motivate us and makes all of this worth it.”

Once he finishes, the demon is left a little more than bewildered, overwhelmed in fact that all he could do was blink. Granted, it was a lot to take in, never having expected such an arduous confession but what’s even more baffling to him is the conviction the singer had saying all of it, so earnest in his words. Now, he’s no lie detector per se, but as a demon, he does have a more innate ability to pick up on cues and inflections that would give a person away, revealing their true nature. He’s used to it after all.

And then along comes Park Jimin.

This twenty-four some odd year old idol, thrusted into the cut-throat world that is the entertainment industry, young and bright-eyed, armed with nothing but potential, a good work ethic and a dream, yet comes out on the other side, a little bruised and scathed but otherwise, un-jaded; that young and bright-eyed innocence not diminished, instead it matured into something more resilient.

He can probably count on his finger how many people he can actually say that about. Hell, the only closest people that would qualify would be saints, and even that is debatable.

It’s....irritating because he’s faced with the fact that as much as he had wanted to dislike this person, he’s proven that he can’t.

A rush of air leaves his nose and he has to contain a rueful smile. “You’re a very admirable person Park Jimin-ssi. Not that many people keep to their beliefs so strongly like that.”

He gets a bashful giggle in return, light and melodic.

“Aish, what are you saying? I’m not all that impressive….I think I still have a lot to learn.” The singer almost whines from behind the back of his hand covering the open mouth smile he has. Once he calms, it softens. “All I really want is for the fans to remember BTS for our sincerity. I just hope that I’ve been able to help convey that so far.”

The demon lets out a breathy chuckle, finally getting up from his seat. He gazes down at this young man who’s face reflects his own yet wears it in such an entirely different way — glowing with a passion and radiance that is warm, sincere, kind, compassionate and loving.

Perhaps the way it’s meant to be worn.

And it’s with a bittersweet reluctance that the demon places a hand on the singer’s shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. “Keep doing what you’re doing and never lose sight of yourself. As long as you remember what you’re doing this for, the sincerity of your members and you will be conveyed.”

Stormy grey eyes widen a fraction, a little confused as they blink up at him, clearly not expecting such encouragements (honestly, he didn’t expect this either yet here he is).

“Wh— Um, I—…” The idol reaches a hand up to comb through his meticulously styled hair, tousling a few loose strands as slowly, the apples of his cheeks begin to dust in a pink hue and dark eyes can’t help but watch on in amusement. As if sensing the focus shifting to his quickly reddening face however, the young man lets out a sputter and lightly smacks the demon’s forearm, refusing to meet his gaze. “Ahh Juyeon-ssi! What’s with you saying that all of a sudden to me? You sound as if you’re way older than me when we’re probably friends in age!”

Friends…

“What makes you think that?”

“W-Well… I don’t know how to explain it but…. I feel a sense of familiarity with you when we met. Like, a vibe….” The sentence pewters out into a shy mumble, the tips of his ears matching his cheeks now before comically, grey orbs whip up, suddenly concerned. “Unless you’re not….?”

The snort that leaves the demon’s mouth is quickly covered by clearing his throat but he’s sure the restrained mirth still reaches his eyes as he assures, “No, we’re friends.”

He��s met with a brilliant grin, full of teeth and a twinkle in his gaze. “Oh thank goodness. I would’ve died on the spot out of embarrassment.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes if only to dismiss the overly-dramatic relief that overcame the poor young man. But regardless, it’s his cue to go — he's starting to feel a little too perturbed being near someone so good-natured. With a final pat to his shoulder, the demon begins to depart.

“It was nice talking to you Park Jimin-ssi but you’ll have to excuse me, I have to get going now.”

“O-Oh? Is it really that time? If that’s the case— Ya! Kang Juyeon-ssi! Did you even touch your food? You—!”

“Jimin-hyung!”

“Oh?” Jimin’s attention whips to the new voice that called him from the still full plate of food left on the table. His eyes immediately meet doe-eyed ones, usually dark as coal but are currently a more lighter coffee colour, bringing out more of the brown that’s hidden in its depths thanks to the contacts. The youngest member approaches him with long strides, the sequins on his own stage outfit glitter with each step.

“This is where you were? Should’ve told me you were hungry, we could’ve gone to snack together.”

“Ah, no I was just talking with Juyeon-ssi.”

“Juyeon? Who’s that?”

“Kang Juyeon; that person who was just leaving, you must’ve seen him on your way in.”

But that only gets a head tilt from Jungkook, who swivels his head back towards the entrance, “He doesn’t sound familiar and I didn’t see anyone leaving.”

“….Huh?” Equally confused, Jimin swerves around the tall form of Jungkook to get a look however, to his surprise, he doesn’t see anyone. Glancing around lets him know that at most, there was only three other people in the room, excluding him and Jungkook but they were all immersed on the couch in the far corner, away from the entryway. Does Juyeon walk that fast?  “Aye, quit messing with me. He had on a face mask, around my height? With his hoodie pulled up; probably the only one here who does too.”

Jungkook shakes his head, genuinely clueless on who Jimin could possibly be referring to. “No, I swear I haven’t seen anyone around like that.”

The furrow in Jimin’s brows deepen, mouth falling open in disbelief. The scrunched up, troubled expression the older member makes was too good to pass up on teasing so Jungkook can’t help but to lean close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What? Were you speaking to a ghost this entire time hyung?”

“Aish! Don’t say that! That actually gave me chills!” Jimin scowls, smacking the youngest repeatedly on the arm and causing Jungkook to cackle and skip away from the assault.

“Anyways, Namjoon-hyung wants to go over the script again so I went to go find you.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.”

Brushing down his jacket, Jimin gets up, taking both plates with him, discarding his own empty one while Jungkook gleefully takes the one Juyeon hadn’t touched. The two head out and begin to make their way back to the artist dressing room, with Jungkook talking around mouthfuls of food about what Jimin had apparently missed while he was away but all Jimin could think about was his meeting with Juyeon.

There’s no way he could’ve imagined it all in his head — he’s too young to be going senile. Plus, it felt too real for it to be some overworked hallucination (besides, he doesn’t feel that jet lagged). So there’s a perfectly, logical explanation for it. Yeah, he just…walks really fast.

“Jimin-hyung is here!” Jungkook calls out to the rest of the members. He gets a myriad of boisterous responses and greetings. The sound makes him inadvertently grin.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming. I didn’t think you would miss me that badly; I was gone for ten minutes.”

Thoughts of his mysterious friend are pushed away for some other time but the wise words he’s been given remain at the forefront of Jimin’s mind. Perhaps the next time he runs into Juyeon, he’ll treat him to a drink or two during the celebratory dinners — get to know him better.

He’s not sure what it is about Juyeon that makes him want to befriend him so intently, like there’s something about him….

Something that’s a little melancholy….and maybe, he dare say, a little lonely.

But to the singer’s dismay, he never really did see him again.

[bybibucky]

Give Me All – Pt. 7

Bucky Barnes x reader Modern AU

      After a series of disappointing wanna-be doms, you give this last one a chance and he not only makes you forget every man you’ve ever been with but also your own name.

     word count: 3.2k

     warnings: smut (18+ please), language, daddy kink, BDSM, oral (m receiving), Bucky and reader kinda switch positions for experimental purposes

     A/N: watch out, people, this one has everything. I’m talking smut (duh), there is angst, there is FLUFF, you’re in for a bit of a ride. it is kinda short, but this ending felt right for the chapter, a new one is in the works

“Bucky?” The waiter had just brought your food to the table – the starter of a super expensive three course meal at the fanciest restaurant Bucky knew – and you longed to dig in but the question had been burning you for a while now. “What’s it like dominating someone?”

Bucky, sitting across from you, had, this whole time, only once taken his eyes from you to choose something from the menu, now looked at you like he was surprised by the question whilst expecting it at the same time. “Do you want to talk about this now?” His tongue darted out to part his lips and you wouldn’t have caught the move had you not been staring at him nervously. He gestured towards the food in front of you and you lifted your cutlery.

“I just– I’ve been wondering for a while,” you said,” because I don’t really understand what you get out of it.”

Bucky tilted his head in confusion. “Can you elaborate? And eat, it’s gonna get cold.”

“It’s a salat.”

“It’s gonna wither, then,” Bucky deadpanned.

You took a few mouthfuls, letting the flavours get to know each other on your tongue – Bucky had ordered for you, you couldn’t decide – and used this time to think of a coherent answer.

“Like, you do all these things to me and you always make me cum so many times while you don’t get more out of it than fucking me in the end.”

Bucky’s eyes widened at the word ‘fucking’ before his expression changed to something more gentle. “It’s not about the orgasms and you know that,” he almost tutted, “the one major thing, and I can’t get that with anyone other than you, is trust. I get to push you to your limit, knowing that you trust me so much that you put down every defence mechanism and give yourself up to me completely. You can’t imagine what a thrill that is.”

You nodded, not knowing what to say. The food was incredibly good but you couldn’t find it in you to pay it the appreciation you’d intended.

“You want to try it out?”

And the food got stuck in your throat mercilessly. Coughing it up without trying to attract too much attention, you eventually prevailed and gulped down some the wine that went perfectly with the meal.

Bucky looked at you with wide eyes but softened up when he saw that you were fine.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Bucky said, dragging out the words slightly, “do you want to try it out?”

“Like, being your dom for a night?” That felt weird to say.

“Yeah, why not?” Bucky shrugged but just after, he had his dominant face back on. “Though kitten, and make sure you don’t get that wrong, I am letting you do this to me and I can turn it around on you just as quickly as we started it.”

You nodded instantly. “Of course, Sir.”

“That’s my girl,” he said in the tone that had become music to your ears, “and let’s finish this meal so that I can take you home and bend you over the nearest surface I can find.”

“Bucky?” you asked carefully.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can we skip dessert?”

Bucky smiled. “Of course, darling.”

:::::

“Where do you want me?”

You were not in your element. In fact, you were nowhere near it, but you were too curious to pass this opportunity up.

You had him in your usual room in the club, trying to straighten your posture like he always had it, doing your best to stop your hands from fidgeting. It was exciting beyond anything you could have imagined and you had a thousand things on your mind at once and no idea where to start. You mainly wanted to hear him beg.

“Stand there, don’t move.” You kept your commands short and tight, just the way he did, but it didn’t feel right on your tongue. “Please.”

Bucky stood to attention like you would have imagined he had done in the army, shoulders back, chest tight, jaw clenched. You wanted to relax him. So, stepping closer, you let your hands roam over his chest and stomach, moving them towards his behind before settling on his ass, where you cupped the cheeks and squeezed harshly. Bucky couldn’t contain a smile just in the corners of his mouth but you got it off him with a quick slap to his ass.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No,” he said earnestly, still fighting that smirk.

“Thought so.”

You ran your hands back up his torso before you, with careful fingers, loosened the knot in his tie. He was looking down at you the entire time and while you loved his eyes, it wasn’t his turn to study you tonight.

“Close your eyes,” you said to which he obliged reluctantly. He wanted to see you do this, but, as much as he hated to admit it, you were in charge.

You walked around him and pulled his hands back. With a swift knot you had learned specifically for this, you tied them together by his wrists, using a rope you had asked him to bring. “Is this too tight?”

Bucky shook his head, earning him another slap to his ass.

“Use your words,” you demanded, using his own methods against him.

“No, baby,” he said, “it’s perfect.” You’d decided to keep the nicknames as they were, having him call you ‘mistress’ or anything like that felt entirely wrong and you wouldn’t have been able to get into the right headspace for it. Both of you knew that he could easily get himself out of the restraint but this was not about that.

You were back in front of him, then, and worked the necktie off him altogether to use it as a makeshift blindfold. Bucky made a noise of protest but otherwise kept quiet.

“What is it?” you asked in mock pity, “would you like to watch me as suck your cock?”

“Yes, please.” He was politely pleading already, and you suddenly felt proud of yourself.

“Too bad.” You started on slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I thought about making you strip for me, but I realised nothing you could do would be as good as me in the lingerie I buy only for you.”

And you were right. Bucky made a strangled noise. No doubt he was imagining you sway your hips right in front him, wearing nothing but a nice set he loved to see you in. The thought alone was torture.

“Are you hard for me?”

He was. Achingly so. His jeans trapped him uncomfortably, his length eagerly pulsing with every heartbeat. “Please, touch me.”

“Or what?” The hint of a smile was noticeable to Bucky even with the blindfold, the amusement that was blooming up in you for teasing him obvious. “What are you gonna do if I don’t give you what you want?”

“Whatever you tell me to, baby.”

With the shirt open, his taut chest right there, you fumbled with the button of his jeans without opening them. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Shit, even like this, he was better at following the commands than you were. To this day, you frequently forgot to always give an answer with words and nothing less.

He gasped loudly when you – quite literally – grabbed him by the balls, rubbing your hand over his crotch. “This better?”

“Oh shit, yes.”

You didn’t give him enough pressure to please him, only enough to get him breathing heavily against your ear. “What do you want?”

Bucky cursed. “Touch me, baby.”

“But I am touching you.” You worked a hand up his abdomen to pinch at one of his nipples. “You need to be more specific.”

This was maddening. You knew exactly how he felt. Having to say what you wanted had a humiliating aspect to it, and you were wondering whether he thought the same right now.

“You said you would suck my cock,” he offered, but that wasn’t what you’d asked for.

You laughed like he sometimes did. “Oh, and is that what you want?”

“Yes, doll, I need you.”

“Do you really?” You opened the button of his jeans, and torturously slowly pulled down the zipper. “Tell me how much you want it. Tell me, daddy. Beg.”

“Oh, God.” He wanted to touch you, bend you over his knee for challenging him like this but you had made a deal, and he wanted you to have fun tonight. He’d be happy either way. The dam broke, then. “Please, fuck, please. Doll, I’m begging. Please, touch my cock. I need it so much.” Bucky gave it his all. He really was borderline desperate, given your teasing.

You gave in. Reaching into his pants, you pulled out his heavy length and wrapped both hands around it. You gave him no time to gather his thoughts as you pumped him slowly. Bucky groaned loudly next to your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine, knowing you pleased him like this.

He bucked his hips forward and you let go instantly, taking a small step back. “Don’t move,” you said sternly, “you’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

“Shit, shit.” Bucky shook his head. “You feel so good, baby. Please, I want more.”

With his blindfold on, Bucky had no idea that you’d sunken down on your knees in front of him. A long lick with your tongue up his length, though, painfully made him aware.

“Is this what you wanted, daddy?” You looked up at him to capture his reaction. He nodded, and that earned him a smack to his thigh where he was still wearing his jeans. “Not so easy to use your words after all, is it?”

“Yes, yes! Please, let me fuck your mouth.”

Still pumping his length, paying most attention to his tip, you teased him. “This is not a very polite way to ask a lady, is it?”

Bucky growled deep in his chest.

“I can pull back altogether and just watch you squirm from here,” you warned. You were getting better at this with every word you spoke. It really was fun, you were beginning to realise.

“No!” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek before he spoke again. “Please, baby. Please, I need–ah!”

You sunk down on his cock as far as you could – you’d gotten much better at it over the last year – until you could feel his pelvic bone against the tip of your nose. Sliding back up, you had him wrapped around your finger, all he wanted was to cum and only you could make him.

“Oh, God. You feel so good, kitten.” Bucky moaned weakly. “I think I’m close already.”

You worked your magic. Licking from his base to his tip, playing with his balls just the way he liked, taking him in all the way again and again, until his knees began to wobble.

“Do you need to cum, daddy?” you asked as he was moaning loudly, swearing, calling your name, and it was a dumb question because it was painstakingly obvious. But you wanted to hear him say it, beg for it.

“Yes! Shit, yes. Please, allow me to cum.” He was holding back, that much was noticeable through his flexing hips, and you knew just how much he wanted to shove his cock down your throat, but he couldn‘t.

“No.”

Bucky’s entire posture tightened. “What?”

“I said, no.” You were back to slowly rubbing him up and down. “I’m gonna cum first.”

You stood up. He could feel you walk behind him, and rubbed his wrists once you had loosened the rope there. The blindfold followed, and before he had the time to take in his surroundings, take you in, you pushed him backwards in the direction of the bed. He stumbled, losing his pants on the way, and fell back into the mattress. Breathless, he could do nothing but stare up at you as you undressed right in front of him. Down to nothing but your bra, you climbed up onto his lap.

“You move, and I’m gone. Is that clear?”

“Yes, baby,” Bucky agreed reluctantly.

“Lift your arms over your head,” you ordered, and used his crossed wrists as leverage, holding him down. You started to move then, pushing your hips against his, grinding on his cock. With the first whimper that fell from your lips, you sped up, dragging your soaking wet pussy over his length over and over again. It wouldn’t take long for you to cum, that was for sure, but you needed to make a show of it.

“Can I touch you, please?” he asked cautiously, but you shook your head and picked up the pace. You were coating his cock in your juices with every rock of your hips, and it felt so, so good. Him beneath you, rubbing you in the most amazing way, having him at your mercy.

“Daddy, I’m close,” you couldn’t help but whine.

“Fuck, me, too.”

You shook your head again, silently telling him not to. Then, you locked your gaze with his, and ground your hips down hard. His hard shaft against your clit, you wanted to cum, you were so close, but the more your hips bucked, the more it dawned on you.

“Daddy, fuck. Fuck, daddy, please.”

And Bucky, too, began to realise what was happening. “You need to cum, baby?”

You nodded heavily, breathless. “But – ah, shit. I can’t.”

“You need me to tell you, is that it?” Bucky licked his lips. “You need my permission?”

Again, you nodded, eyes screwed shut. “Please.”

Bucky studied you from where he was trapped beneath you. He could easily push you up, roll you over, and fuck you like he desperately wanted to, but he decided to let you have this one. “Okay, baby. You can cum. I want you to cum.”

And you did. The coil within you grew tighter and tighter before it finally snapped. Hips shaking, desperate for friction, you rubbed yourself on his cock, riding out the orgasm. Breathless, you fell forward onto Bucky’s chest, and he embraced you. Wrapping both arms around you, he held you close.

It took a bit for both of you to calm down. “Too much,” you mumbled against his skin.

He picked you up then, knowing exactly what you needed. He walked you over to the bathroom with you wrapped around his body and turned on the shower when he got there.

The water was blissfully cold when it hit your skin. The fire within you calmed down and your head felt clearer all of a sudden.

“Better?”

You nodded into the crook of his neck.

Bucky’s skilled fingers unclasped the bra you were still wearing and tossed it somewhere behind him. “It’s all good. You are good,” he mumbled, “can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, you pulled back and lifted your head.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you replied, “I don’t know what happened.”

Bucky turned the temperature of the water up, so you wouldn’t catch a cold seeing how you were shivering already, and tilted his head to the side. “I think I do.”

You looked at him questioningly.

“You’re a sub through and through.” He grinned cockily. “And I’m your dom.”

“Captain obvious.” You lightly slapped his arm.

Bucky laughed. “I’m a sergeant, actually,” he said before he was serious again. “No, I mean, I wouldn’t be able to submit to someone, not like you do to me. It’s just not part of me, like you don’t feel comfortable dominating anyone.”

You nodded. “It’s difficult. You have a lot of responsibility. I was constantly worried I could harm you. I don’t know how you do it.”

Bucky’s features went soft. “I’m terrified as well, don’t get me wrong. I just trust myself enough to be able to read you completely, and I trust that you tell me when it’s too much.”

“It’s more about giving and taking than I realised.”

He nodded, gently running a thumb across your cheek. “You give me all, and I give you all in return.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you pulled him in for a kiss. And you kissed for a while until Bucky pulled back, looking deep into your eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Your mouth fell slack, and you stared at him in shock.

“Wait!” Bucky set you down and you let him move you like you were a doll, no resistance, as placed you on your feet, and, looking back, you had no idea how you’d stood upright as he’d sprinted out of the room. Your heart felt like a kickdrum in your chest the entire time, and when he returned and actually went down on one knee in front of you in the small space of the shower, holding up a ring box with a gorgeous diamond ring inside, you fell to your knees as well.

“Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky said disbelievingly, but with so much happiness in his voice. He pulled you in for another kiss that quickly evolved into something more intense and desperate.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, “please, Bucky. Please.”

“Whatever you want, babygirl.” He took the time to slip the ring onto your finger, before he lifted you up again. You were pressed against the wall barely a second later, and Bucky was inside you once another had passed.

“Oh, God.”

You moaned in unison, holding onto each other for dear life. You had your legs tightly wrapped around his middle, answering his thrusts with your hips bucking forward.

“Shit, you always feel so good around me. It never gets old.”

You could do nothing but moan in response.

“You’re mine,” Bucky grunted, and when he picked up the pace, his thrusts were so forceful, they knocked your head against the hard tiles on the wall. “Fuck, sorry.” He leaned out of the shower far enough to reach a towel that he bunched up and put behind your head, all the while continuing his movements. When he was sure you weren’t hurting, he ran a hand down your torso, briefly stopping at your breasts, where you were pulling and pinching your own nipples, over to your clit, rubbing it just the way you loved.

“Say it, baby.” He was staring down at where his cock was disappearing between your folds over and over again. “Say you’re mine.”

You gasped, “yours. I’m yours, daddy.”

“That’s it, pet. Fuck, you feel so good. I’m not gonna last.”

You shook your head, telling him you weren’t either. “Daddy, please.”

He sped up even more, his thrusts relentless now. “I know, baby, me too.” Bucky kissed you again. “Let’s cum together, yeah? Cum for me, now.”

Walls clenching down on his cock, you came so hard that white dots were dancing in your vision, shuddering in his arms. Bucky followed suit almost instantly, chasing his own orgasm, as he buried himself into your tight heat.

You kissed him, then, and didn’t stop until long after he had gone soft inside you. Wrapped tightly around each other, you kissed until the water ran cold again.

“Marry me,” he mumbled into the skin of your neck.

“I already said yes.”

“Say it again.”

You pulled up his head by the hair at the back of his neck, looking at him intently. “I will marry you.”

[docholligay]

For the Valentine’s Day prompt: HARUMICHI

In recent years, I have come to love the easy way Haruka has with me, the way she asks for what she needs, and gives freely of her emotions. In no way would I replace the confident, tender, open woman Haruka has become, and it makes me happy, as simple and borderline garish  as that sounds, to see her so at ease. 

All that being said, I often recall the awkward and bashful energy that accompanied our first Valentine’s day together. 

We were both such idiots. 

I thought of myself as a woman, then, though of course that was only the utter nonsense of some young thing pretending to something greater.  We were not quite living together, not yet, though I was anxious for the opportunity. It was tiresome, I thought, to have the driver go all the way over to Haruka’s dreary little apartment, only to occasionally be told they had to leave, for her mother was in some state of intoxication, or with her boyfriend, or more than likely, both. It was also ridiculous, the wisdom of my younger self imagined, that I had to play at stocking Haruka’s kitchen, or buying her new linens for her sad mat on the floor, or anything Haruka clearly needed but struggled to accept. 

And so, Valentine’s Day gave me a bit of an excuse to lavish things on Haruka that otherwise she might have been forced to create an elaborate pantomime around. I strolled about the Mitsukoshi department store, picking up things here and there, having associates bring them to the front. A set of dishes, for romantic dinners, I would say. A pile of fine pajamas, for all of our sleepovers. A silk kimono–really more a gift for me, Haruka, that you might accompany me at the mundane events my brother holds. A set of luggage, which you simply must have if I am to take you to Paris. 

Haruka had little, and I found it utterly exhausting, This first holiday was a chance to change that, and if we had only been together a few months, it made little difference to me, a swipe of my  allowance that barely made a dent. 

Haruka had already refused to let me take her out to dinner, insisting she would cook herself. After much negotiation, Haruka had at least conceded to allow this silliness to take place at my first apartment, which I had dubbed small, with mediocre appointments, compared to my parents’ penthouse, but dwarfed Haruka’s. 

Oh, I know. I am well aware that I hardly come off as the heroine in this story, but if we are being quite frank, there are few stories of my youth in which I do. I was spoilt beyond belief and thought nothing of pride, for mine had never truly been at issue. I saw Haruka as a stubborn fool, albeit a stubborn fool of whom I was growing very fond, and could not imagine why anyone would be proud over the issue of a few thousand yen. 

In any case, she agreed to my wishes, and I had the gifts wrapped and delivered to my home. I treated myself to demi baguette with roe butter and a glass of wine. Haruka, you see, had asked that I not return until later that evening, that she might surprise me with the things she had created. I had little doubt in my mind that I would be surprised, and, in case of a surprise to us both, picked up a fine tart from the bakery before I left for home. 

When I arrived, the kitchen was a flurry of activity, Haruka in her little apron running back and forth between things. It was charming, though unnecessary, to see her work so hard. Our small table was set with a white tablecloth that had a few spots on it, unable to be resolved from whenever she had purchased it. A pair of ceramic candlesticks were in the center, candles burning down quickly inside them. There was a single rose inside a cheap porcelain bud vase. 

Snottily, I though, ‘well, at the very least she’s used my china.” 

You have to understand, in those days, I thought it was I who had everything to give to Haruka, and did not realize that she had plenty to give to me as well. I will not attempt to make an excuse for myself, but when one is raised as I was, one tends to get the idea that lowering yourself to the little people is only done out of a sense of noblesse oblige. It is for this reason that I was so resistant to have M.A. marry back into society, though she certainly seems to have threaded that particular needle with far more grace. 

So, as I was saying, Haruka was working very hard, and I took my appointed seat as she began to serve. I remember that it was not particularly elegant, but ti was clearly made with a great deal of effort and love, and as you know Haruka is not without some talent in the kitchen. It’s silly, the way memory works. I remember so much of this night and yet I have completely forgotten what it was exactly that she served. Perhaps that is the least interesting part of the story, after all. 

I do remember dessert. She presented a sweet, small cake, with a pair of uneven hearts made of chocolate in the top of it. The raspberry filling was spilling from the sides a bit, and you could see the spots where the crumb coat had not quite covered. I brought out the tart I’d purchased–you know, Dominique Ansel had a space there, at the time–a dark chocolate and matcha torte, the chocolate shell tempered to perfection, even and smooth ganaches, elegant dusting on the top. 

Haruka looked at me and said, “Oh, you brought dessert.” 

I am, even now, not often given to shame, I see no point in it and have no use for it, but in that moment I realized that I had somehow undermined all she had wished to in my pursuit of that which was considered the best. There was a quality in her voice that contained an edge of hurt, and her enthusiasm faded for a moment. 

And then, of course, being as difficult as I was back in those times, she brushed it off, tossed her hair back and declared that this cake was fine and all but it was too much for just two people, is all she meant, a phrase which, i think you can agree, Haruka has never uttered in earnest in her life. 

The moment was gone, and even if it had not been I did not have qualities in me to soothe her. We truly did grow up together, she and I, and if there were a God, I would thank him for the miracle of our staying together while we tripped over each other. 

The parade of gifts came, and each one after the next I noticed Haruka’s discomfort more and more as she unwrapped them. I brushed it off as yet another of her little fits over the fact that from time to time I would like to provide for her, and rather ignored it. She was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t bothering her anyhow, telling me she didn’t need the whole store and things of that nature. I told her it pleased me to do these things, and that, at least, was true. It has always pleased me to treat her, to care for her, only then I was not so good at realizing money is not always a substitute for the softer things, which she needed much more. 

At the end of it all she thanked me, although not with the enthusiasm I had hoped, but with a sort of awkward huff, as if I had somehow displeased her. She turned her face away from mine, and looked toward the clumsily-wrapped package on the windowsill. 

“Well,” I said, brushing off her moodiness, “I suppose it’s now my turn to open.” 

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “sure. I didn’t have a lot of time, so I’ll have to make it up to you, take you out somewhere nice.” 

“Oh,” I unwrapped the corner, “You’re being perfectly silly just now.” 

It was a picture frame with wide sides, whatever color it had been in a former life painted over with a layer of cheap acrylic, a soft turquoise color that matched the sheets of my bed. There were clumsily painted hearts on one side of it in pinks and reds, and across the top and down the other sides, old scrabble tiles spelled out ‘Michiru’ across the top, ‘Haruka’ down the side, our names intersecting at the ‘ru.’ In the center, a picture of us, at some holiday festival, smiling, colored lights gaily sparkling around us. 

I have told you previously, though, you have known me for so long I feel this hardly needs telling, that I was, an to some extent, still, an inveterate snob, who tolerated only the finest things in life. And, while this is true, I must tell you that I had never allowed that someone might spend time on a gift for me. The acrylic was cheap, but obviously carefully layered, and the tiles were so straight as the must have been set with a line and level. She had gone to great effort for me. I was deeply touched, my chest aching with love for it, with love for her. She loved me as a human, you see, and not as a doll, to be dressed and posed and mollified with gifts. 

I wish I could tell you this was the part of the story where I tell her how much a valued her gift, and all the reasons why. That would be a lie, I regret to say. I thanked her, and said I would put it immediately by my bedside, and she had chosen such a lovely picture. I wish I could tell you Haruka swelled with pride at the compliment, but she simply touched the edge of the pajamas I’d given her and shrugged. We polished off a bottle of wine, had sex, and went to bed. 

Oh, don’t look that way, it all turns out in the end, you know that. I tell you this to inform you that even the greatest highway begins as a dirt road, and so it was with Haruka and I. You know, this last Valentine’s Day, for I still have the frame by my bedside, though I change the picture year to year, she gave me another. M.A. and Kimi, it said, in English tiles that she had Mina help her work out, for of course the intersection is impossible in Japanese, M.A.’s full name being French. I nearly cried, when she gave it to me. 

I tell you this so that you will know the journey is worth making, and that things will be made softer, and better. A life can be changed, and a person can grow, however impossible it seems. 

I tell you this, for I have come to love Valentine’s Day.                           

[theonceoverthinker]

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 13/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before. AO3

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Let it never be said that Qrow Branwen was ever either without a plan or very far from concocting one.

Developing plans was a skill that certainly helped him as a bandit, and in a matter of minutes, that skill would faithfully serve him once more as he and Clover proceeded to Lil’ Miss Malachite’s.

Qrow took pride in the fact that he knew the world well, that between his intelligence and his semblance, he was able to manipulate the knowledge he possessed as well as his own ‘charms’ to do all manner of things for him.

In fact, the only aspect of the world Qrow felt that he couldn’t say he completely understood was anything regarding Clover -- nor that grouchy raven of his -- but even with Clover, he was starting to make progress on that front. 

After all, most people didn’t show nearly as much of their personalities as Clover did in just the three hours they’d known each other, and there was plenty that Qrow gleaned from what he saw there. Qrow wouldn’t deny that he had more pressing matters to attend to regarding the very satchel Clover was keeping him from, but as he studied Clover as to best redirect him towards that end, he couldn’t help but take some interest in the mystery that was Clover. 

Sure, Clover was without a doubt the oddest person on the planet, his poorly-named bird had done nothing to curry Qrow’s favor in either of their directions, and of course, he was still holding Qrow’s satchel hostage.

But honestly, for someone raised all alone in a tower, Clover was pretty impressive in his own right -- strong, smart, witty, handy with that fishing pole of his, and unfortunately for Qrow, not bad at holding someone to a deal. 

It was almost something of a shame that after this stop and the return to Clover’s tower, they’d be rid of each other for good. 

Still, it had to be done if Qrow was to get that satchel of his back. 

But that didn’t mean Qrow couldn’t allow himself to muse on his traveling companion for the time they still had left together, if for no other reason than it gave him something to do besides just navigate through the forest that stretched on as far as the eye could see.

Clover was...absolutely unlike anyone else Qrow had ever known before -- naive, but only to a point, curious, but also scared easily, and determined, but clearly conflicted as to what he should be determined about. 

“Did you get us lost, Qrow?”

Finally, apparently, he was patient, that is, until he got hungry.

There was an inescapable patronizing -- though almost teasingly so -- tone in Clover’s voice as he spoke, a tone that was well reflected in the deadpan accusatory look he gave Qrow.

“No.” Qrow said, half grumbling as he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s close by. I just know it.”

“You sure about that?” Clover shot back. “Because you said that five minutes ago.”

Oh, and cheeky. Clover was undeniably, borderline groan-inducingly cheeky.

Qrow was about to show Clover a bit of his own cheekiness when he suddenly spotted something.

“I see the roof,” he said, pointing just above a hill as a recognizing smile grew on his face. “This way, muscles.”

Yet again, Clover huffed at the nickname, but Qrow didn’t care -- he loved it, for no other reason than how it riled Clover up just enough to get an annoyed pout out of him.

Qrow could watch Clover make that look all day.

“There it is! Lil’ Miss Malachite’s, in the flesh!”

Qrow half expected Clover to pull out a double dose of cheekiness and correct him by saying that buildings didn’t have flesh, but upon glancing at Clover, Qrow saw he was too entranced by the building to bother.

True to Qrow’s word, but three feet from them was a sign for the establishment, green letters against a blue background that read ‘Lil’ Miss Malachite’s,’  and just beyond that sign was the tavern itself.

Qrow had to hand it to himself -- even though he’d been in and out of this place more times than he could count, its quaint outer surface still even managed to fool him for a second into thinking the pub was...different from its current reputation.

Seemingly crafted nestled against the large oak tree that curled behind it, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s was simply lovely looking. Within the clearing where it stood, a purple and green speckled roof covered the restaurant’s wooden front alongside colorful carvings around every window and door.

For Gods’ sake, there were even horses in front of it!

How much more picturesque could it get?

Clover had clearly fallen in love with the place. Right now, he was marveling at the horses.

This guy…he clearly liked nature and animals a lot.

Qrow considered seeing if he could find that puppy they spotted earlier on their way back to the tower after this and give it to Clover as a little animal friend.

It would certainly be an improvement over that bird on his shoulder, no matter what Clover thought.

Then again, that uncle of Clover’s didn’t know he’d left on this trip, so there’d be no way he could sneak a dog up the tower without giving that little detail away. 

Maybe he’d just grab Clover a butterfly or something.

That would make him happy, right?

Well, either way, he’d decide on that after his plan worked.

And it would work.

“Isn’t it just picture perfect?” Qrow asked, turning to Clover. “Nice and quaint. After all, no need to scare you off from this trip of yours, right?”

“It is beautiful,” Clover admitted, smiling. “I mean, if we’re going to stop somewhere to eat, this looks like a good spot.”

Qrow smirked. “See, muscles? Who knows better than Qrow Branwen?”

Clover snorted amusedly. “With all that bragging you do, you’re more like a peacock than a crow, if you ask me.” He seemed pretty happy with the quip, and apparently couldn’t help but burst out into laughter at the deadpan look Qrow shot his way for it.

He was not a peacock.

“Well, let’s not wait any longer,” Qrow said, gesturing his hand towards the restaurant and dodging Clover’s quip.

“Sounds great!”

They made their way to the restaurant’s door, and with a creak, Qrow carefully opened it.

“Table for two!” he called out, though confident that over all the ruckus of the tavern, he wouldn’t be heard.

For his money, Qrow preferred that it would have stayed that way, especially by the management. 

If he had timed their arrival right -- and he was certain he did -- one particular part of that management team wouldn’t be here. The window was tight, but Qrow believed he could manage it.

After all, as long as he had anything to say about it, luck was decidedly not on her side.

How unfortunate would it be for her to have missed them.

Oh, well.

Clover walked halfway through the now opened door...and then he stopped.

Qrow knowing exactly why, smirked, as he looked into the dark tavern.

Unlike its quaint outskirts, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s interior was anything but quaint -- unless your definition of ‘quaint’ was closer to anyone else’s definition of ‘seedy.’ Dark wood covered the walls and through the inclusion of some olive green curtains, only a handful of candles and a small fireplace in the back provided light for the tavern. 

However, the most interesting feature of the place -- like any place -- was its people. As far as the eye could see ahead, people occupied the tables and standing space, all with tones and looks that came across as rowdy as the day was long.

Speaking from experience, Qrow could attest to the fact that the impression was one well earned by Lil’ Miss Malachite’s patrons.

They looked like crooks.

They looked like miscreants.

They looked like everyone that that uncle of Clover’s had probably ever warned him about.

And Qrow, putting his hands on Clover’s shoulders from behind him, inched him towards them.

Finally, his plan was in motion.

Clover immediately took out Kingfisher, brandishing it close to his chest with shaking hands as he and Qrow waded through the unruly masses.

Everyone had a weapon -- spears, hammers, tridents, sharp crossbows with sharper arrows, and more blades than there were hours in a day. Granted, those weapons largely weren’t in use -- most in sheathes and lazily left on the floor -- but it was their sheer presence and numbers that Qrow was counting on.

And oh, did those miscreants come through for him.

At this point, they’d probably be out of here before they even got a table.

He could practically hear every word Clover was thinking, but it really just came down to three words.

‘Damn it, Qrow…’

Happy to play the role of the devil when thought of, Qrow leaned in his head close to Clover’s left ear.

“Smell that, muscles?” he asked, absolutely rhetorically. “Take a deep breath of that through the nose. Lots of different types of stinks around here. There’s man stink, ma’am stink, and good old regular stink stink.” Qrow took a pronounced deep breath of his own, content laced in his voice like dirt in a puddle of mud. “Mmm. Gotta love that stink stink.”

No, no Clover did not seem to love that ‘stink stink’ at all, nor did he likely feel any obligation to love it.

“What do you think?” Qrow went on. “What’s your favorite of the stinks?”

Clover, scowling in front of Qrow, turned back to him, clearly about to tell him to shut up when all of the sudden, he stopped.

Qrow looked ahead.

Someone was touching Kingfisher’s tip, and their team had assembled to inspect the bar’s newest occupant alongside her.

Oh, this was likely going to do him in.

The people surrounding Clover -- the Juniper Jaggers -- they weren’t mean or cruel or even necessarily all that scary, but what they were was loud, brash, boundlessly energetic, and in regards to the girl who presently touched Clover’s weapon, lacking in almost any regard for personal space.

They’d been pains in the asses for Qrow to share a bar with in the past, but for the purposes of this particular mission, they were exactly what he needed.

Clover was frozen in place as he looked at the source of the tug.

When he found it, he saw the team’s four members -- two boys and two girls -- standing two to each of his sides -- undoubtedly far too close to him for his liking. 

Then, they started asking questions.

“Where are your shoes?” one of the girls asked. 

“Forget that, Phyrra,” one of the boys dismissed, “Where are your sleeves? We get it, you’ve got muscles -- no need to show them off so much.”

“Looks like someone’s jealous, Jaune,” the other girl teased. “But what I want to know is what’s up with the fishing pole?” She flicked Kingfisher’s rod backward on her finger before releasing it, creating a ‘boing’-like sound. Raven squawked. “Ooh! And your bird! Tell me all about her!”

“And how do you keep your clothes so clean?”

“Ren! This barefoot, muscle-bound guy with a weird fishing pole and a bird walks in, and his cleanliness is what you choose to ask him about?” 

Ren shrugged. “I can’t help it if my curiosity is more inclined to ask about his laundry skills, Nora.”

The four of them continued, mixing arguments amongst themselves with the questions they kept coming up with for Clover.

The initial questions flew at Clover like rapid fire, and others in the bar, while not joining in the questioning, did feast their eyes on the scene, and specifically, Clover.

While the questions themselves were harmless enough, Qrow could tell they were coming at Clover so quickly and with such a large audience that it was overwhelming.

Qrow was tempted to pull him back right there and then -- albeit with much laughing on his part because of how relatively benign they were -- but before he could, Clover took an action all his own.

He ran away.

Unfortunately for him though, the only clear direction to run in was ahead, further into the tavern, so that’s where he went. The Juniper Jaggers, seemingly too caught up in their own musings to realize that the subject of their curiosity had fled, continued arguing amongst themselves.

The laughter bubbling in Qrow’s belly couldn’t contain itself any longer, flowing out of him like water out of a destroyed dam.

Bringing Clover to ‘Lil Miss Malachite’s was a stroke of pure genius.

It was perfect. The folks here weren’t dangerous, per se, but what they were was energetic, weapon-clad, and menacing enough looking.

And Clover was absolutely freaked out by them.

Looks like he knew Clover well after all.

Qrow walked over in his direction, ready to end his plan before Clover ended up passing out, when suddenly, a voice called out to him.

“Well, hello Qrow,” a woman behind the counter scoffed as her hands cleaned a glass with a rag. “Haven’t seen you around here in a long while.” She had cream colored hair and a cream, green, and dirt colored apron.

Among all of the other things Qrow knew, this woman’s identity was one of them.

“Robyn, always a pleasure,” Qrow greeted, bowing his head in an over-the-top manner before shrugging. “Haven’t had a reason to be here in a long while.”

“Oh?” Robyn asked, a rhetorical nature in her words as clear as glass. “What about that tab of yours? I think you forgot to pay that off before you went to do...whatever it was you did.”

“I didn’t forget,” Qrow excused, raising a countering finger. “I just...need a bit of time to get the funds together.”

At that, Robyn sighed. It was an excuse she probably expected, and if Qrow was being honest with himself, it was a mindset well merited. This hadn’t been the first exchange they’d had over this very topic, or even at these very spots they currently stood in.

No, those aspects of the conversation were similar, at least. Others...were different.

Suddenly, he remembered a whole different reason he wanted to be out of here as soon as possible...

“Look,” she said, “I’m not gonna say anything to anyone, but if Lil’ Miss Malachite herself sees you, your time’s gonna be up. You’d better get out of here fast.”

Qrow was about to thank her and ask how much time he had before she was due to get back, but before he could, he heard the now unmistakable sound of Raven squawking at someone who was approaching Clover from behind. 

Jeez, even half a tavern away, he squawks came at his eardrums with the force of an anchor falling into the ocean.

Robyn snorted. “Who’s that guy? White clothes, a fishing rod, a bird on his shoulder, looks scared out of his wits -- what kind of weirdo did you bring to my bar? We’ve already got more than enough of them to go around.”

“Him?” Qrow started, thinking up a quick lie. “He’s just a tourist browsing. I told him myself the nicest pub in all of Remnant was here, and he wanted to see for himself.”

Looks like it was about time to bring this plan home.

“But,” Qrow continued, “I think he’s had his fill of the scenery. I’ll go get him out of your way.”

Robyn shot Qrow a deadpan look, clearly not believing a word of what he said, but Qrow just innocently shrugged as he headed once more for Clover.

He looked terribly freaked out, and so small. If he were in any actual danger, Qrow wouldn’t have been as amused as he was. Even still though, he did take some pity on him.

“Clover,” Qrow said, approaching him, feigning an innocent and concerned tone in his voice. He took a gentle hold of Clover’s shoulder -- the one without Raven on it -- and tugged him in the direction of the exit. “You don’t look so good. Should we turn around, maybe get you home? I mean, this place is a five star joint, and if you can’t handle being here, it might just be best for you to get back to your tower.”

“I know what you’re trying to pull, Qrow, a-and it’s not going to work,” Clover said. “I’m not going back to my tower without seeing those lanterns.” 

Qrow smirked. “Then may I ask why it is you’re following me out of this lovely establishment?”

“I’m still going to see the lanterns,” Clover asserted. “I’m just not going to eat here on the way to see them.”

“We’re gonna have to see people eventually once we get to the capital, and believe me, there’s only more like this crowd to come. What are you gonna do, then?” It was a lie, but one that wasn’t completely a work of fiction by a longshot. After all, while the kingdom’s capital was home to plenty of perfect normal folks such as himself, it also had characters that ranged from as eccentric as the Juniper Jaggers to as shady as Mercury to as uppity as the Ace Ops.

Much to Clover’s evident frustration, it was a legitimate question he’d asked.

“Well,” Clover started, clearly not prepared with an answer. “I’ll-”

“Hold up!” a voice called, interrupting Clover. It was the shout of an older woman with a drawl, and like Robyn, Qrow knew its source all too well. “I’d know that raspy voice anywhere. Branwen! Where are you?”

Crap. He’d taken too much time.

The boss was back.

“Well,” Qrow said, playing up a happy tone, “if it isn’t Lil’ Miss Malachite herself!”

Qrow turned around to shoot at Lil’ Miss Malachite a fake, yet charming enough to him smile, only to pause towards the end of his rotation upon seeing what she held in her hand.

“Looks like you got yourself into a little bit of trouble,” she said, showing off a copy of Qrow’s wanted poster to all of the tavern’s patrons. She then pointed to the bottom of the poster where the word ‘reward’ was listed. “Ooh, and look here! You’re actually worth something. Who’d have ever guessed. After all the money you’ve stiffed me of over the years, I think this reward will settle our debts quite nicely.”

Qrow, urging Clover to get behind him with an arm of his raised cutting off Clover from the rest of the bar, stepped back slowly to try to get out the door.

However, before he could, the door slammed shut. 

“Cardin!” she called out to a young man who stood by the door, watching the scene play out with eager anticipation. “Go get the royal guards. That reward for his head’s gonna have us set for life. Monkey boy, you go guard the door in his place.”

In the blink of an eye, Cardin zoomed out the door and into the forest. The door had been left closed, but abandoned. However, it was only for a second until a blond boy dropped down from the ceiling to block the path to it.

“And you, Robyn!” Lil’ Miss Malachite shouted once more. “Have that motley crew of yours go capture Branwen!”

From behind him, Qrow could feel Clover staring at him, but not with the heat of a glare. 

Instead, it was with worry.

Qrow couldn’t turn back to look at him, whether to assure that they’d be okay, or to give Clover warning before something...less than pleasant happened, for Robyn had jumped up from the bar, whistled for her friends to surround Qrow, and approached him herself.

“Robyn,” Qrow protested.

As she was just a few steps away from him, Robyn bit her lip. 

“Sorry, Qrow,” she said, remorse heavy in her voice. “But a job’s a job, and I can’t afford to lose mine.”

Immediately, Qrow rushed to grab Harbinger, but his arm was grabbed midswing by Robyn’s teammate Fiona, the tips of his fingers only gliding over the blade’s handle for a fraction of a second. The other arm was grabbed a second later by another one, Johanna. Qrow kicked his legs in an attempt to free himself, but they were grabbed all the same by the final member of Robyn’s group, May. All the while as her teammates kept him in place, Robyn looked over the scene to see if they left any stones unturned that could lead to his escape.

And dammit, they didn’t.

He could see Clover in the distance, at a complete loss for what to do.

Qrow couldn’t blame him. Clover had been outside his tower for what -- maybe three hours. To see his guide of all people grabbed and bound, ready to be arrested had to be scary stuff, on top of being surrounded by nothing but miscreants and crooks as far as the eye could see. Clover was strong, but he wouldn’t instigate a fight, not under these circumstances.

Now, the only one of them he knew he could count on to not let him get hurt was captured, likely to be arrested within the next hour.

What was he going to do now?

Completely captured, Qrow tried looking around for a means of escaping his captors, but found none. 

Qrow was good at working with things and qualities he had to find solutions, but at that moment, he really didn’t know what to do next, nor was any idea appearing. 

For the first time in a long time, he was completely left without a plan.

[hobishopee]

“Baby, let’s go.”

Requested?: Yes.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Soft yandere themes

A/N: I.. I really included a friendship bracelet… i’m so lame- 

Summary: Uhh your friend hates sy!namjoon and uh yeah :)

-

Namjoon’s lips twitches in annoyance as your friend continues to blab about their adventurous nights with mysterious men from Tinder. He can tell that your giggles and laughter were forced. Anyone could care less about someone else’s sex life if it didn’t involve themselves. You swirl the straw in your cup, nodding along with their story, but Namjoon was becoming disengaged from the conversation.

His eyes wander around the cafe. The machines continuously spewed out coffee, workers meticulously decorating their pastries, and random people who had decided that a warm cup of coffee would suit their day. 

Namjoon’s eyes land on a couple.

They simultaneously sip their cups quietly as they enjoy each other’s presence. The man is reading his book, and the woman across from him watches the people in the night city outside the window, relaxed. 

Namjoon wishes that could’ve been him and you, enjoying each other’s presence, but the person yapping across from him threw that idea out of the window. 

He wishes he wasn’t here right now, but rather in your cozy home with you instead. You weren’t giving him your full attention and he was starting to become restless. He’s trying his god damn hardest right now not to drag you back home, but he can’t scare you away, not just yet. 

His eyes finally turn its sight on you, returning himself to the conversation. 

“Then, he asked me to go home with him!”

“Oh my god, gross!”

“I went, of course!”

He sighs, impatiently bouncing his knee under the table before chugging down the rest of his coffee. He reaches for his wallet, gently setting down a generous tip for the waitress.

“Well, it seems like it’s getting a tad late.” Namjoon announces out loud, stretching out his arms. He tries to be nonchalant as possible hoping that your friend wouldn’t notice his irritated state.

Your friend eyes down Namjoon, slightly furrowing their brows.

“I can’t even finish a story before you steal my friend away, again.” Your friend mutters, aggressively stirring their own straw in their cup. Namjoon stiffens at their possessive tone toward you. ‘My’ friend? Who the hell do they think they are?

“I was planning to take Y/N somewhere else.” Namjoon simply states, swiping his keys from the table. ‘Somewhere’ being your shared home. 

You sat there quietly, watching the scene before you unfold. 

“Where? To the fucking cage where you probably lock her up in?” Your friend spits out a bit too loudly.

“Y/F/N! What the hell are you even saying?” You whisper to them angrily. You were embarrassed your friend could act in such a way, though their tendencies and language were lewd to begin with.

“Cage…?” Namjoon asks dumbly. He tries his best to hold in his anger. Oh, how much he wanted to rip their throat out. How dare your friend call Namjoon’s beautiful home a cage? Yes, he has his way of telling you to stay in through pouty lips and whiny tones, but his home was no cage. He hopes you wouldn’t fall for their ridiculous words.

I mean, how could you? Namjoon treats you like the Queen you are. He would kiss your shoes if you had asked him to. Namjoon was so soft spoken it physically pained you that your friend would go to great lengths to insult him.

“Don’t act fucking stupid.” Your friend’s vulgar words made you cringe. “You let your ‘partner’ out every fucking blue moon so it won’t seem like you’re holding them hostage.” Namjoon raises his eyebrows in disbelief, because they were in a way, somewhat correct. “You act like this ‘oh so loving’ boyfriend but you’re fucking manipulative and you know it. Your way too possessive and everyone and their mother knows that too.” Your friend is heaving at the end of their speech. They hastily grab their belongings as they kick their chair backwards. 

“Y/N, let’s go.” Your friend demands. They extend their arm, expecting you to take their hand. 

Namjoon could laugh out loud at the bold stature that your friend held, but chooses to remain quiet. He refrains from forming a smug smile as you stay frozen in your seat.

“…You disrespected my boyfriend. Accused him of borderline abuse. Why the hell would I go with you?” You speak with an unwavering voice. You’re beyond pissed with your friend’s actions. “What on earth has made you think he treats me so badly?”

Namjoon finally allows himself to smile smugly as your friend’s mouth falls agape. Joon leans back on his chair, hands clasped together as it rests on his lap. 

“You’re obviously blind to his controlling habits. You were never like this, l-like a dog following their owner. Let’s go, before he takes you away for good.” Your friend begs, averting their gaze from Namjoon as if he was the plague.

“Controlling? If I was controlling we wouldn’t even be in this cafe in the first place listening to your whore tendencies to make you feel better about your corrupt decisions.” Namjoon speaks naturally, as if he had this dialogue already embedded in his brain.

“I don’t know how you feel about yourself, but you don’t get to wrongly accuse me of such things and put Y/N in the middle of it. If Y/N didn’t want to be in a relationship with me, then so be it, but she’s still by my side, so that must mean something.” He shrugs at his last statement, kicking his own chair back and playing with the car keys in his hand.

“Baby, let’s go.” Namjoon respectfully pushes the chair back in, reaching for your hand in the process. 

“Y/N I swear to god if you take his hand-“ Your friend doesn’t get the chance to finish their sentence before you quickly latch onto your boyfriend’s hand.

“Fuck off, Y/F/N. Go harass someone else about your sex life.” You bite back, throwing the friendship bracelet that you two had bought freshman year of high school onto the table.

You don’t make the time to look them in the eyes as you pull Namjoon away and walk out of the door. Your cheeks are tinted red in embarrassment from the whole fiasco that just happened seconds ago.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper meekly as you continue to pull Namjoon to the car. Namjoon yanks his wrist, earning you to be forced backwards into him. He softly turns you around, cupping your cheeks in the process.

“I knew they were up to no good the moment I met them. If anyone should be apologizing, it’d be them not you.” He wipes away your tear before gently swiping his thumb over your cheek. 

“The world is a cruel place, I just want to protect you from it. Will you let me do that?” Namjoon continues to lovingly stroke your cheek as he whispers his words. You nod like a puppet to their master. 

You continue nodding your head for reassurance as you wrap your arms around him, inhaling his comforting scent. He was so warm and snug, as if nothing could hurt you.

“They’re just going to keep hurting you, you know, your friends.” Namjoon states, searching your eyes for agreement. 

You choose to softly nod your head once more rather than opening your mouth, too red-faced to even speak.

Namjoon kisses your forehead, mentally marking off your friend in his list. His plan was working, weeding out your social life, one friend at a time.