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harrys-titties · 3 years

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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.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry #harry styles writing #writing #thank god this is finally finished #holy shit #let me know what you think #i love u #harries

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coffee-bat · 3 years

Text

sure i do! (posting screenshot of ask for easier formatting)

(also, i have a whump headcannons ask that i've been compiling the response to for the past weeks (anon who asked, i'm so sorry it's taking so long, i'm not ignoring your ask), so this one will focus strictly on everything OTHER than whump.)

- he often bites his nails when stressed, or even just bored (or when he has no cigar on hand. he has a thing for chewing/nibbling on things). stopping himself from doing it is one of the reasons he wears gloves (other than for warmth and to shield his hands from damage), as having his nails bit too short is painful and can make his work almost impossible. (saying this as a nail biter. you literally CANNOT use a finger that you bit the nail of too short)

- speaking of stimming, aside from biting things, he uses the compass around his neck as a stim toy. it's useless around him, as his own magnetic field renders it impossible to point north as it should, but he'll often play with it by making it spin through altering his field. it requires both focus and a small bit of physical effort, effectively taking his mind off whatever's stressing him, at least for a short bit until he gets bored.

- he thinks he can cook, but anyone who's ever tried his cooking strongly disagrees. while his techniques are okay, like he doesn't burn or undercook stuff, the things he makes are borderline inedible. (he once made a party cheese salad for a family meeting and lowkey bonded with moreau over him being the only one to like the atrocity)

- he's the youngest of the lords (with the age order being alcina>moreau>donna>karl). donna looks younger than him, however it's mostly because of his healing factor being worse than the others', making him actually age (even if very slow) instead of being stuck in time.

- he DESPISES family meetings, along with the family dinners miranda keeps insisting on (which take place either at the castle or at donna's place, as moreau's reservoir and the factory are unsuited for that to say the least), but the latter's redeeming factor is that, if he's lucky, he gets a unique opportunity to fuck with alcina. which usually means eating her out of house and home (using the fact that she's too proud of her good manners to refuse a guest), getting drunk, wrecking her house (muddy boots who?) and then passing out somewhere. it gives him the opportunity to make himself her problem and he loves that. (i've actually started work on a comic a few weeks ago where alcina kicks karl off a random couch she finds him on (in a food coma), a shitposty thing with a SLIGHTLY wholesome-ish ending (as wholesome as alcina gets), but it was taking so long that i just gave up at some point. though, if any of y'all would like to see it finished, let me know, it'd be easier to motivate myself to do it if i knew anyone actually wanted me to lol)

- he holds animals close to his heart but would hate to admit it, in fear of appearing weak or soft. claims that he lets the one (1) cat stay in his factory ONLY because it helps with rats, totally not for company because he's a sad lonely man, what are you talking about.

-he's neither a cat or dog person, he likes both equally, but it'd be far harder to keep a dog in his quarters, seeing as it would require both more space and regular walks + playtime, while a cat is perfectly happy with just getting to sleep on him at night (in terms of contact/bonding).

- though, while he doesn't have a dog, he lowkey treats the lycans as such. keeps them under his control solely through giving them dog treats he buys from the duke. (took him a long time and lots of claw/teeth injuries to figure that out, but hey, better late than never).

--warning: the next few paragraphs discuss weight insecurity and body dysmorphia. i'll let you know when the segment ends so you can skip it if it's triggering or makes you uncomfortable--

- he's insecure about his body, both the scars littered across it and his weight. the first can't be helped and he's aware of it, however the latter TECHNICALLY CAN be and thus it bothers him far more. he used to be in a better shape, both mentally and physically, before his life was completely consumed by his work and plans of the rebellion, however these days, he just can't afford to focus on keeping himself in shape (he doesn't have the time and energy to exercise outside of the weight lifting he has to do while working, and same goes for taking care of his diet. cooking and eating balanced food takes too much time and energy, making him resort to whatever is the quickest to make and will keep him going through the day). he feels intense discomfort when looking at younger pictures of himself, he can't help but feel that he has "let himself go" in the recent years, however simultanously doesn't have the time and energy to do anything about it. it's frustrating and makes him feel out of control.

- alcina once touched on the topic while arguing with him, and it fucked him up. up until then he clang onto the small bit of hope that maybe noone has noticed the changes in his body, that maybe it was just him that was hypersensitive to it and in reality it wasn't that visible, and alcina's comment instantly shattered it. not only did she notice, but she apparently considered it worthy of using against him. there goes his last bit of confidence.

- it was one of the very few times she has seen him actually cry (before storming off to hide himself in his factory). it was also one of the few times she had apologized to him. she has made comments about his height and general looks before, and it never seemed to bother him, he always retorded back with a snarky remark targeted back at her, so she truly thought he had no insecurity issues- but this time, for the first time, he just looked hurt, almost disbelieving, and ran away without a word. it made her initial anger melt away instantly, realizing what she did. she ran after him a few minutes later, hoping it wasn't too late and she hadn't done unreversable damage. the whole incident was a major blow to her ego, especially as she was forced to beg karl over the intercom to let her in, but she wouldn't have forgiven herself if she didn't tell him that she was sorry and didn't mean it. she had to admit to herself that it truly was a low blow and she couldn't let herself be carried away like this ever again.

- karl's confidence never really healed from the incident, it's not something he can just forget. but he did get a kick out of having alcina beg for forgiveness, so he considers at least that to be an upside of the whole thing.

--weight/body dysmorphia discussion ends here--

- he gets sensory overloads easily, especially from loud noise, making him snappy if there's too many people talking/making noise. he also often has issues with things touching him when he's already stressed - due to this, he keeps a hairband in his pocket at all times (to keep his hair out of his face), and has tied the belt of his trench coat behind his back so it wouldn't touch his arms while moving around (that one is actually part of his character model). having things hanging off him irritates him greatly.

- he has a tendency to cling onto/hug whatever is in his reach while he's asleep. usually it's a pillow or his blanket, but it's also a risk one should be aware of when choosing to sleep in one bed with him. you're gonna wake up in a death grip. and he's a heavy sleeper, so don't even think about going to the bathroom.

- speaking of physical affection, he loves massages, they're one of his favorite types of affection to receive. any kind of them, really. he's sore most of the time, so a bit of relief is always greatly appreciated. back/shoulders after a long day of work, tummy if his cadou is bothering him or his eating habits fucked him over again, maybe even hands if he's worked manually for too long and his palms are starting to cramp. it's all really appreciated. (another factor contributing to why he likes them is that they're completely selfless acts of affection. his partner isn't getting anything out of it (like they would with anything sexual or romantic), its only purpose is to help him feel better. makes him feel loved.)

- speaking of, he literally cried the first time ethan gave him a shoulder rub. feeling the decades worth of pain, tiredness and muscle strain that he didn't realize he felt finally fade, be washed away, made his eyes water, he couldn't help it. it wasn't long after they had moved in together (as roommates, since karl had nowhere to go), and to karl, it felt like an affirmation that it's over, he can relax, he can rest now. no need to keep overworking himself, to keep not letting himself ever catch a break because "he might like it too much and stop chasing his goal", to keep doing anything to keep himself going for years on end despite knowing it's ruining his body. it's done, it's over, he finally deserves a rest. it made ethan deeply confused and concerned before karl sobbed out why he's crying.

these are all for now, i think! at least all that comes to mind at the moment. if you'd like me to talk about headcannons on a specific subject/topic (or expand on any of these ones), let me know! i'm sure to think of something that i haven't already, or forgot to write down. i just love talking about headcannons, man.

#this bitch took me 2 hours to write i really hope you like it #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #headcannons #long post

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avengershumanresources · 3 years

Text

blood 1 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

1 - an empty grave

Cast:

The Royal House Stark:

King Obadiah Stark (Obadiah Stane)

King Anthony Stark (presumed dead)

Queen Virginia Stark (Pepper)

The Late Queen Alexandra Stark (your mother)

Princess Stark!Reader- you

Prince Peter Stark (Peter Parker)

Princess Morgan Stark

Knights:

Sir Samuel Wilson

Sir Steven Rogers

Sir Clinton Barton

Spellcasters/Master Sorcerers/Sorceresses:

Stephen Strange

Wanda Maximoff

Master Wong

Loyal to House Stark:

Natalia Romanoff (Natasha)- Assassin

James Barnes- her partner

Prince Thor- of Asgard, United with Stark’s kingdom

Prince Loki- of Asgard

Lady Brunhilde- of Asgard

Lady Sif- of Asgard

King T’Challa- of Wakanda

Princess Shuri- of Wakanda

(---)

In a final twist of irony, the day of the funeral was bright and warm.

You’d stood quietly while the priest recited his words, while candles were lit, while the Queen trembled silently next to you. You held Morgan’s hand, you listened while the choir sang, the ominous sound reverberating through your chest.

The mourners in black whispered while the royal family walked up to an empty coffin. You touched the polished wood, fist tightening at your side. Pepper bowed her head, reciting a quiet prayer.

How stupid. All of this was stupid. Praying to an empty box, crying over nothing.

You kept your eyes down, lest you betray your own thoughts. Now wasn’t the time for rebellion. Not when your queen step-mother was relying so heavily on tradition and ritual to get through the day. It’d be borderline cruel to start antagonizing her in this way.

No, you’d wait.

Peter, your half-brother in blood but full brother in heart, touched your elbow, pulling you from your thoughts, and guiding you away from the coffin. He kept his eyes forward, expression stoic while he lead the family back to their positions in the massive cathedral.

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmured low into your ear, as if reading your mind. The words were laced with a malice you’d never heard from the normally cheerful prince.

You didn’t reply, instead you grabbed your younger brother’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. A silent agreement.

The attack had been a betrayal of one of the kingdom’s oldest allies, a neighboring kingdom ruled by someone your father had once trusted with his life.

Apparently nothing was sacred anymore.

The funeral ended somberly, mourners murmuring amongst each other, ladies fawning over Pepper, though the queen looked none too pleased with the attention.

You searched the crowd for a pair of familiar of blue eyes, finding their owner tucked away from the crowd in a secluded corner. He was speaking quietly to the sorceress, Wanda, his eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. With a small nod, he signaled you over.

Weaving through the mass of people, you slipped into the conversation with Wanda regarding you, frowning in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, your highness,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Your father was a good man, and an honest king. The realm is less for this loss.”

“Thank you,” your tone was colder than you’d intended, a reflection of the bitterness taking form within. Clearing your throat, you tried again, softer and more agreeable this time. “He truly was the best of us.”

Stephen sent Wanda a quick glance and the sorceress excused herself, parting the hall in a hurry.

“You’re angry,” he noted quietly.

“Am I?” you hummed, quirking a brow up at your friend. “I thought I was supposed to be sad?”

“You’re allowed to be angry,” he replied, folding his hands behind his back. “It just means you understand the injustice of it all.”

“Peter wants revenge,” you stated, mimicking his motion and staring out at the sea of royals and court members.

“Understandable,” he murmured. “I imagine a number of officials feel similarly.”

“He isn’t old enough to take the throne,” you supplied. “We can’t go to war without a seated leader.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time an heir succeeded in an unorthodox manner,” he noted before turning his head to look at you. “How are you, truly?”

You opened your mouth to reply, words catching in your throat. You felt hollow. You felt like you wanted to scream until you woke up from whatever nightmare you were caught in. Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest and stomped on.

“I’m not certain,” you finally confessed, hands straining against each other behind your back. “Part of me wants to ride through the night and kill that traitor. The other wants to curl on the ground and fill the empty grave myself.”

He nodded in understanding.

“Grief is a powerful thing,” he replied softly, scanning the room before turning and giving you his full attention . “Would you like hide in the observatory a while?”

You looked up to him in surprise. The room was still full of mourners, citizens, and members of the court. Your duty would be to talk to everyone as they passed, pulling the burden off of Pepper.

“Can we?” you asked, voice cracking at the thought of having to converse any further.

Stephen gave you a mischievous smirk, nudging you toward a side door of the church. You followed his lead, slipping out of sight and tucking yourselves away from the crowds inside a small alcove.

“They’ll want to focus on Peter and the queen anyway,” he noted casually, drawing up a portal with his fingers. “No point in dwelling. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you fainted from the stress and required immediate medical attention.”

“I’m sure they’ll all believe it,” you retorted with a matching grin, taking his hand and letting him help you through the portal with all of your heavy mourning apparel.

The observatory had been a new addition to the palace after Stephen had arrived as its master sorcerer. Before, it’d been an abandoned archer’s tower, last used by the late king’s father, Howard, as a means of defense against the previously antagonistic kingdoms.

After King Anthony had taken the throne and negotiated trade and peace treaties with the nearby kings, the reinforcements had largely been forgotten.

Stephen had suggested it as an ideal place to study the cosmos above, and after some urging on your part, your father agreed to let the two of you repair the small space. When the foundation had been fixed to his specifications, Stephen added another enchantment to increase the size internally.

From there, the two of you worked to fill the space with objects of learning and interest.

The walls had been lined with stacks of books, maps of the universe, and healing runes. Tables had been set with with all sorts of alchemical experiments, glowing amulets, and charmed quills. A small greenhouse had been established on one of the many turret balconies, where you helped tend to some medicinal herbs and enchanted florals.

It was a place of peace and knowledge in a world of chaos and ignorance and in it, Stephen had taken the time to teach you the secrets of the universe. It was one of the few places you knew you truly could belong without judgement.

“I’m not convinced this isn’t sabotage,” he stated once you were alone, the glowing orange portal snapping shut behind him.

“What makes you say that?” you asked, lifting a book, flipping through a few pages in an attempt to distract yourself from his blunt words. You agreed there was some kind of malice involved in the attack, but sabotage suggested someone within the kingdom had betrayed your father. For such as honest and good your father was, your heart couldn’t handle such a reality.

“Whispers in the village,” he answered tersely. “Wanda was giving me her report when you approached. She is traveling to the next village over as we speak.”

“Rumlow betrayed his alliance,” you replied bitterly, refusing to look up from your book, though you couldn’t tell what the thing was about. Plants? Chaos magic? “What more is there to discover?”

“Why did he do it?” he asked. “What motivation does he have to sever one of the strongest military alliances in history?”

“Greed? We’ve had a surprise in economic activity since the scholar agreement with Wakanda,” you guessed with a shrug. “This isn’t a smart man we’re dealing with. I’m met him once before. He’s ambitious and motivated, but not particularly clever.”

“Peter is almost of age, your father has prepared him for his new role thoroughly,” he continued, pacing the space. “It doesn’t make sense. Everyone is well aware he will be of age to take the throne in six months time, and now this just ensures his placement.”

“Not everything does,” you reminded him. “You taught me that. Or don’t you remember?”

You paused after a moment, peeking up from the book after letting his words settle.

“Maybe he plans to use Peter’s inexperience against him?” you suggested quietly. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but even with the training and learning, Peter was a different person than your father, perhaps not in morals but certainly in other areas like strategy and planning.

“I intend to get to the bottom of this,” he stated, his hand tightening at his side. You’d never seen Stephen so inflamed before. “At the very least, I can try to retrieve his body. Negotiate a dignified exchange.”

The words pierced your heart far more painfully than you’d anticipated, your hand gave a jerk and you dropped the book you’d been fidgeting with while he spoke.

The mental image of your fathers head on a pike outside of Rumlow’s keep was enough to make you nauseous.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen’s tone shifted at your reaction. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Don’t apologize,” you assured him, clearing your throat and composing yourself. “You’re just doing your job. It’s why he trusted you to the position. You’re asking the questions that need to be asked.”

He watched you pluck the book off the ground and toss it on a nearby table with a low sigh. This was a precarious position he found himself in.

On the one hand, he’d been appointed as the Master Sorcerer of this castle and this realm. He had an obligation to serve that role and ensure the safety of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Not to mention, his obligation as a peacekeeper in his position as Sorcerer Supreme at Kamar-Taj.

On the other, you were his dearest friend and companion, and the obvious hurt you were suffering made his other duties nearly impossible to focus on. It was no wonder Kamar-Taj frowned on intimate attachments, they did provide a distraction from the ambivalent roles sorcerers and sorceresses were bound to play.

He wanted to serve as an unbiased judge in this troubling time, but his heart wanted him to seek justice and bring peace to your troubled mind.

His eyes drifted to the telescope at the edge of the room and an idea hit him.

Perhaps a distraction was best for the time being? A small respite to pull away from the doom and gloom of the immediate future.

“Do you remember that star cluster I showed you last week?” he asked, hooking and arm over your shoulder and guiding you toward the window. “There’s a fascinating change that’s been occurring.”

It was still relatively bright out, though with the sun was just starting to dip over the horizon, there was enough darkness to point out the phenomena he’d discovered the night before.

“Let me adjust-,” he tinkered with the measurements before signaling for you to lean in. “Do you see it?”

“They’re changing color,” you noted with a small gasp of excitement. “That’s a promising omen, isn’t it?”

Your expression had brightened considerably when you looked up at him.

“It is,” he nodded. “The specific colors suggest a period of tranquility and prosperity after a short struggle.”

“Then maybe it isn’t all terrible,” you tried voicing optimistically. It sounded strange, like you still weren’t entirely convinced, but the evidence was clear before you.

Stephen knew the stars never lied and had taught you as much over the time you’d spent together.

You sighed sadly, giving the stars another peek and shaking your head when you pulled away.

“I miss him,” you murmured, looking up at Stephen miserably.

The sorcerer frowned sympathetically, before he moved toward you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

You pressed your cheek against his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you.

“I know,” he replied softly, resting his chin on your head. “Just know he loved you very much, and wouldn’t want to see you so hurt on his behalf."

That seemed to break something in you, and you buried your forehead into his chest, shaking with suppressed sobs and held back tears until finally you choked out a wave of emotions all at once.

He spent an hour sitting with you while you cried into his tunic, yelling about how angry you were to how miserable all of this made you feel. He listened, offering a handkerchief and when you started to calm down, summoned a fresh pot of herbal tea.

“We will find answers,” he stated, blowing gently over the steaming cup in his hand.

“You sound so sure,” you noted with a bitter chuckle, eyes swollen and red from your tears.

“I’ve tampered with seeing the future from time to time,” he replied cheekily. “Perhaps I’ve had a vision?”

“And what did that vision show you?” you pressed, playing along with a ghost of a smile behind your own cup.

“We win,” Stephen replied firmly, his expression falling serious.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you confessed quietly.

“Victory seldom does,” he watched you take a sip of your tea. You closed your eyes and relaxed your shoulders with the calming scent.

You opened your mouth to ask him a question when a knock at the observatory door broke the small spell of peace that’d fallen over the space.

“I’ve got it,” he gestured for you to stay seated, moving toward the door and slowly peeling it open.

It wasn’t that he was overtly concerned for your safety, but given recent events, Stephen didn’t want to be lax in covering all possibilities. The world had gone mad and he wouldn’t put an assassin with a dagger outside the realm of potential visitors.

“Is the princess here?” Loki, Prince of Asgard, asked with a tone laced with annoyance upon Stephen’s appearance.

“Loki?” you must have heard his voice and stood, setting your cup aside. “Stephen, let him in. It’s okay.”

With a glare at the prince, Stephen stepped aside and allowed the emerald clad royal through.

He didn’t like outsiders in the observatory. Especially when you were around.

It made him especially uneasy inviting another magic user inside, where they could potentially measure its wards and security for later aggression.

“Peter mentioned you might be here,” Loki glanced around the room, arms folded behind his back. “I apologize if I’m intruding.”

That last part was directed toward Stephen with the smallest smirk.

“No, it’s okay, we were just having tea,” you replied quickly, gesturing to the steaming pot on the table. “Could I make you a cup-?”

“No-,” he cut her off and cleared his throat apologetically. “I’ve come to say farewell. My father is ordering the borders to Asgard closed until Rumlow’s nation offers an explanation to this… tragedy.”

“I see,” your expression fell at the news.

Certainly Asgard closing its borders was a worrisome sign. They were the kingdom’s greatest allies and largest trading partners. The effects of such a move would be felt for quite some time, both in security and in the local economy.

“I’ll write,” he promised with a curt bow. “Don’t fall behind in your studies. I’ll be testing you the next time we meet.”

You smiled before he took your hand for a brief kiss on the knuckles. Rolling your eyes, you pulled away and threw your arms around his shoulder in a hug.

“What a sad parting,” you laughed at his bewildered reaction. “And you’re going to kiss my knuckles like we haven’t known one another for years? On the day of my father’s funeral? Unacceptable.”

He barked out a small laugh, reciprocating the embrace with an arm before pulling away.

“Stay safe,” he urged her before looking up at Stephen with a steely gaze. “Do well to keep her protected, Sorcerer.”

“Always,” Stephen answered tersely, a little offended at the prince’s casual disregard for his abilities. He’d always kept you safe, and had absolutely no intention of letting that guard slip now.

“Travel safely,” you called after him and he gave a final wave before pausing in the doorway when Stephen moved to close the door.

“Keep her close,” Loki warned quietly, the smirk disappearing completely. “There are whispers in the village of treachery and assassination. Do not let anyone have the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.”

“My associates are building wards around the castle and her quarters as we speak,” Stephen replied in agreement, a quick glance in your direction to ensure you weren’t listening.

“The tea was a nice touch,” Loki noted with a hum. Stephen nodded curtly.

The tea had a protection enchantment included in the mixture of herbs. Something small, but effective if you found yourself in danger without him, Wong, or Wanda nearby.

“Be well,” Stephen closed the door once Loki was out of sight, turning and finding you digging through his trunk of cloaks at the back of the room. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see Natalia and James,” you answered, pulling out a large blue cloak and holding it to your shoulders.

“Absolutely not,” he crossed his arms. “Your father was just killed, possibly murdered. You’re not going to the village unprotected.”

“That’s why you’re coming,” you threw a crimson cloak in his direction, fastening the blue one over your shoulders.

“Did you miss the part where I said murdered?” he asked in disbelief.

“Then it’s a good think I’m friends with assassins,” you chimed back, pulling the hood of the cloak over your head. “They might be able to tell us something.”

“I’m sure Wanda and Wong have already talked to them,” he shot back, folding the cloak over is arm. “You should stay at the castle, at least for tonight.”

“You already know I’m going to go regardless,” you replied.

“Because you’re a headstrong idiot,” he sighed, reluctantly pulling the cloak over is shoulders. “Who clearly has a death wish. What if your family comes looking for you?”

“They won’t,” you answered with a confident grin. “Mother is going to be with Morgan and Peter is going to lock himself away in the armory or training fields until the knights give up and make him retire to his chambers.”

“You’re so confident in your knowledge of the castle,” Stephen snorted, tying the cloak around him.

“It’s what happens when you’re the eldest daughter of a king,” you replied, patting him on the shoulder. “You see everyone, but no one sees you.”

“Poetic.”

“Also, you owe me an ale for enchanting my tea,” you quirked a brow toward him when he stammered back a response. “Didn’t think I would notice?”

“I’m losing my touch,” he sighed, waving a hand and summoning a bag of coin.

“No, you’re just turning into a fussy mother hen,” you grinned, the smile looking far more relieving than the grief he know you wore on the inside. “It’s endearing.”

Wha danger was a short outing for the evening? It was arguably safer in a crowd than alone in her chambers, especially while Wong was still working on the wards.

Besides, the assassins you’d found friendship in would do well to keep threats away as well.

And while Stephen pondered this thought, you were already part-way out of the room and headed toward one of the hidden passages in the hall.

(---)

2 - a night at the pub

TAG LIST (MESSAGE ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED)

@ayamenimthiriel @drstrangely-strange @ladynothing @im-a-bi-disaster-help

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onechicago-upsteadrhekker · 3 years

Text

I’d go black and blue (to make you feel my love) - Upstead one-shot

I’m an hour late for posting on Valentine’s Day but better late than never right??

I wrote this for the @upsteadofficial Love Song Prompt Challenge! It’s probably a little different from a typical V-Day fic but what can I say? I apparently love angst and hurting my own feelings.

Also a HUGE shout out to @mashleighh! Thanks for listening to my ramblings, checking my stuff and always making things better❤️❤️

I hope you all enjoy it!

Read on AO3

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Hailey watched Jay slip down the hallway dodging the various cops coming in and out of the run-down house before he turned the corner and disappeared from her view.

Blinking, she tried to push down the urge to follow him. She had a job to do and she’d told Jay she would cover for him, but the text Jay had just showed her mere seconds before settled uneasily in her gut.

Jim. I need your help. Please come over.

“Hailey!”

She gave a start, turning to Kevin who had clearly been calling her a few times, a puzzled look on his face as he tried to get her attention. Realizing she was still standing in the middle of the busy hallway, she moved off to the side with Kevin to let forensics pass.

“You okay?” Kevin asked, his eyes following a couple of patrol officers passing them before turning his gaze back on Hailey, “I called your name like five times. Where’s Jay? Sarge wants to know if you found anything from the security footage.”

Whatever Kevin had just said didn’t register; her eyes still trained down the hallway Jay disappeared through. Sliding her gaze back to her coworker, Hailey gave his chest a distracted pat already moving towards the front of the house, “I need to go. Will you cover for me?”

But before she could leave, Kevin gently grabbed her arm, “Hold on. What’s going on, Hailey?”

She turned back to him, sucking in a breath as she debated over how much she should tell him.

“It’s nothing serious,” Furrowing her brow, she shook her head, “Not yet anyways, but I need to go make sure Jay doesn’t do anything reckless.” She saw Kevin opening his mouth to say something, but she cut him off, “Kevin. Please. Just do this for me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

Hailey flashed a small, reassuring smile at his concerned expression before she took off in the same direction Jay had a few minutes ago hoping that for once, the sick feeling in her gut was wrong.

Her headlights lit up Jay’s truck as she quickly pulled over to park behind it, turning off the engine to sit in the dark for a couple of seconds as she decided what she should do.

It was obvious he wasn’t in the truck and the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right wouldn’t leave her alone. After a brief debate in her head over whether she should go undercover or not, the over-cautious part of her won out, quietly opening her car door and tucking her gun into the back of her waistband.

Hailey definitely didn’t want Angela Nelson to find out who Jay was and her by association, but she wasn’t about to enter a situation blind without him and not have a firearm.

She crept up the worn stairs and cautiously peeked into the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jay doing nothing but repairing a broken appliance.

If that was the case, she could then creep back down the steps, shake her head in annoyance for overreacting and never tell him that she’d followed him, but as soon as she saw the front door slightly cracked from where it had been kicked in, her heart sunk, knowing that she was right to worry.

Swallowing hard, she ordered herself to get it together so she could get Jay out of whatever mess his big heart got him into. She was a cop; she knew better than to jump to conclusions without evidence.

But then the part of her that quietly dreamed dangerous dreams and lingered on forbidden hopes also knew all the scenarios running through her mind were very real possibilities

The house was deathly quiet, and it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck as she carefully swung the door in and edged into the living room as quietly as possible, her hand never straying far from where she’d hidden her gun.

Hailey was barely a few feet inside when she heard the distinctive click of a safety being flipped off followed by cool metal touching her temple, “Make a move and you die.”

Before she could react, she was pistol-whipped in the back of the head. Her last conscious thought to dump her star and pray that Jay was still alive.

When Jay came to, the first thing he noticed was that his hands were tied behind his back, the second was that he was in some sort of basement and the third was that he wasn’t alone.

His head was pounding, and his vision was blurry, but he would know that blonde hair anywhere.

At first, he thought his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. He hoped his mind was playing cruel tricks on him because why would she be here?

God, she shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Not like this, not laying on the cold, hard floor, unmoving.

He blinked a few times, her facial features partially hidden by blood-matted, blonde hair coming into focus.

His heart stopped and his breath shuttered in his chest. His worst nightmare just came alive right in front of him because it was Hailey. Passed out and tied up a few feet away, out of his reach.

A million questions ran through his head of how, why and who but the most prevailing one was if Hailey was still alive.

Desperate, Jay tugged on his restraints, ignoring the pain it caused his shoulders and wrists. Squeezing his eyelids shut as he strained away from the pole he was tied up to and towards Hailey’s still form.

He had to get to her.

Tears that had nothing to do with the physical agony he was in sprang to his eyes as he realized there was no way he was getting out of the binds he was in. The steel chains were trussed behind his back and around the pole in such a way that he didn’t have much slack if any at all.

Just out of reach. A cruel twist of fate, mocking him. Reminding him that she was always just out of his reach. That she was there with him but not in the way he truly wanted.

Except now, in this moment, it wasn’t metaphorical. And god if that didn’t anger him even more than his cowardness in telling Hailey how he really felt about her.

Because there was nothing he could do. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and he needed to put pressure on her sluggishly bleeding head wound but the damn chains wouldn’t budge. He trained his eyes on her upper body, watching intently.

Was she even breathing? God, he couldn’t tell.

“Hailey!”

She was floating in that state between restlessness and unaware, not sure where her dreams stopped and reality started.

“Hailey!”

Jay’s voice wasn’t uncommon in her dreams, but he wasn’t saying her name in the husky manner that she’d come to assign to her night visions.

“God, Hailey! Please do something--say something. Anything! Please…”

Why was he being so loud? And why was her bed so hard?

“Please, just let me know you’re alive.”

It was the sound of his voice breaking that brought her back to the present.

The text message. Angela Nelson. Following Jay.

Jay. His voice. He was alive, thank god.

A sharp pain shot through head when she tried to open her eyes and that’s when she remembered getting knocked out. She moaned, trying to take stock of her injuries over the pounding that slowly surfaced to accompany the harsh stabbing. Her hands were bound in front of her and her ribs hurt from an injury she doesn’t remember receiving.

“Hailey! Oh, thank god!” She heard Jay croak out followed by a murmured, “She’s alive. She’s alive,” Clearly talking to himself.

And that’s when she realized he must have thought she was dead.

Oh, Jay.

He must be tied up far enough away from her to not be able to check for a pulse. Knowing that if he were able to move, he would be right there next to her.

She redoubled her efforts to open her eyes so she could at least see him and reassure him that she was okay. Maybe figure out where they were and ask if they could manage an escape or if they should sit tight, knowing that Jay had probably already run all the possibilities through his mind.

Groaning, she forced her eyes to open and she found herself thankful for dim lighting, “Jay?” She managed to rasp, trying to figure out exactly where he was in relation to her.

“Yeah, I’m right here Hailey.” He paused, and she could almost hear the way his jaw clenched in frustration at not being able to move, “Can you come over here? I just need—I need you over here. Next to me.”

If they weren’t in such a dire situation, Hailey might have downright swooned at hearing those words fall from his lips after she’d recovered from the shock. As it were, her heart was beating a little too fast in her chest and that feeling in her stomach might just be borderline butterflies.

Clearing her throat, she answered, “Just give me a sec.”

She slowly stretched each of her limbs as much as she could with her hands tied in front of her, carefully checking what hurt and what didn’t before she even attempted to sit up. Once she was satisfied that she wasn’t majorly injured, Hailey turned so that she was lying flat on her back which instantly caused her head to spin and her stomach to churn.

Letting out a low groan, she closed her eyes and willed herself not to be sick as the world slowly stopped spinning.

“You good?” Jay’s worried voice cut through the dizziness.

She sucked in a deep breath and decided it was best not to lie about her condition, “Yeah. Just feeling a little sick. I’m like ninety-five percent sure I have a concussion.”

Before he could respond, Hailey forced herself to sit up, using her abdominal muscles since her hands were tied in front of her. If he said anything to her after that, she didn’t hear it, white noise flooding her eardrums as she desperately tried not to pass out.

The comforting words of “Breathe, Hailey. Just breathe,” reached her as she started to become accustomed with sitting upright, finally feeling confident she could open her eyes without seeing stars.

She was facing Jay, and the first thing she noticed was the blood coating his hairline and running down his neck. His lip was a little bloodied and his eye was slightly swollen, and it made her stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with her head injury.

Gingerly, she scooted herself over to his side, grateful he was only a few yards away and angered as she realized that the way he was tied up meant he didn’t even have an inch of slack.

When she finally maneuvered herself so she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, she couldn’t stop herself from leaning her head on his shoulder. She told herself it was because she was still dizzy, and while she knew that was part of it, she knew she craved the comfort of being physically connected more.

And if Jay resting his head on top of hers was any indication, then he needed that physical touch just as much as she had. Silently reassuring themselves and each other that they were here. Together. Alive.

After a few minutes, Jay broke the silence, “What are you doing here Hailey?”

She couldn’t help the humorless uptick of her lips at the irony of the situation, “Well, I had a bad feeling, so I pinged your phone and followed you in hopes of getting you out of trouble.”

Glancing up at him, she gestured half-heartedly to the basement they were in, “You can see how well that turned out.”

When he didn’t say anything, Hailey lifted her head so she could get a better look at him. Careful eyes roamed over his slightly slumped form, checking him more thoroughly for injuries.

Now that she was closer to him, she could clearly see the beginnings of a black eye and an obviously split lip. The blood from his hairline mingled with blood that seeped from a wound on the back of his head, running sluggishly down the slope of neck and into the collar of his shirt.

She was relieved to not see any blood lower down on his shirt or pants, so she concluded that the most damage had been made to his face. His head injury did concern her slightly but he seemed pretty lucid so she figured it couldn’t be that bad.

Hailey knew it could be a hell of a lot worse, and that thought was what prompted her to raise her bound hands and gently touch his face in the pretense of checking his wounds but really, she was just reassuring herself that he was okay.

A lump formed in her throat when she thought about what she could have woken up to.

Shaking the thought away, she dropped her hands, sighing, “What happened, Jay?”

She felt more than saw his frustration. At himself, at the situation--she wasn’t entirely sure, but she had a pretty good feeling that it might be both.

“I got to Angela’s house and when I knocked, there wasn’t an answer, so I kicked in the door. The next thing I knew I was being hit in the back of the head with a pipe or something and then I woke up here.”

He tilted his head back, resting it on the beam he was tied up to. His eyes fluttered closed and she could see his throat working, “God, Hailey,” He turned to her and she was slightly surprised to see tears swimming in his eyes, “When I saw you lying over there, not moving. I-I thought my heart had been ripped right out of my chest. You scared me so bad. I didn’t know why you were here—I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

The way he was looking at her felt dangerous and she couldn’t help but think that they had been here before. Not even four months ago, standing in the breakroom when the threat of being torn apart was looming over their heads. When she was afraid to really look at him; afraid of what she’d find in his eyes if she did.

But today, right in that moment, when they were tied up and unsure of what the future held, she looked. She looked him right in the eyes and she clearly saw what he’d been telling her every time she’d caught him looking at her from across Molly’s and in every knowing glance they shared in the bullpen.

In the way he always checked with her silently before busting down a door, telling her without words that he had her back. In the way he told her he trusted her only using in his eyes.

And now. He looked at her like she was the very breath he needed to breathe. Like the world could crumble and he wouldn’t even blink.

He was looking at her like he was just realizing what love was; his eyes telling her that he loved her.

He was opening his mouth to say something. She wasn’t sure what—it might have even been those three little words, but before he had a chance to get it out, there was a commotion from the floor above, breaking their gaze.

They were suddenly brought back to steel chains and dirty basements, reminding them of the danger they were in. If they didn’t figure out a plan, their great love story could be over even before it had the chance to begin.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Hailey asked a little shakily, drawing back when she realized how close she was to Jay’s face.

Blinking, he did the same and she could almost see the spell fully breaking as he slipped back into level-headed detective.

“From what I gather, Angela helped some friend of hers steal some drugs. The people who she stole them from didn’t take it too kindly; she called me and now we are here,” He said it in the weary manner of one who had been there and done that way too many times.

And sadly, they had, but this time it was different because they were the ones caught in the crossfire.

Hailey sighed, wincing slightly from her bruised ribs, “Where’s Angela?”

Jay shrugged, “She was here when I woke up. She’d been shot in the side, passed out. The two guys who have us carried her out of here; said something about dropping her off at a hospital because they didn’t want any unnecessary blood on their hands. And besides, it was pretty clear she wouldn’t be able to give them any information. Not in the condition she was in.”

Sighing himself, he turned his head towards her, “I don’t what they ended up doing with her, and frankly I don’t care at the moment. I’m more worried about getting us out of here.”

That wasn’t like him to just disregard someone he’d been trying to help—or anyone for that matter—for his own gain, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he really meant he was more worried about getting her out of here.

He was always putting others before himself. Her especially now that she thought about it, and she knew it was just another way of him telling her he loved her.

As soon as they got out of this mess, they needed to have a talk.

“Alright,” She nodded, “So what’s the plan?”

Jay’s heart swelled. Those words, the sure look on her face, the absolute trust she held in her eyes. She was looking to him for guidance, entrusting him to get them out of this without even one ounce of hesitation.

The love he felt for her only seemed to grow with each passing second and he was tired of hiding it. He’d intended on telling her, showing her exactly how he felt, but then he was reminded of the situation he’d dragged her into and the need to protect her outweighed anything else.

And it was because he loved her so much that he needed her to be safe. If anything happened to her—

He knew there was no coming back from that.

Once they got out of here, he was going to tell her everything he’d been harboring in his heart for what felt like ages. He was going to lay it all on the table; that she was it for him and even though he was terrified at the thought of losing her, he was going to work his ass off to make this work. To show her that they could do this.

He knew he had made mistakes in the past, especially regarding his love life and he knew that being together and working together had its fair share of challenges, but he wasn’t about to let her go. Not when he finally found the girl he knew he was meant to be with.

The sound of a heavy steel door clanging shut snapped him out of his thoughts and if he subconsciously tried to inch in front of Hailey despite his restraints, she didn’t call him out on it.

“They don’t know we’re cops, and you know nothing,” Hailey heard Jay rapidly whisper to her before turning back in time to see their two captors appear at the bottom of the steps.

The taller of the two made a beeline straight towards them and Hailey could feel Jay tensing up, using his broad shoulders in an attempt to shield her. It didn’t do much good because the next thing Hailey knew, she was being jerked up, a gun pressed to her temple.

“You are going to tell me right now where those drugs are,” The man’s words were harsh, his breath was heavy on her ear and she could smell the vodka on him.

Jay looked panicked but in control as his jaw clenched in barely restrained fury. She couldn’t help but notice how hot he looked, and she immediately kicked herself for even thinking it under these circumstances.

“She doesn’t know anything,” He practically growled, “Let her go.”

Vodka man brandished his gun menacingly towards Jay before returning it to the side of her head, “She was at that house! There was a gun in her waistband! She knows something!”

Hailey kept quiet, trying to weigh the risks of attempting to knock him out but she decided against doing anything while the other guy was lurking in the shadows. With Jay tied up and unable to move, she knew she wouldn’t be able to take both of them down, especially while tied up herself.

The words that fell out of Jay’s mouth next made her heart beat wildly, and not in a good way, “I’ll tell you all I know, okay? Just take me and leave her alone!”

But that was a lie. He didn’t know anything, and she knew once these guys figured that out, there was no telling what they would do to him. He flashed her a look, pleading with her to be silent, to let him do this for her.

She didn’t want to, but she knew that the best chance of their survival was to do what Jay was asking. So, she stayed silent, glaring when Vodka Guy threw her down and unchained Jay from the pole, leaving his arms bound before hauling him up.

Hailey watched as Jay was shoved towards the steps, his eyes never leaving hers until he was out of her sight.

A series of muffled cries suddenly broke the relative silence she’d been sitting in for the past hour and it took all of her might to not scream out his name as she desperately fought with the chains wrapped around her wrists and feet. There were tears brimming in her eyes and she could feel her heart shattering.

They were low, guttural shouts filled with pain and she could only imagine what they were doing to him to make him sound like that. Jay was the toughest person she knew, had endured things beyond her comprehension and hearing him like that scared her.

And knowing that he was in pain for her and that there was nothing she could do about it made her physically sick.

But more than that, she was livid at the people doing this to him. How dare they touch a hair on his head? How dare they do this to him? That this was to be his payment for doing something so kind, so good in a world filled with hate.

Jay was a good man—a great cop—with a golden-heart that wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way of what he thought was right and that was what she loved most about him.

She loved him. And she wasn’t afraid to admit any more.

If this whole experience had taught her anything it would be to not hold back. Life is short, and she knew that. She’d been in similar spots before and had these same profound revelations about how precious life was, but today felt different.

Because the truth was, he had her heart, completely and irrevocably. He had it before she even had the chance to say no and the way she loved him made her question whether she’d ever truly loved anyone before.

She’d been scared before. Falling in love with another partner; just falling in love in general. It was risky and scary and honestly downright terrifying. But what she felt for Jay, she was starting to realize was worth the risk.

Life wasn’t without risks, and experience taught her that a lot of the time she ended getting hurt when she took them, but right here, right now, listening to Jay literally telling her and showing her how much he loved her in every scream, she knew the potential of what they could have wasn’t pointless or without reason.

It was the whole damn universe.

And if someone asked her right here and right now, she would give up her spot in Intelligence, her career, her life, everything—all without a moment’s hesitation, and she would do it all for Jay.

Being thrust into this situation with him has removed any old inhibitions and the lines that were being carefully walked had been completely eradicated.

The whisperings of her heart that had once told her she should give it a try, that he felt the same were now roaring inside of her with words of “I told you so.”

And it was ripping her heart apart.

After all, they say actions speak louder than words and right now, Jay was screaming.

It was silent now, and it had been for a little over an hour. Hailey was starting to think she’d rather hear Jay be in pain than sitting in the quiet, wondering if he was unconscious, bleeding out, or worse, already dead.

The only thing that had kept her from going totally down the rabbit hole of worst-case scenarios was attempting to get out of the chains she was in. She was grateful that she hadn’t been tied to the pole as Jay had been, giving her the mobility to scoot around the floor in hopes of finding something that could help her out of her restraints.

She was done waiting for the team. She needed to get them out of there as quickly as possible even if she didn’t know exactly how she was going to go about it yet.

A few minutes into her search, she’d found a file and she’d been diligently sawing back and forth at the weakest part of the rusty chains for last hour or so. It seemed to be working, and she felt like she was finally getting to a point where she could just break them by applying some outside pressure.

The sound of a door banging shut caused her head to snap up and she quickly hid the file in her back pocket. What she saw then she knew would be haunting her dreams for years to come.

The nicer of their two captors had Jay’s arm slung around his shoulder, practically dragging him down the steps before he deposited him in a heap beside her.

“What did you do to him?” Hailey couldn’t help but gasp out, already moving to shield Jay protectively.

He didn’t say anything, and she could see the remorse in his eyes as he headed back up the stairs and out the only door to the basement. As soon as he was gone, Hailey turned to Jay, fighting back the tears at seeing him in this condition.

There was significantly more blood in his hair, his lips were split in multiple places and she was pretty sure he had two black eyes, but that wasn’t what looked the worst. His shirt was torn, and she could see significant burn marks from a taser dotting his chest along with what looked like shallow cuts from a knife.

“Jay,” She whispered brokenly, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him, “Jay, babe.” It fell from her lips effortlessly and she didn’t even think twice about what she had said as she moved to use her body weight to break her chains.

As soon as she could use her arms and legs, she knelt beside him to cradle his face and used the pads of her thumbs to stroke his cheekbones, “Hey Jay. Look at me, baby. Look at me.” Not waiting for a response, she quickly started going over his body to check for other injuries all the while murmuring his name over and over again.

This time she gasped out a sob, all the air leaving her chest as she rucked up his shirt and found the distinctive welts from being whipped covering his torso and back.

“Oh my God, Jay,” She cried softly, wanting to provide him with some kind of relief but afraid to do anything, not wanting to cause him any more pain, “What did they do to you?”

She was surprised when he moaned, not expecting a response as he let out a raspy “I’m fine”.

Hailey couldn’t help but let out a watery chuckle, her hands going back to carefully frame his face as she caught a glimpse of those vibrant green eyes she loved so much, “Only you would say that in the condition you’re in.”

“Kev called undercover. The team’s close,” Even talking seemed to cause him pain, but he powered through knowing she needed to know this, “Found the drugs. They’ll be here soon.”

It was spoken brokenly, but she got the message, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. There was no way she would be able to get him out of here by herself with him so injured.

Why did he have to be so adamant about her not knowing anything? He didn’t know anything either, but he’d somehow kept their captors from really harming her.

“Hailey,” Jay practically wheezed, catching her attention as he opened his eyes to find hers, “I can’t sit like this. It-it hurts too much.”

She barely managed to stop from crying again, biting her lip as she willed herself to stay strong for his sake. For him to admit he was in pain she knew he must be in a lot of it.

“Oh God, Jay,” Hailey swallowed back another wave of tears as she helped him move in a more comfortable position. She ended up half cradling him, his head resting on the swell of her breast and a protective arm around his shoulders to keep his back up off the ground.

She ran a gentle hand through his still miraculously styled hair, rocking him slightly and in all honesty, at the moment, she felt more like a woman sick with worry over the man she loved than a badass cop looking out for her partner.

Hailey’s not sure if she’s ever cried this much in her entire life or worried so deeply.

“What were you thinking Jay? Why would you offer yourself up like that?” She whispered to fill the silence, a couple of tears escaping on their own accord.

His gaze found hers. Strong, steady and certain in spite of all the pain, “I wasn’t about to let them hurt you. Not on my watch.”

Jay shifted in her arms, wincing slightly, “It’s my job to protect you, Hailey. And that doesn’t mean I don’t know you can protect yourself because you can—you’re a freaking badass, but it’s more than that,” Pausing, he reached up to tenderly brush away her tears with the pad of his thumb before whispering, “it’s because I love you and I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt if I can prevent it.”

Before she even had a chance to respond, the tell-tale sound of the metal door shutting prompted Jay to move faster than she thought possible with his injuries. She scrambled up after him, but she could tell he wanted to keep her behind him in an attempt to protect her.

If it was anyone other than Jay, Hailey would balk at the notion, but she knew that’s just who he was and how he operated. It was how he protected the people he loved. She knew it wasn’t some caveman idea that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. So, she stayed behind him, letting him do what he does just as he let her be the badass she was any other day.

Except for this moment when she was terrified, worried about Jay who by all accounts shouldn’t be standing.

“Where’s our father!?” The drunk one exclaimed angrily, stomping into the basement, “You said your people were getting our drugs and now my father’s not answering my calls!”

He was focused on Jay and Hailey’s eyes were drawn to the pipe she’d found when she found the file, cursing at herself for not bringing it with her to Jay’s side. It was only a few feet away; if she could just get there before their captor noticed, she’d be able to knock him out.

His reactions were slow because of the alcohol in his system so that’s what she was banking on, but she also knew it made him more dangerous and unpredictable.

The gun pointed in Jay’s face made her nervous and she was hoping to get out of here without either of them getting shot but if someone had to take a bullet, it was going to be her for going for the pipe.

It happened so fast. There were two loud pops and suddenly Jay was on the floor in front of her.

She could vaguely make out Adam calling her name as he dashed across the room, knocking Vodka guy’s gun out of his hand but all Hailey was focused on was Jay, on the ground, bleeding. She dropped to her knees, hands immediately going to the gunshot wound in his shoulder and yelled at Adam to call an ambulance.

Kim was suddenly in front of her, kneeling at Jay’s other side and Hailey looked up, her hands still keeping pressure as tears welled in her eyes. Meeting her friend’s gaze, she whispered out brokenly, “He just took that bullet for me.”

“What the hell, Will?” Hailey exclaimed in disgust, pissed off about the entire situation.

The red-headed doctor looked about as exasperated as she felt and part of her felt bad about the harried look in his eyes, but she was getting anxious and he wasn’t cooperating with her, so she didn’t feel too bad.

“Hailey, it’s against hospital rules,” Will stressed for what felt like the one-hundredth time. He shook his head; and he thought Jay was stubborn.

If possible, the frustrated look on Hailey’s face grew as she crossed her arms, somehow looking very formidable sitting cross-legged in the middle of a hospital bed wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

“Rules are overrated,” She stated through a clenched jaw.

Will’s eyebrows rose, “Uh. Not gonna lie. It’s a little alarming to hear that coming from a detective.”

She just glared harder and Will was starting to realize he had nothing on a pissed Hailey Upton.

He wasn’t sure if they were engaged in a battle of wills or what, but he was afraid of what she might do if he broke their gaze and looked away. He was honestly a little afraid to blink.

He’d gotten to know Hailey pretty well because of her partnership with Jay, but he wasn’t quite sure he realized just how fierce she could be until this moment.

How fierce she could be when it came to his brother.

Will had always noticed the concern and the protectiveness she’d had when it came to Jay’s injuries on the job. He’d thought the nature of their jobs was the reason for this but over time he’d started to wonder if it was because there was something more there.

Today, he stopped wondering. It was clear there was something there and when Hailey turned her head to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes, he wondered what exactly went down between her and his brother in that basement.

She turned back to him, the determination and love clear in those glassy blue eyes he knew his brother had fallen for, “Will, I have to be with him.”

Still, he hesitated, “Hailey…”

And just like that, the angry pissed off look was back on her face despite the tears in her eyes, “I’ll have you know that I can make your life a living hell, Will Halstead.”

The threat was clear in the way her jaw was clenched but he could see her resolve starting to waver and he just didn’t have the heart to argue with her anymore, hospital rules be damned.

His head dropped in a resigned nod, “Alright. You win,” The relief that wafted off of her was palpable and he couldn’t help but give her a small smile even as he tried to look stern, “But, you have to take it easy because you’re a patient too. Also, if I get fired, I’m blaming it on you.”

If there was thing Hailey Upton was capable of, it would be getting her way when she wanted it.

Maybe it was all that time spent manipulating suspects in giving her the information she needed or maybe it stemmed from wheedling sweets and trinkets and whatever the hell else she wanted out of her older brothers when she was a kid, but usually, when it came right down to it, she was always able to convince people to hand her the requests she’d made on a silver platter.

And that’s how she found herself sitting on her own hospital bed that had been rolled into Jay’s ICU room for the foreseeable future.

As soon as the nurses that had transported her from her room were out of sight, Hailey very carefully got out of her bed, maneuvering around the IV going into her hand and gently slid in beside Jay. He was asleep but she knew from Will that he had already been awake, asking for her first thing as he came out from under anesthesia.

She was extra cautious to not upset the various lines running from his body and to machines monitoring his vitals as she settled in bedside his warm body, gently resting her head on his uninjured shoulder.

Hailey didn’t know how long she’d been laying there when she felt Jay shift, his voice slightly horse, “You know, I might start enjoying hospital stays if they mean I wake up next to you.”

Lifting her head, she blinked back tears for what felt like the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours. He was staring at her like she was his whole world, and he was just realizing what life was.

She wanted to kiss him. Was planning on it, but first she had to know, “Jay, why on earth would you take that bullet for me?”

Hailey was pretty sure she knew the answer. She was pretty sure it’s the same answer she would give him if she’d just taken a bullet meant for him, but she needed to hear it and not when he was laying on a dirty basement floor, writhing in pain.

She wasn’t sure laying on a hospital bed in a hospital right after he’d been shot was any better but it’s what they had, and he seemed pretty coherent for someone who had just had major surgery.

“Because I love you,” He said it so simply, so matter of fact and she marveled at the way it was so easy between them now.

And all it took was being kidnapped together.

Something happened between them while chained together in that basement. Something they had both been fighting for a while now and maybe it seemed sudden or rushed but Hailey knew in her heart of hearts that she and Jay were meant to be together.

Love wasn’t something you forced. It was something you had to wait for, maybe even had to get hurt along the way to really understand, but she now knew it was worth the wait.

“I love you too,” She almost whimpered before kissing him.

It wasn’t lusty, but it had an almost frantic urgency about it as they both silently acknowledged they could have very easily not had this moment.

He kissed her like he thought he’d never see her again and he told her yet again with his actions that he would follow her to the ends of the universe and to the very last of their tomorrows.

She knew they still had a lot to talk about. The things he especially went through in that basement, but she knew that could wait because they were alive and that was enough.

Because there was no doubt in either of their minds now.

They were right where they belonged.

Leave a comment! I’d love to know what y’all thought!!

#upsteadlovesongs2021 #chicago pd #hailey upton #jay halstead #upstead #fanfiction

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tekstelart · 3 years

Text

“See, it really doesn't matter to me if you cum or not, you're the one who wants to. So you'll have to work for it very hard,” he inhaled a deep breath underlining the indifference in his voice, “and I don't think you're trying at all right now.”

I edited the previous version a lot because I wasn’t happy with it. Hope you’ll enjoy the new one. Ship: Viktor/Female V Contains: Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Voice Kink Word count: 3.9k Ao3

This contains spoilers for the "Path of Glory/The Sun" ending!! The ending is alternated but the spoiler is still there.

It was late, the sun has long set leaving the city in the neon lights of the signs and billboards, streets crowded with the cities night dwellers. Usually the clinic was supposed to be closed by now but an emergency had Viktor stay in late tonight, not that this was any surprise to the old Ripperdoc. This was Night City after all and if he was honest, the nights without emergencies and late shifts were the ones that worried him more. There was always some gonk who needed some patching up or an implant fixed, not that he really had much room for complaining. Having finished his work a while ago, Viktor has still not yet left the clinic, albeit for an entirely different reason than the merc who had been chewing his ear off about a malfunction in his optic implants earlier. No, Vik was sitting at his desk, tapping away on his screen to finish up a new order of cybernetics, deliberately slow if the impatient whimpering at the other end of the phone call was any indication. V's reactions forced a soft and barely audible chuckle from his throat. Her current state of impatience and desperation did interesting things to his body, the uncomfortable strain in his pants being evidence enough. V had called him after his last patient left, wanting to check in and know if he was coming over once his work was done. Not that he needed any invitation, but it was sweet of her to call just to make sure he wasn't overdoing it with his work. With her now 'running' the Afterlife and him running his clinic, time was a luxury they could not always afford, making the act of calling him a gesture he cherished deeply. How this call led to her currently working herself towards a release under his torturously slow instructions, however, he could not quite muster. Not that it mattered anyway, not with that beautiful whimpering plea of his name that just left her lips. “Vik... please...” Oh she was going to be the death of him. ______________ The noises from the city outside her window were drowned out, if not by her own uneven breathing and soft whines then it was by Viktors firm voice at the end of the line, giving her clear instructions on how and where to run her fingers along her body, when to press them down, to pinch and when to drag her nails across her skin ever so lightly, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It was the sweetest kind of torture as Vik had not yet given her permission to touch where she desperately needed it. Heat building up under her skin at every caress, every drag of her fingers, the tension almost unbearable. This was clearly not what she expected when she decided to call him earlier, between gigs and work at the Afterlife she barely found time for herself and it has been almost a week since she's last seen Vik. To say it was exhausting was an understatement, times like these she understood why the Ripperdoc gave up on being a legend. A private life was almost impossible. She was tired and desperate for a few hours of sleep but when she glimpsed into the mirror and her eyes were drawn to his necklace in her reflection she just had enough of missing his warmth and decided to give him a call. Now she was sprawled on her bed in nothing but her underwear and an old shirt clearly meant for someone bigger than her small frame, his scent faintly clung to it. V's fingers were now drawing tantalizing circles around her slit, still covered by the now soaked fabric of her underwear. Still without the okay to touch where she needed it, to relief some of the ache she was all but left panting his name softly, faintly aware of the plea that left her lips. “Didn't quite catch that kitten, gotta speak up.” His reply was hoarse and V swallowed a moan at the nickname he used, among all the names he had for her, this one was probably her favourite. She wriggled on her bed, pressing her thighs together slightly, trying to get any kind of friction. “Please let me touch myself...” Her voice was merely more than a soft mewl at this point, weak and desperate, much to Vik's delight. “You are touching yourself sweetheart, not sure I understand your request.”, he purred with that absolutely sinful voice, had anyone told her that a voice would one day make her feel the way his voice did, she would've laughed and shrugged it off as nonsense, yet here she was. His voice coursing through her body like liquid fire, pooling at her core, her cunt throbbing now. A pathetic whimper left her lips and she swallowed thickly. “You... know what I mean... ” “Oh do I?” His voice was going to be her demise. “Please...” “Kitten you know I love to hear you beg but you really gotta tell me what you want here, I'm old, can't read your mind y'know.”, it was a challenge, one that left V panting his name in a breathy moan. He knew exactly what she wanted but of course he would not make it easy for her. Ass. Viktor seemed to take some pity on her because the next thing she knew was the change of his tone, now cooing her with a fabricated softness. “What a poor girl you are huh, how about you stop with the slow circles then. I want you to really touch yourself now. I honestly don't care how, just do what works for you, get yourself nice and close to the edge and tell me when you're there.” She did not need to be told twice, her fingers now moving past the drenched fabric of her panties to rub circles into her clit. She was embarassingly close from all his teasing alone so when she moved her hand to push two fingers inside her she could already feel the coil in her stomach tensing. “You're close, aren't you sweetheart?”, Viks sounded more winded than just a couple of minutes before, clearly not unaffected by their game. The thought of her obeying his every command, of V completely at his mercy, if his pants hadn't been uncomfortable before, they certainly were now. V whimpered a quiet yes, the coil tightening closer and closer, ready to snap at any second. She inhaled a sharp breath, about to tumble over the edge, in what promised to be an intense orgasm, “Now stop.” With a frustrated whine V removed her hand from her aching cunt, stifling another groan at the sudden loss of friction and the almost-orgasm that was already fading back into nothing. “Listen to me, darling, this is very important.”, the control in Viktors voice was back, despite him talking down to her like that, V couldn't help the shiver that crawled down her spine and fueled the fire in her core. “What I want you do now is continue your work. Get really into it. But you will not cum. You'll keep yourself right on that edge until I'm with you and tell you otherwise. Think you can do that for me?” His voice was overcoming her in an inferno, lulling her into absolute obedience as she swallowed another moan. They may have had similar games before, he may have denied her orgasms before but never to this extend. No, the other times it was mere teasing, dragging it out for her mostly so they could climax together. Besides, Vik knew that a bit of edging made the orgasm so much more intense for her. This time he seemed content on testing just how far he could push her limits. With the sense of security coming from the safeword they've agreed on very early into their relationship Vik seemed to enjoy pushing V's boundaries just to see how much it would take to get her to yield. The feeling of having Night Cities best damn merc, this powerful woman who's easily crushed men his size before, fully at his mercy, obedient and begging for him was more of a turn on than Vik cared to admit. The quiet “Yes” left V's lips in a shaky breath, struggling to keep her voice even. “Good girl.”, the way he purred this particular nickname was borderline sinful and the only response she got before she heard the rustling of his clothes as he undoubtedly got up from his chair and left his clinic, now making his way to her apartment. She half expected him to hang up the call so his low voice took her by surprise when he growled softly, “Can't hear you. What are you waiting for?” Without further encouragement she continued her ministrations though she worked herself slower now, not wanting to reach that edge too quickly again. That was until she could hear the dissapointment dripping from the sigh that just left Viks lips. “Sweetheart I don't think you're really trying here.”, his voice was firm but low, hushed even, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention from bypassers likely. A pathetic whimper from V as she brushed her fingers over her aching clit. “See, it really doesn't matter to me if you cum or not, you're the one who wants to. So you'll have to work for it very hard,” he inhaled a deep breath underlining the indifference in his voice, “and I don't think you're trying at all right now.” With a frustrated groan V applied more pressure feeling herself getting closer to the edge again, that familiar coil in her stomach tightening while moans of Viks name left her lips like a prayer. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, set ablaze by the sinful coaxing of Viktors voice, guiding her every move. She felt this raw want, need, and she knew that this need was not just for her release but for him. It was music to his ears really, part of him urging him to hurry up and watch her come undone beneath his body while screaming his name but she was not yet where he wanted her to be. Whether or not she was aware how much this was testing his self control, he didn't know. But it took everything to keep his composure, to continue playing his role and not just rush to her place and bury himself deep inside her. A week without her close to him and he felt how every inch of his skin craved her with such ferocity that he feared he might not be able to hold onto his control for much longer. Of course she would not object if he gave in, but this game was as much for her benefit as it was for his. He wanted to drag this out, the rare moments they had together, he wanted to savor them. After everything that went down with the Biochip, that moment of sheer and raw panic when he heard the shot that night she almost flatlined and Johnny dragged her into his clinic and his entire world froze. When the elevator door opened and she was standing in front of him, still alive, gun in hand, ready to march down Arasaka and take her life back... This woman has seen more shit than most of Night City and she was still kicking. There was nothing else he could do other than admire her raw will to live, her determination. She was a force of nature. And she was his. He was the one currently heading towards her place, his name was the one still hanging on her lips like a silent song. The thought filled him with so much desire that he had to focus on slowing down his steps. A bright neon sign catching his attention. “Maybe we should check out this place sometime, looks like they got some nice stuff”, with a low chuckle he halted in front of a store, deciding to ignore V's groan of protest. His alone and he knew exactly how to play her. “Viktor... pleaseee”, whether she intentionally dragged out the words or she was just too far gone, he couldn't tell but he smiled at her reaction regardless. The way his full name rolled from her lips shot straight to his cock. “Please what, sweetheart?” Oh his tone was absolute agony now. Feigned sweetness coaxing his every word. He was straight up driving her mad. “Hurry up please...”, between her rasped moans and whimpers it became increasingly difficult to form coherent sentences, much to the Ripperdocs amusement. “Why the rush doll?”, he didn't bother hiding his amusement as he continued walking down the road towards her apartment building. It wasn't far from his clinic so he took every opportunity to drag things out a bit further. “Want to... cum”, V managed between sharp breaths, she's certainly not been on the edge for this long before, now alternating her ministrations between getting her right onto the edge and slowing down enough to not stumble over it. It was blissful torment. It still became an increasingly difficult and agonizing task and with her next whimper as she slowed down enough to stop herself from reaching her peak, all she heard was Viktors deep laugh for a second. “Aww poor poor girl, is the big man being mean to you and not letting you finish?” V hated him in the best possible way for the patronizing tone he was using on her, if alone for the fact that it just pushed her closer towards tipping over. Before she could reply however his chuckling stopped and he continued, “Oh that's right, I don't fuckin' care. You're here for my amusement.” The merc whined in response, at this point she had to remove her hands from her body fully, she was certain a single breath would be her end now. As much as Viktor enjoyed the torment, his impatience was growing and his pants were unbearably tight at that point, he was lucky enough that the bulge was barely obvious. Or the bypassers were just too busy with their own world to really notice. Either way, he was growing feverish for her skin on his, her cunt wrapped tightly around him. Once he arrived at the Megabuilding and stepped into the elevator his tone shifted ever so slightly. “What a good, obedient girl you're being. Think you deserve to cum?”, his words were still teasing but coaxed with a level of fondness that made her heart melt as much as it set fire to her entire body and she clutched he thighs together at the sensation. “Yes please”, she whispered into her phone. “God you sound so perfect like this, so desperate to cum for me like a good little girl.” “Please.. Viktor please”, the words coming out in a pathetic whine. “Patience darling, just stay right on the edge, you're doing so well.”, Vik knew that she needed the encouragement now, he could tell that she was close to her limit. The elevator came to a stop at her level. Viktor no longer wasted any time and took quick long strides towards her apartment. Once he finally arrived at her apartment he had to bite back a groan at the sight that he was greeted with. V was draped across her bed, shirt rolled up revealing most of her stomach and her panties discarded likely a while ago. Her head was tossed back and she was biting her bottom lip hard, thin sheen of sweat glistening in the neon light from outside her window. Her hands were gripping the sheets next to her thighs which she was currently pressing together hard. Vik was not sure what he was expecting but the image beat everything he could've imagined, sending another sharp pang down his cock and he had to adjust his pants just enough to stop the strain for the moment. “Now that's a sight to behold...”, he started teasingly, every intention of going at a slow pace thrown out the window the moment her eyes opened and met his, pupils blown with unhinged desire, bottom lip still sucked between her teeth, her expression a silent plea for mercy. “Fuck...” Whatever it was he wanted to say, it was now stuck in his throat, low groan all he could muster before quickly discarding his own clothes and leaning down on the bed, arms on either side of her head, to capture her lips in a heated and sloppy kiss. He barely wasted any time before trailing his lips down her neck, biting down onto that sensitive spot at the same time he grabbed her knees to wrap her legs around his waist. V had her arms wrapped around his shoulder tighly and when he ground his hips into her, dragging his length deliciously slow along her soaked folds, she dug ner nails into his skin and deep growl rumbled in Viks chest. Feeling his length pressed against her slit after the delicious torture she endured was pure gasoline thrown into the fire of her craving body. Unwilling to wait any longer Vik mumbled something about how wet and perfect she was for him before positioning his tip at her entrance and slowly pushing himself into the silky wetness between her thighs. The stretch was heavenly and with her being absolutely drenched from their game, she didn't need any time to adjust to his size, instead he started at a slow and steady pace, giving long and hard thrusts. Capturing her lips again, tongue tracing her bottom lip before she granted him access. His movements were slow, calculated, but hard, snapping his hips forward with a force that reminded V of his former boxer career. His left arm coming down under her waist, lifting her up ever so slightly, the new angle making him hit that spot deep inside that sent sparks through her entire body. V eventually broke the kiss to gasp for air, Viks face now buried in her shoulder, deep growls rumbling in his chest. He held her so tightly and she clung to him just as much, the emotions running through her, she could feel his heartbeat and every last bit of tension from her daily life, every fear, every uncertainty faded into nothing. She was not only feeling her own pleasure, she was feeling his, it made her heart hammer in her chest. How did she ever get so lucky? Out of all the people in Night City this man had chosen her, a kid from the street merely trying to survive, she may have reached the top but she knew that she would have never gotten this far without him. A sharp bite on her neck pulled her out of her thoughts and she could feel his lips move when he spoke onto her skin “Stop thinkin' so goddamn much.” Vik had her moaning his name again with a particular hard thrust. “Better.” His movements quickened and before long he was slamming into her with a brutal pace. “Vik I can't hold-”, V cried out unable to finish her sentece, she was so close to her climax, she desperately wanted to cum and just when it seemed like he would let her, he halted his movements entirely. V whined in protest, head thrown back into the pillows and eyes shut, she bucked her hips for any kind of friction but Viktors hands held her hips in place and with a smirk he leaned in to trace his lips along her neck again, he could feel her pulse racing. “You're doing so well kitten, come on, beg for it.” He continued his movements, slowly at first, dragging his full length out before slamming back in, hitting that perfect spot that made her cry out his name. “You can do better, come on, let me hear you”, he continued mumbling into her neck, getting close to his own release while he increased his pace, no longer holding back from slamming into her with a force that almost knocked the air out of her lungs. V no longer having any reservations about her volume, chanted his name with strings of “please” like a prayer, neighbors be damned, let them hear whos doing this to her, hear who she belongs to. Her nails digging into his back hard enough to leave bloody trails, not that he seemed to mind, if anything it just goaded him on as a sharp hiss left his lips. Another bite to her neck, sure to leave a mark, and he grabbed her face. “Look at me.” V struggled to keep her eyes open. “Look. At. Me.” Viktor briefly slowed down his movement enough so V could open her eyes and look at him. Whatever people saw in her in the streets, this view was his and his alone, pupils blown wide with lust and pure longing, longing not only for release but all of him, he wished he could save this image forever. “Good girl”, he smirked at her before picking up his pace again. “You ready to cum with me?” V just nodded. “Use your words sweetheart”, despite the command, his voice was soft, tender, his thumb tracing along her cheek. “Yes, please”, was all she managed to gasp before he moved his hand to the back of her head, grasping her hair in a tight grip. “Then cum for me.” With a shout of his name the coil finally snapped and her orgasm crashed over her in an inferno, ever nerve of her body on fire as she rode out the most intense climax she's ever had. His name clung to her lips and she felt herself clenching down on Viks cock tightly. That was all it took for him to follow her, with a loud groan of her full name he thrust into her a few more times, spilling his release deep inside her Coming down from their high together they stayed in place like this for a while, catching their breaths before Vik leaned down to press a soft kiss to V's forehead. “Good girl, you did so well.” A kiss on her lips, slow and thoroughly to come down from their high. Pouring their emotions into each other. V wished she could just stay like this forever. No responsibilities, no clients waiting for her, just this. Content. Peaceful. When Vik broke the kiss he cupped her cheek with his right hand, looking at her like she was the only damn thing that mattered in this world. It made her heart ache. “I love you”, he whispered, breath tickling her lips. Her heart now felt like it was going to leap out of her chest and all she could muster was a smile as she leaned up to capture his lips with her own. Nothing else mattered in that moment, not the noise and crowds of the city outside her apartment, not her clients, not the Afterlife or even her role in it. It all faded into the background. Everything she wanted, needed, was here. This felt like home, he felt like home, and she finally understood.

#cyberpunk 2077 #viktor vector #viktor vector x v #viktor vector/v #Viktor/V #v #smut #with a bit of fluff #I tried ok #akldsjhgjhgsdg #Veena Reyes #my writing

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anarchy-n-glitter · 3 years

Text

Nothing to Fear

Summary: Lake County, Colorado 2011

Dr. Catarina Crane arrives at Mount Massive asylum to check on a patient who happened to be working there. She’s offered a job instead.

(Warnings: more uncomfortable flirting, minor stalking, gore, illegal experimentation)

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

Screams filled her ears and echoed in the halls. It was her work at its finest, though her victims probably wouldn’t agree. She was sure their cells had morphed into some hellish realm, with their worst fears surrounding them. One was screaming about spiders, which was amusing to Dr. Crane, and the other muttered about water. She was more intrigued by the water inmate.

He was huddled on his bed, looking down at the floor with wide, glassy eyes. He was sobbing, begging for help. She wondered how long it would take for him to realize the water wasn’t real. Another doctor was standing next to her, she was shorter than her, with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was young, and she just finished her residency at another nearby asylum. She was sweet, but Dr. Crane suspected that she wouldn’t last another few weeks. It almost felt like she didn’t know what she was getting into when she accepted the job.

Her name was Lillian Dawes, and she wouldn’t last longer than a year.

“Is that normal?” She asked, placing her hand on the glass and stepping closer. Dr. Crane grabbed her shoulder and gently pulled her away.

“I wouldn’t get too close, Dr. Dawes. I’ve seen people break through observation glass like it was nothing. Fear is such an interesting thing, but the mind can only take so much. Let’s see how long this’ll go on for.” Dr. Crane stated, watching intently as the man stood on his bed and reached for the ceiling. He was definitely panicking now, and he was calling for help.

“Shouldn’t we send someone in?” Lillian asked, clearly distrubed by the scene in front of her. Dr. Crane shook her head.

“No, check on the other subject.” She nodded and walked toward the other observation cell. The scene before her, however, was gruesome. Blood covered the walls of the cell as well as the floor. The man had clawed the skin off of his arms, and now he was laying on the floor unconscious. Lillian gasped and jumped away from the glass, shocked by the scene before her. Dr. Crane practically rushed over, a little too excited about the situation. She peered into the room with a sickening smile before looking back at Lillian.

“Get security. Tell them to take this man to the medical center immediately,” she turned back around as Lillian ran past her, “if he isn’t dead already, that is.” She finished, watching the man lay there motionless. Sometimes, the toxin was so potent the person dies, but she wanted a strong reaction without the death, and Murkoff wanted the same. They believe that her fear toxin would help in Project Walrider, but she needed strong doses to keep the subjects in a terrified state for hours on end. Most of the time - with the stronger doses - people only lasted five minutes. At this rate, she’d go through the whole damn asylum and not even be able to perfect the toxin.

She moved back to the water patient and, just as she predicted, his heart gave out. The stress of the constant terror (and the brain believing he was drowning) put enough strain on him to kill him. Depending on the fear, they either die from self mutilation, or they have a heart attack. She suspected the man didn’t realize it was his heart that gave out, and she had a feeling his last moments were far from pleasant. He was lying face up on the floor, with wide, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. She was surprised he didn’t pass out from holding his breath, but she figured his heart stopped before he suffocated.

She quickly wrote down the results of the tests, and felt disappointed. She knew she could do better than that. Fear toxin that lasted hours normally created hallucinations that came and went in waves, what she needed was something strong enough to create a panic even when the hallucinations died down. They needed to be aware of their surroundings when they weren’t hallucinating, but afraid of what would come next.

Dr. Crane decided to take a break and return to her office to try to figure out where to go from there. She ignored the guards rushing into the cell of the mutilated man, and ignored Lillian as she asked a slew of questions. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her office and think for the rest of the day; do a little problem solving.

She rushed through halls full of screaming patients, not bothering to stop on her way to her office.

Yet, when she got there, a familiar face was waiting by her door. She’d worked there for weeks without running into him again. Bright colors seemed to be his thing, though this time he wore a blue shirt and a white sweater over it. Instead of khakis, he wore black dress pants, and black shoes that shined under the lights of the hallway. Dr. Crane stopped in her tracks and gritted her teeth.

“What are you doing here? You’re not in this division.” She asked, daring to step a little bit closer. He smiled widely, but there was something off about it. It looked like a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and that was just one of the many things about him that was off-putting to her.

“Relax, doc, I was just coming to congratulate you on the job!” Rick explained in his usual cheerful tone. Dr. Crane couldn’t help but glare at him. He was in her space now, even if he wasn’t exactly in her office. She wanted him to go away, and when she accepted the job nearly a month ago she figured the facility was big enough so she wouldn’t see him again, but she didn’t account for him seeking her out. The fact he did seek her out sent shivers up her spine.

She hadn’t felt fear in a long time, but when she was around Rick Trager, she was terrified.

“Thank you,” she responded, “I’d like to get into my office now.” Rick nodded and stepped aside, letting her step into her office. She didn’t stop to close the door properly, instead she let the force of the door shut it for her. However, the door didn’t slam shut like she thought it would. She let her shoulders drop and let out a small sigh of irritation. He was still there.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me, Mr. Trager? After all, I assumed you worked here and had actual stuff to do rather than wait outside my door.” She asked, not even attempting to hide her disdain. He let out an airy chuckle and took a step toward her. He towered over her, despite the fact that she was rather tall herself, and while he was jovial in tone there was almost something sinister about his action. It felt like he was trying to intimidate her for whatever reason. She wanted to act like she wasn’t afraid, but too many things about him didn’t add up. He scared her more than anything.

She took a step back before turning around and sitting at her desk. She hoped she could get her act together and seem calm when she was sitting down and going over various medical records. He didn’t follow her - not right away, at least. He watched her walk behind her desk and sit down, much like how a predator would watch its prey. He would learn though, sooner or later, that Catarina Crane was not some small, meek creature to be devoured. She was much more than that.

She wasn’t completely aware of how he had her picked out from the moment he walked out of his office to see her asking his assistant a question. Murkoff might’ve known about her before him, but he was going to take what he wanted from her eventually.

“So, Cat, I was wondering,” he began, leaning over her desk and peering at the documents in her hand briefly.

“It’s Dr. Crane.” She interjected, speaking through gritted teeth this time. He ignored her obvious annoyance.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner sometime this weekend?” He flashed her another smile, but she could only stare at him blankly. In spite of all the signals she gave off that she wasn’t interested, he still pushed forward. This time she was cornered in her office, but she wasn’t afraid - not this time. She was frustrated. She was borderline angry.

“I’d rather have my fingers cut off. Let me put it this way, since you ignored my multiple signs that I wasn’t interested, no. I don’t want anything to do with you, Mr. Trager. Please, get out of my office, I have work to do.” She looked back down at the documents in her hand, refusing to spare him even another glance. He scared her, yes, but she was repulsed by him even more. It wasn’t like he was particularly unattractive, but his persistence and refusal to read the signs she put off made him unattractive. He couldn’t seem to grasp that she was uninterested, and that was what frustrated her, and this was only their second meeting.

She didn’t see the dark look that came over his features at her rejection. He knew she would be tough to get, but he wouldn’t give up. He had Blaire to cover his ass, or at least he hoped Blaire would cover for him. He half scoffed, a smirk immediately made its way to his lips.

“Damn, Cat, I didn’t think you could be that harsh.” He stated, this time he stood straight. His hands were buried in his pockets, and despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were trained on her. She didn’t bother correcting him this time though.

“Perhaps you were more incompetant than I thought.” She muttered, though she didn’t think he could hear her. He did, and it struck a nerve. He turned around and all but stormed out. He stopped at the door, feeling the need to have the last word.

“See ya around, Cat.” He said, but Catarina thought nothing of it. He left without another word spoken between the two of them, though she could have sworn she heard him greet someone happily outside of her office; a faint ‘hey buddy’ that slightly concerned her. She wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t spread nasty rumors about her - not that she cared if he did - but after their conversation she could see him doing it.

Little did she know, he had bigger things to worry about than her.

Shortly after that uncomfortable exchange, Catarina decided to actually go to lunch. She locked up her office, but deep down she wished she could double up on security to keep creeps like Trager out. She really didn’t feel like getting ambushed again, though she doubted he’d do it twice in one day.

The walk to the cafeteria was almost as tense as the walk past her father’s office when she was younger. He always had frightening masks and other scary things hanging in his work space, and chances were he would try to get her to understand why she feared those things. He’d try to make her feel better about it all, but there was always one mask that terrified her, and that terror never faded. It was a burlap mask with straw coming out of the top and various stitches around the mouth. It had blank button eyes that stared down at her, much like the blank eyes that would stare up at her in her career. It was a scarecrow mask, and nothing sent shivers down her spine more than scarecrows. She was lucky to grow up in the city, the same couldn’t be said for her father. It was an interesting case, the fact that they were both afraid of scarecrows, but it was enough to get her interested in fear and phobias, like her father before her.

The line in the cafeteria wasn’t too long, with only a few members of staff waiting on line to order something. The man in the front of the line was staring at the menu on the wall and placing a seemingly long order, which had Cat mentally rolling her eyes. She wondered if there was another place she could get something to eat in the building. Going to lunch off the premises wasn’t allowed, so it was eat at the cafeteria or bring something from home.

In front of Catarina was a short, plump woman with red hair. She wore a light blue dress and a string of pearls around her neck, she was dressed nice, though Cat doubted she was an executive. The woman glanced at her nervously, and it was obvious to Cat that she was getting impatient too, but she doubted this woman would speak up about it. She smiled awkwardly, letting out an airy chuckle.

“If I knew he’d be ordering for a whole circus I would’ve brought something from home.” She joked, prompting a small smile from Cat.

“Sorry, it just feels like I’ve been standing here forever.” She continued, turning completely around this time. Now that Cat could see her completely, she came to the conclusion that this woman was pregnant.

“I’m Michelle, by the way.” Cat smiled at her, and while normally she’d formally introduce herself with her title and whole name, she decided against it.

“Catarina.” She introduced, and for a moment she swore she saw something short of recognition flash in her eyes. If she had heard of Cat, she didn’t mention it to her. Instead, she went the more predictable route, recognizing her as the new doctor and welcoming her, even if she had been there for nearly a month.

The line had finally moved up, but Michelle hadn’t noticed. Cat smiled awkwardly and pointed behind the woman, who promptly turned around and moved up a little. This time the line was moving faster, with people knowing exactly what they were ordering unlike the man who held the line up. After ordering and paying for her food, Cat was going to walk to her office, but she was stopped once more by Michelle.

“Hey, just let me know if you need anything. I work down in IT, so just call that line and I’ll probably be the one to pick up.” She stated. Cat smiled and nodded, but deep down she knew she wouldn’t really go to her if she needed something. Michelle seemed nice enough, but it looked like she was hiding something just below the surface, like she wanted to reach out to her and tell her something. Cat wouldn’t pry, she wasn’t one of her patients and even then it was up to her to tell her. It was intriguing, and she couldn’t help but see it as a mystery for her to solve. Maybe one day Michelle would open up about what was bothering her, but Cat knew she couldn’t count on that. At least she knew she wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

#outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast fanfic #outlast oc #richard trager x oc #richard trager x reader #richard trager x catarina crane #richard trager #dr catarina crane #nothing to fear #outlast x reader

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spell-cleaver · 3 years

Text

Astrophilia

@star-wars-wlweek

Day 6: Fake Dating/Marriage & Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 and on FFN!

In a final world, the largest steps may be taken without a blink: acquaintances, allies, friends. But in the middle of a war comes the harsh reality that any close relationship is strained, any bond is forged and all are tested.

Some, despite the odds, hold true.

The nondescript ship they’d hired was the last place one would find a princess, so it was perfect. Add to that the fact that Tatooine was also the last place to look, and that she was wearing her hair in a plain bun tucked under her hood rather than her elaborate styles, and it became almost impossible that someone should recognise Leia in these clothes.

That didn’t make Qi’ra any less nervous. “We need to sell this, remember.”

“I remember.” Leia cast a look at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the beige robes she was wearing to blend in. Behind her, she saw Qi’ra make the same face. “Though there are plenty of people trying to fly under the radar here. I doubt anyone will look too closely.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Leia nodded. She could respect that.

“What are our aliases again?” She turned back to Qi’ra as the beep went off that warned they’d be reverting to realspace, and headed to the cockpit.

“My contact was unfortunately obnoxious and gave me limited options, so I am Rey Salli and you are Anna Salli, my wife.”

“Your contact was obnoxious?”

“He knew this was supposed to be a quick job but decided to make us work for it.”

“We have to pretend to be married?”

“If you can stand to do so.”

Leia smiled. “I think I can, yeah.”

QI’ra met her gaze. “I’m only here because you’re paying me, remember.”

“I know.” Leia tamped down her disappointment. “And I appreciate that you keep sticking with the Alliance despite how poorly we do pay.”

“You pay—” She faltered. “Better than other jobs.”

No they didn’t.

Leia glanced at the monitor. “We’re reverting to realspace in five, four, three, two, one—”

They flashed into space above Tatooine, a yellow-brown dustball hanging in the viewport, two suns burning furiously in the distance. Despite what a miserable world she knew it to be—and despite Qi’ra’s stories of her own experiences there—she smiled at the sight of it.

This wasn’t a Rebel mission. This was a personal mission. She wanted to meet the brother she’d only just discovered, but she hardly wanted to lead any enemies tracking her towards him unless necessary. So… Qi’ra was helping.

Anchorhead had no spaceport, so they aimed for Mos Eisley instead. The comm crackled with a hail. “Unidentified transport, please give your name and passenger details.”

Imperial. Whether it was the Imps or the Hutts who had a grip on the spaceport seemed to change with the winds.

Qi’ra replied; her voice wasn’t known for borderline treasonous speeches. “This is the personal ship Dragonstar, owned by myself, Rey Salli, and my wife Anna.”

“Your wife also bears the name Salli?”

“Yes.”

“What is your business on Tatooine?”

“Business and distant family calls. My, uh, second cousin once removed and his wife invited us over.”

They could hear the long sigh on the other end and knew he could not be bothered to verify that. “Cleared. Be prepared to provide evidence of identification upon entry.”

The comm clicked off. Leia cast a glance at Qi’ra. “The Empire are really pushing back, aren’t they?”

Qi’ra didn’t take her eyes off the viewport, and the spaceport growing larger in the scope. “Stay alert.”

They landed, and as they walked down the ramp Qi’ra took Leia’s hand. She jerked with surprise, but didn’t have to fake the smile she gave her.

Qi’ra, against her will, smiled back.

They approached the door to the bay. Stormtroopers patrolled beyond, in the spaceport proper, and Leia tried to show no unease. An officer came to meet them at the door. “Identification?”

Qi’ra handed it over. He scanned it, and found no faults. “Continue.”

Leia nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

He didn’t even look at her before he marched away. Rude, but thank the stars for it.

They rented a speeder and were hunting for Anchorhead by the time the suns began their descent, their long fabric head coverings flapping behind them in the wind. Of course, that was about the time Leia realised they were being followed.

“Qi’ra,” she murmured, leaning perhaps a little too close to her in the pilot’s seat. But they were pretending to be married anyway, and there were eyes on them, so… “I think a bounty hunter is following us.”

Qi’ra tensed up and glanced in the speeder’s mirrors. There was indeed a dark shadow on the horizon—far enough away that it could have been a trick of the light. But Leia knew when she was being followed, and she knew this desert was barren enough that they wouldn’t run into anyone else if they weren’t being followed.

“We can’t lead them to your brother’s home, and it’s hard to lose someone when there’s such a large open space,” Qi’ra murmured. “We could try to outrun them.”

“Or, we have to fly through the Jundland Wastes to get there anyway,” Leia pointed out. “We could hide in the rocks, and lose them out there.”

“They’ll be after you, of course.”

“I’m not that important.”

“There’s only one of them, right?”

Leia squinted. She couldn’t see very well, but she was pretty sure—“Yes, there’s only one.”

“There you go. You’re not that important.”

Leia wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scowl. She settled on laughing. “Fly faster and we’ll lose them over there.”

Qi’ra hit the accelerator and they shot off even faster. Fast enough that the speeder shuddered like flimsi in the wind and Qi’ra looked tense as a tow cable, but Leia put a hand on her shoulder and she relaxed.

Qi’ra said, “We’re out of sight now, you know. Of them and the Imperials. We don’t need to pretend.”

Leia pulled back her hand and nodded. “You’re right. We don’t need to.”

Qi’ra winced. “Leia—”

“Keep flying. We’ve lost them, but I don’t trust that they won’t catch up again soon.”

She kept flying. Leia kept her hands in her lap, perfectly proper. They came up to the Wastes and flew between the great walls of the canyon, watching it crook up towards the sky in massive hunks of sandstone.

Qi’ra’s hand slipped on the controls, sweaty from the heat, and Leia caught it automatically. She didn’t miss Qi’ra’s intake of breath but also didn’t let the touch linger, withdrawing quickly.

!I’m glad you trusted me to come and meet your brother,” Qi’ra offered. “Even if I’m leaving soon.”

Leia felt herself shutter her heart, almost on instinct. “You’re a valuable asset—you’re reliable, discreet and professional.”

“Yes. Professional.”

“We would very much like you in a more permanent role, but until then—duck.”

“Duck?”

“Duck.” Leia grabbed Qi’ra’s shoulders and threw her back, the bolt aimed at her head barely missing it. The speeder dived to the side—a last minute manoeuvre stopped them hitting the rocks.

“Is that the bounty hunter!?”

“They must’ve known a shortcut.” Leia drew her blaster. “You fly.”

She scanned the sky—there. A few metres above them, where the canyon wall sank. A figure crouched with a sniper rifle, their back to the suns, but she thought she could take them out even with her eyes dazzled—

She fired off a volley of shots. They missed. She fired again.

Qi’ra shouted. The speeder swerved. Her aim struck true, the bounty hunter falling to the canyon floor, but Leia dived across the speeder to grab the controls and bring them to a halt as Qi’ra gasped and clutched her shoulder.

Leia grimaced.

That was… a lot of blood.

“Is he dead?” Qi’ra gritted out. Leia barely heard it at first, too busy yanking open the medkit for bacta and gauze.

“I said, is he dead.”

Leia peeled the ruined clothes back from the wound. It looked bad. “Yeah. He’s dead.”

Qi’ra relaxed.

Leia started cleaning the wound, gripping her hand and squeezing it when Qi’ra hissed. “I… can’t do too much for this here. We’ll have to wait til we get to the homestead. It’s not far.”

Qi’ra leaned against her as they switched seats, and Leia tried to ignore her own heartrate. “Was he after you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check.”

Leia went to check. The bounty puck that stared back at her when she went through his things wasn’t what she expected.

“It’s for you,” she told Qi’ra when she returned. “From Crimson Dawn.”

Qi’ra peered at the bounty. “Not much there.”

“Better for staying alive.”

“I know. I’m insulted, but glad.”

They sat together, staring at it a little. Qi’ra was deadly still.

Leia put a hand on her good shoulder. “Lie back. I’ll make a bed. Then we’ll get to the homestead as fast as possible.” The sunset was tinting the world with colour now, and the shadows of Qi’ra’s delicate face were cast in red and gold.

Qi’ra studied her, suspicious of her tenderness, but eventually she consented to lie back, a slow sigh seeping out of her as she did.

Leia took the controls and flew on, keeping a close eye on her companion, until the sunset enveloped them both.

#leia organa #qi'ra #leia x qi'ra #my writing #random words on a page #starwarswlweek2021 #flash fiction: star wars #flash fiction

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Bad Girls Club (Branjie) Chapter 3 - Joley

a/n: read on ao3 here

“So, you just straight up laid there and listened to her get off while thinking of you? And she still has no idea?” When Yvie said it back to her, Brooke Lynn supposed she could understand why it seemed so strange. It was as embarrassing as she feared it would be, if she were being honest.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” was her defense. Brooke shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts and huffed. “Hop in bed with her and see what happens?”

Yvie stared at her incredulously. “Yes, stupid.” With an exaggerated eyeroll, she continued. “You guys probably won’t ever see each other again. There’s literally no downside to fucking her… if you’re not worried about catching feelings, that is.”

Brooke’s cheeks flushed red and her eyes pointedly avoided the other’s face. What she wanted to say would be something along the lines of ‘of course I’m not going to catch feelings,’ but her mouth refused to adhere to that lie, only allowing her to squeak out an “I’m not!” Shit, she couldn’t even convince herself with that one. “Is that what’s going on with you and Scarlet?”

“Scarlet and I have been together for six months. Which you would know if you listened to me when I told you instead of making heart eyes at Vanjie every thirty seconds. Christ, it’s like you think if you stop looking at her, she’s gonna disappear.”

If she had been that obvious, though, why hadn’t Vanessa said anything to her? Was she intentionally playing dumb or had she sincerely missed what was apparently clear as day to Yvie? She must have been exaggerating, that was the only explanation. Sure, Brooke could get lost in Vanessa’s warm eyes and melt at her sweet smile. And yes, maybe her heart skipped a beat every time they touched. And maybe every time she caught sight of her in a state of undress, the overwhelming desire to pin her to the nearest surface crept up on her.

Okay, maybe Yvie was on to something.

“It doesn’t matter, this sort of thing is playing with fire. If things go south, we’re still sharing a room together until the end of the program,” Brooke explained after a moment. She didn’t have time to get caught up in feelings – that was what she always told herself. Even if she admitted her attraction to her roommate, it didn’t mean anything would come of it. Besides, if it wasn’t for what had happened the other night, she wouldn’t even picture herself as Vanessa’s type.

Again, she was getting a dumbfounded look from Yvie. “You really are stupid.”

——

With Brooke Lynn outside with Yvie, Vanessa and A’keria had the room to themselves. They were both sat on Vanessa’s bed while she did her friend’s hair into cornrows. “And like, I know she know, but she too polite to say it, you feel me?”

“In her defense, how the fuck do you bring that up to someone without lookin’ like a full creep?” A’keria scrolled aimlessly through her phone as she sat cross-legged and upright. “Everyone’s just waiting for the pin to drop with y’all.”

Vanessa furrowed her brow as she finished the first tight braid. “What you mean? We’re both hot, yeah. I’d wanna see us fuck too if I wasn’t us,” she mused, shrugging it off.

“What’re you waiting for then? She been lookin’ at you like a cat in heat for days.” She winced as Vanessa yanked at her hair. “Don’t act like I’m wrong – just let her get at your kitty and we can all move on with our lives.” Another sharp pain and yelp. “Ow! I stand by it though. Y’all as bad as Ms. West and Monét.”

This gave her pause. “Wait, how do you know about that?” She did recall Brooke Lynn mentioning their closeness, but she had warmed up to the idea that it had been their secret.

A’keria shrugged. “I’m more astute than you give me credit for.” She didn’t need to see Vanessa’s face to know she had that confused expression loosely resembling a gassy infant. “Anyway, maybe that’s something y’all could bond over – being matchmakers or whatever.”

“Well, shit.” Vanessa exhaled with a dry laugh. “Might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said, Kiki.”

——

While gossip was commonplace within Brooke Lynn’s community, actually weaseling into it to change the next chapter was beyond her realm of understanding. But that’s what Vanessa did best, she supposed – she brought a new prospective with her on even the most mundane of situations.

And it was one of her favorite things about her – she had grown to love hearing her go off on borderline nonsensical tangents because she was so damn passionate and excited about every thought that popped into her head. It was like she was a wind-up doll and Brooke had developed an affinity for turning the crank.

“This is your last chance to bail, blondie,” Vanessa remarked when they were just feet away from the home economics room.

Brooke let out a deep breath and shook her head. “No, no I’m good. Let’s do this.” Cautiously, they walked into the room. She watched from behind the closet while Vanessa made her way to the desk on the far side of the room.

But just as Vanessa placed the sealed envelope on the desk, they heard the distinct sound of high heels clacking down the empty hallway. “Shit, hide!” she whispered in a panic as she watched Brooke duck into the closet. Not knowing what else to do, she dove in after her, leaving her sandwiched between her body and the door.

Vanessa had, in the past, dealt with minor bouts of claustrophobia, but that wasn’t what had her face flushed and heart pounding now. The four-by-four closet would normally be enough to comfortably fit two thin teenagers, but they were competing with boxes upon boxes of supplies and left with no way to avoid touching each other.

It wasn’t easy for her to stand there and keep her legs from shaking. She could feel Brooke’s breath hit the back of her neck. The familiar, sweet citrus scent of her shampoo filled her nose. It was hardly moments until her head was spinning and Brooke had clouded her mind. “Your knee’s in my crotch,” was what she decided to whisper instead of, perhaps, literally anything within the realm of flirtation. Though she did shift and inadvertently rub against her thigh in the process, a soft gasp slipping out and a hand promptly being clamped over her mouth.

“Deal with it or we’re fucked,” Brooke whispered sharply, lips grazing the shell of her ear as she spoke. While picking up on the hints Vanessa had been dropping thus far – aside from the one that she still held as a secret – hadn’t been her forte, ignoring that response was impossible.

She knew she was playing with fire, but the adrenaline pulsing through her combined with their unresolved sexual tension propelled her forward. Her lips traveled up and down Vanessa’s neck, leaving soft, slow kisses in her wake. Her hand grazed her breast – seemingly by accident at first – only to purposefully grope it the second time.

And Vanessa reacted just as she anticipated. She bit down on her lip and started to writhe against Brooke’s thigh. Part of her wanted to remind the other girl what was at stake, but that part was easily quieted by her body begging for more. Every touch and kiss lit another spark of desire inside her and it showed in the way she ground herself into her, craving what little friction she could get.

While Vanessa was successfully distracted, Brooke noticed the sound of the door opening and closing and the same heels walking back down the hall. Her hand started to reach for the handle but stopped short – she had no idea if she would ever be able to work up the courage to do this again, to get that same uninhibited surge of adrenaline that subdued her fear of consequences. So, she pushed her leg up, bare skin pressed against the soft cotton of her shorts.

“Fuck…” Vanessa exhaled in a whisper before biting down on her lip to keep herself quiet. Her body was trembling, and her face was on fire. In any other circumstances she would have been mortified – she was beyond humping a pretty girl’s thigh like a bitch in heat, wasn’t she? But Brooke Lynn was into it – she could tell from how tight the other girl held on to her, the fervor in how she groped her, the heat in the kisses she left along her skin.

Brooke kept her own body pressed up against Vanessa – she wanted to feel every twitch of her body, to know just how desperate she was. It was unclear how much time had passed, but before she knew it, Vanessa was jerking erratically, her back curving up and breath hitching in her throat. Then, everything was still, and they stood in silence for a moment before she reached her arm out from behind her and opened the door. She smoothed out her shorts that still didn’t cover much of her thighs and watched in mild amusement as Vanessa haphazardly tried to get her hair back in its original style.

Forgoing the next part of their matchmaking plans temporarily, the two of them left the room. The walk back to their room was silent and devoid of eye contact. They were both red-faced and disheveled, but actively refusing to acknowledge it. Unlike the previous incident, this couldn’t be ignored forever.

But, in a subtle movement, they finished the walk holding hands – perhaps all hope was not lost.

——

“Wow, is that a French braid?” Monét asked with casual interest as she made her way around the classroom. “That’s a new look for you.”

“Your girlfriend do it for you?” A’keria chided.

Vanessa huffed and elbowed her friend in the side. “How many times I gotta tell you Brooke ain’t my girlfriend? We just friends.” It’s not that she hadn’t considered it over the past few weeks, especially with their supply closet rendezvous, but that was for her to figure out on her own.

Monét scoffed and shook her head. “Oh please. Vanessa, stop pretending Brooke Lynn’s your friend, we all know that she loooove you.” That elicited a few laughs from the rest of the group, as well as Scarlet shaking A’keria while mouthing ‘I told you so’.

Vanessa bristled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah?” Her voice was high and strained. “Where’d you hear that from? Ms. West?”

The teacher was taken aback by her pointed tone. “Girl, you better watch it,” she warned, though she remained lighthearted. With that, she kept moving to the next set of pushed-together desks.

On the other side of the room, Brooke Lynn was trying – and failing – to be subtle with her eavesdropping. “I heard my name, shut up,” she defended as she felt the judgmental gazes of the rest of her group burning a hole through her head.

“You are the textbook example of the ‘useless lesbian’ trope. I just want you to understand that.” Yvie’s remark fell on deaf ears as Brooke continued to unsuccessfully try to pick up on the conversation across the room. So, she just shook her head and continued on with their work.

Once class ended, Vanessa waited by the door for Brooke – the daily habit that didn’t exactly help the ‘not girlfriends’ argument. Still, they made their way to the dining hall for lunch as if everything was normal.

Brooke looked around to find an empty table. “Let’s go eat by the lake.”

“Don’t mind the chance of people talking?”

“You talk more than anyone and I don’t mind you.”

Vanessa giggled and looked down. “A’ight, let’s go.”

By the time they had finished setting up their meals a few feet from the water, it felt like their own little picnic. Well, if picnics consisted of stale pizza, limp carrot sticks, chips, and water. And yet neither of them would have traded any part of that moment for the world.

“We need to talk about what happened.” Brooke Lynn looked out at the lake as she spoke, knowing she would chicken out the second her eyes met Vanessa’s.

Vanessa was looking at the grass anyway, eyes trained on each individual blade in her field of vision. Just because she was right didn’t mean they had to do it, she thought. This wasn’t even like her – normally she was ready to put her heart on the line at the drop of a dime, being the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. She couldn’t explain why Brooke Lynn was so different from every girl she had ever dated or slept with – aside from the obvious social class.

“How d’you even label what happened?” she asked with a weak laugh. “Two horny bitches got hyped on adrenaline and fucked around in a closet?”

The mood lightened, but the girls still kept a cautious distance. “That is what happened, yes…” After what felt like ages, Brooke turned to face her. She gingerly placed her hand on Vanessa’s knee and waited for her to look up. “But where do we go from here? If we keep trying to ignore whatever’s going on here, things are going to get very awkward very fast.”

“What do you wanna do?” Vanessa didn’t want to answer her question first, in fear that she may come on too strong and expedite the awkwardness they were already trying to avoid. Besides, Brooke was articulate and chose her words carefully – it was simply the better choice to pawn it off on her as far as she was concerned.

Brooke shifted closer to her and cupped her face with one hand. “I am very attracted to you, Vanessa. I’m pretty sure everyone on campus has figured that much out. And I think… we did things a little out of order, and we should at least start there.”

“Out of order?”

“I gave you an orgasm in a broom closet and we haven’t even kissed.”

They were both able to laugh at that, and suddenly the air around them felt less heavy – they could both exhale for a moment. “So, you gonna kiss me now?” Vanessa arched her brow and looked at her expectantly.

“Kind of ruining the moment, babe.” Brooke pulled Vanessa onto her lap. “But yes.”

The kiss was nothing like the heated, passionate moment they had shared a couple days before. It was tender, affectionate. Brooke could taste the strawberry flavored lip gloss on her lips, and she could feel how the sun had gently warmed her skin. She lost herself in the picture-perfect moment, and Vanessa was just as swept up in the embrace.

Neither of them wanted it to, but the kiss did come to an end. Vanessa’s fingers were still tangled through Brooke’s hair, and Brooke’s arms were still looped around her waist. A few more kisses followed that – both of them were pretty sure they could have spent the rest of the afternoon kissing and cuddling in utter contentedness.

At the end of the day, the label of their relationship was no clearer than it had been at the start. Feelings were complicated and the quasi-date on the lake only scratched the surface – much to the chagrin of Vanessa. But this was the start of something – a summer fling, a budding adolescent romance – all either of them knew was that whatever they had would be kept under wraps – lest they face a myriad of ‘I told you so’s’ from everyone around them.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #teen au #bad girls club #joley

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rightpastnowhere · 5 years

Text

sad, beautiful, tragic

“what a sad, beautiful, tragic love”

My story that I previously published, “sad, beautiful, tragic”, was originally supposed to be a collab with @dat-hawkass, so we decided to post them both here! Art by @cams-draws, who it was an honor to work with,and story by me (obviously). Also I apologize for anyone on mobile, cause the format gets all kind of screwed up (at least for me).

They’re gone…

They’re all gone…

Name after name had vanished as the Calamity God sliced through her regalia until there were none left. They hadn’t done anything wrong. They were good, perfect children, innocent children, and now they were all dead. A void had opened up inside of her where their thoughts and feelings once resided, a gaping hole that could never be filled.

Wait-

Bishamon felt a flare of something at the edge of her conscious, a spark of fear that wasn’t her own. She couldn’t find the source, casting around the abyss that had become her soul for the flash of emotion that wasn’t her own. Maybe…

That’s when she saw it in her mind’s eye; a small, flickering name that was almost swallowed by the deafening blackness.

Kazu.

Bishamon felt a surge of relief. There was still one left. They weren’t all gone. She wasn’t left all alone. Kazuma, the young regalia, the small nail that couldn’t even draw a borderline was still with her. She clutched desperately to the name, wrapping her entire being around it, drawing on its warmth. The heat it gave off was weak and wavering, but it was enough, thawing the cold frost that had enveloped her.

In that moment, she didn’t want or need anything else. She had him, her Kazuma, her Choki. As long as he was with her, she would be alright.

Her world gave way into darkness.

“Lady Bishamon!”

Kazuma stumbled into a run, tripping over his own feet in his haste. He had to reach her, he had to reach her, he had to reach her, dammit, go faster! He watched Bishamon fall as the Calamity God disappeared from his periphery. He sped forward, his vision focused on his lady and nothing else. The uneven ground caught on his feet, combining with his clumsiness to frustratingly slow him down.

The regalia felt a moment of weightlessness as his foot slid out from under him before he crashed to the ground. Kazuma pushed himself up onto his elbows. Rubbing his head, he looked to see what caused his fall.

It was a puddle of crimson, the bottom of his left sandal stained the same color.

He swallowed thickly, shoving down the sob building up in the back of his throat. He lurched into a run once more, urging himself forward with every fiber of his being. When he finally reached her, she was lying on the ground, her yukata ripped and tattered. He felt his heart drop to his feet.

Kazuma carried Bishamon’s unconscious form to the springs. His footsteps seemed far too loud, echoing in the eerie stillness. It was so shockingly silent, so utterly different than the way it was not even two days ago, that the crushing burden of his actions began to collapse against his shoulders. He looked down at his goddess’ face, twisted in pain and grief, and the weight of his sins only increased. But he shoved it aside, knowing that even the slightest pang of guilt would harm her even more.

He had saved his lady. He had done the right thing. He had saved her. He was right. He was right. He-

Then why does she look so broken? Did I make the wrong decision?

Pushing the voice to the back of his mind, he slowly dipped Bishamon’s body into the purifying water. The purple splotches blooming across her skin began to fizzle away as he leaned her against the rock wall in a semi-upright position. Her breathing began to even out, and her anguished face seemed to soften - but only slightly. As the spots of blight continued to fade, he felt a tear slip out of the weak hold he had on his emotions. Another followed, then another, and another, until his face was streaked and his chest hitched. He rocked back onto his heels and covered his face with hands.

A small grunt and the light ripple of water dragged Kazuma from his silent weeping. He looked over to see Bishamon stirring, her eyes opening sluggishly - painfully - as if she didn’t want to wake up. The violet irises that he found so breathtaking were flat and glassy, looking at nothing. When her eyes finally refocused (and gods, they looked so empty) and met his own, they widened and filled with tears. Kazuma felt his heart rate jump.

Before he knew what was happening, Bishamon had thrown herself onto him, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to this world. The fabric of his yukata swallowed her tears and muffled her cries. Her arms were wrapped around him with all of the dwindling strength she had.

Kazuma stiffened, his hands freezing in midair. His mind raced, struggling to keep up with what was happening. Part of him was convinced that this couldn’t be real - that Bishamon couldn’t actually be touching him, let alone holding him, that it couldn’t just be the two of them, that everyone else couldn’t be gone - but the goddess’ grip on him only tightened. Slowly, uncertainly, the regalia folded his arms around her. One hand came to rest on her head, a soft and unsure touch that just seemed to feel right.

Remembering that she could feel his thoughts and emotions, he tried to calm his mind, focusing on images of lazy clouds and tranquil ponds and meadows swaying in a gentle breeze. It’s okay, he mentally whispered, looking down at her as tears slid across her face. I’m still here, and I’m never going to leave you. I’ll always be right by your side.

I promise.

After pulling the blankets up around his goddess, Kazuma murmured a soft “good night” and stepped out of her room. He gently slid the door shut, lingering outside for a moment, listening to her shaky, uneven breaths with a heavy heart. After a few beats of silence, he turned to leave, when he thought he caught a wisp of a sound. Kazuma softly pressed his ear to the divider, straining to hear it again.

For a brief second he thought he had imagined it, but then it managed to reach his ears once more, and this time he was able to identify it. It was a sob. A soft, quiet sob that wrenched his heart. His stomach twisted with guilt. You did this to her, the back of his mind whispered. He tried to shove the thought aside, to stamp down his swirling regret. I mustn’t hurt her again. But when her cries grew louder, his emotions swelled up in his chest, closing his throat and stinging his eyes. He slowly leaned back against the paper-thin walls and slid to the floor, Bishamon’s muffled sobs in time with his silent tears.

It’s the same thing every night for a week.

On the eighth day after the massacre (and the word stabbed him in the gut), Bishamon said the first word since their entire family was slaughtered.

“Stay.”

It was so quiet he could hardly hear it, the voice so choked and raw he hardly recognized it, but it was the word itself that shocked him the most. Stay. Bishamon wanted him to stay with her. The traitor. The one who caused the death of her entire family. The one who was selfishly still here after all he’s done. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as her.

But when the second word she has said over a week is “please”, and it’s directed at him, and it sounds so fragile and heartbroken, he kneels by her side. She reached out a thin, shaking hand, and after swallowing his own self-hate, he took it in his own. Bishamon doesn’t look at him, and Kazuma doesn’t look at her.

She fell asleep without shedding a single tear. He’s gone before the sun rises, and she wakes alone.

His lady wasn’t eating.

It had been a month since the massacre, and she hadn’t eaten a single thing. He knew that gods could go far longer without food than humans, but even deities had their limits. Kazuma was beginning to worry. The small amount of pre-prepared meals that had been left in the kitchen were gone, even though he was the only one consuming anything. The only remnants of food left were random ingredients scattered about.

Kazuma was going to have to learn how to cook.

After a few hours and more unsuccessful attempts than he could care to count, two bowls of rice, each with a slice of fish and some simple seasonings, sat in front of him. He took a small bite of his own and decided it was good enough. At least he wasn’t gagging the moment the food touched his tongue. It wasn’t anything like they had eaten in days prior, but it would do.

Carefully balancing the bowls on a tray with two pairs of chopsticks, he made his way to where his lady resided. When he reached the room, he called out softly, “Lady Bishamon?”

No response.

With a quiet sigh, he tried again. After three tries with no answer, he gently pushed open the sliding door and stepped inside. Bishamon was in the exact same position he had last seen her in; curled up on the futon, a blanket spread haphazardly overtop her. The rise and fall of her chest was barely noticeable, but it was even, which meant she wasn’t crying. Kazuma didn’t know if he should be relieved or worried.

“My lady?” The oppressing silence of the once chattering manor lowered his voice, as if speaking too loud would cause it all to crumble around him. “I, um… I brought you some food,” he stammered out, his words quieting to a murmur as he spoke.

She didn’t turn to face him, or hum to acknowledge that she had heard what he said. It was if she wasn’t there at all; her soul floating anywhere but here while her body remained anchored to the floor. His heart dropped to his stomach.

Steeling his nerves, Kazuma softly padded over the side of the room his lady was facing. He sat down with his legs folded underneath him, and set the tray between them, carefully avoiding looking at her until he was stable. When he did, his insides twisted in the way that was becoming so familiar to him.

Her eyes, once a vibrant violet, were blank and glassy, staring at something only she could see; the shadows underneath them were darker and deeper. Her face was hollow and ghostly pale. Dried tear tracks left a permanent path etched into her face, and Kazuma wanted nothing more than to wipe away all the tears she had shed before and would ever shed again.

But he felt that if he touched her, she would shatter into a million pieces right before his eyes.

“Master?” He knew trying to garner a response was practically useless, but he attempted anyway. “You… you need to eat.” The longer he looked at her, the more he felt like a knife was being buried in his gut, and he began to ramble.

“I- I made you something. Food, I mean, I made you some food. It isn’t much, and it probably doesn’t taste that great-” Her eyes finally refocused, but the pain that shadowed them only twisted the knife further, so he looked at his folded hands instead. “-and there weren’t many ingredients to use, and I haven’t really cooked before, and-”

He cut himself off at the rustling of fabric and looked up to see her stirring. He watched without a word as she shakily began to push herself up off the ground, shaking her head at his attempts to assist her. When she reached a sitting position, she lifted the bowl (he tried to convince himself that her hands didn’t shake) and took a small bite.

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She chewed slowly, swallowed, then opened her mouth to speak.

“It’s-” Her voice was quiet and raspy from weeks of disuse, and it was cut off by a dry, rattling cough. Kazuma instinctively made to stand, offering to retrieve a glass of water, but she stopped him with a rapid wave of her hand.

When she tried again, her voice was a little stronger and a little less brittle. “It’s good, Kazuma.” The goddess tried for a smile. It was so clearly forced, her eyes still swimming with loss and melancholy, but she was trying.

Kazuma smiled back, trying to pour all of the positivity and encouragement and happiness he could into a single expression. Which wasn’t hard - her praise meant the world to him. “Thank you, my lady.” The rest of their meal was blanketed by silence.

In the end, Bishamon was only able to eat half of the bowl, but Kazuma still took it as a small victory.

Kazuma swallowed, struggling to combat the heat rising to his face. It was their third time walking through the small village in the Near Shore, but he still wasn’t accustomed to Bishamon being so close. Goddess and regalia were walking side-by-side, linked at the elbows. It was mainly to support the still physically weak Bishamon, but he couldn’t help but notice how similar they looked to the couples they passed by.

They were in the market square, weaving through crowds and stalls. It was Bishamon’s favorite place to visit. She enjoyed watching the humans go about their days, moving through their actions like routine. She liked the normalcy of it, as she had told him the first time they wandered down the pathways.

Kazuma felt her pause. He turned to her with an inquiry resting on the tip on his tongue, but hesitated when he saw her. She was gazing towards a group of children chasing each other in circles. Their faces were bright, their smiles wide, and their laughter joyful. The look on his lady’s face was that of blissful peace, with undercurrents of sorrowful remembrance.

She’s remembering the younger regalia, he realized sadly. But even so, the gentle smile that graced her lips warmed him from his head to his toes, happiness bubbling up inside of him.

They were finally beginning to heal.

(And for the first time, Kazuma believed he had made the right decision after all.)

#kazuma #bishamonten #bishamon #kazubisha #kazuma x bishamon #bishamon x kazuma #noragami #noragami aragoto #noragami manga #noragami fanfiction #noragami fanart #dat-hawkass #talented friends #hhhhh a lot of tags #im just that desparate #cams-draws #nova writes

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michaelmyersmalewife · 6 years

Text

DYAD | ii. contact

words: 2k+

ship: venom symbiote/reader

warning(s): none

you can also support this fic on wattpad & ao3

"You'll be staying here with our other volunteers for now."

You struggled to keep up with the dark-haired woman ahead of you, barely being given the chance to observe your surroundings. It was obvious that you were in a lab somewhere beneath the Life Foundation's main building, but other than numerous people donning lab coats scurrying throughout the room, you had no idea what to expect. They had already stripped you of what little clothes you were able to keep, favoring to put you in a mildly uncomfortable hospital gown. Now you were trailing after a particularly talkative doctor, though your attention wavered after the first five minutes.

The woman (Dr. Skirth, you remembered her brief introduction from earlier) lead you to a room separate from the larger lab. It was almost maze-like, the numerous glass cells acting like a hall of mirrors. You could see that some of the cells were already occupied by three - maybe four - people, their forms roused by your sudden entrance. Your attention lingered on them until Skirth stopped a few feet in front of you, almost causing you to crash into her had you not been careful. She whipped around to face you, the hair that was held in a loose bun nearly falling out of place. A small, joking smile appeared on her face, hand facetiously shielding it from outside view.

"It doesn't give you much privacy but it'll be your home for the next few months."

You gave a halfhearted snort.

She cleared her throat, scanning the card attached to the lanyard that hung around her neck and quickly punching in numbers into the cell's door.

"We'll be coming back for you in the next half hour to take some initial diagnostics so go ahead and get comfortable."

You nodded, taking a seat on the surprisingly soft bed. She seemed nice.

The cage-like "room" in front of you is more than a little simple - a clear, glass box with a notably frame-less mattress on the side farthest from you. It felt...sterile. Even your old cell back in the ward came with more than this. But it was clean and not meant to be shared, which was a definite improvement. But you couldn't help flinching internally at the sound of hearing the door lock itself shut. Somehow, it felt as though you had gotten yourself trapped again.

Take a chill pill, won't you? You're not there anymore. He doesn't know. you thought to yourself.

He doesn't know where you are. And that's enough for you.

When Dr. Skirth said half an hour, you didn't think they would be so on the dot. You didn't do much - though there wasn't much for you to do to begin with besides watch your fellow recruits be taken out for examinations.

You were on the verge of falling asleep when Skirth returned. She looked a little more disheveled from when you last saw her, this time flanked by three other official-looking scientists (at least, you assumed they were from the stark white coats they wore). There was something unnerving in how silent they were. Looking around, there was probably one other person in the cells that seemed to catch the vibe. They said nothing as they brought you out, leading you once again through the labyrinth of a facility that was the Life Foundation.

So far you hadn't passed by anything telling you what exactly you'd be doing here. The lab seemed disappointingly generic. They hadn't even bothered to answer your questions on the trip to the lab, but you didn't expect them to anyway. You just wanted out, and if this was your ticket to a place where nothing - no one - could find you, then so be it.

The entourage of scientists had taken you to yet another overwhelmingly sterile room. The fluorescent lighting was almost blinding but you could tell that you were in some sort of examination room a doctor would have, only much larger. It had the usual - a long padded table, a weight scale, and a height chart. But to one side was a treadmill and an MRI scanner. But that wasn't what set you on edge. One wall was a huge mirror - a one-way mirror no doubt. If you hadn't already felt like a lab rat, you did now.

Behind you you could hear chatter from the group of researchers, Dr. Skirth among them. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but the woman quickly parted from her colleagues, gripping the clipboard in her hands as she entered the room.

"Alright so before we get started on the tests I have to ask you a few questions. Nothing serious but answer truthfully, please." She said, setting the clipboard down on a nearby table in favor for a thin stack of papers. "We just wanna get a good idea on where you are in terms of health."

"Sounds good." you nodded.

"Are you currently taking any drugs? If yes, for how long?" she paused for a second before quickly adding a "Prescription also count, by the way."

You had been sober for over a year, (not entirely by choice, but it was for the best) and it was one of the few things you prided yourself on.

The rest of the questions went about the same route. You didn't really do much during your time in your previous confinement. It was the first time you genuinely tried behaving, and this time around you were glad it actually paid off.

After putting away the papers, Skirth handed you a long band, instructing you to place it just below your chest.

"Don't worry, it's just heart monitor."

In the back of your mind, you thanked yourself for making it a point to use the prison gym when you had the time. The tests weren't particularly grueling, they were fairly easy - if not basic. After measuring your height and weight, the real tests were only comprised of jumping jacks, push-ups, and about 20 minutes on the treadmill. It was a test you couldn't mess up, yet the thought of scrutinizing scientists (and although this was a small possibility, Drake) being on the other side of that mirror distracted you. Thankfully, not distracting enough to make you slip, only enough to make you all the more determined to do your most. That entire time Skirth had seated herself in front of a monitor, taking brief glances at the monitor in front of her while scribbling down whatever data appeared on her clipboard. About an hour had passed before she declared the "test" over. You were tired, but only just a little out of breath, gladly taking the bottle of water Skirth handed you.

"You did good! Definitely better than the ones we've gotten so far."

You couldn't tell if it was a thinly veiled compliment or not, so you opted for a shy smile.

"There's showers in the room over there so if you wanna clean yourself up, be my guest."

You gladly took the offer. You could feel the thin layer of sweat sticking to your skin, and you hated it. The water wasn't particularly warm, but it wasn't freezing either. You didn't care anyway. You just focused on the feeling of water running down your exhausted body. The extent of your exhaustion hadn't hit you until then, but the feeling of your tense muscles finally being able to relax was more than welcome.

Before you knew it, a week had already passed.

You hadn't done much, you and the other subjects were subjected to daily exercises (though, only you and maybe one other person were handling it without complaints) and psychological examinations (those went about as well as you expected). You still didn't know your real purpose as a test subject, and asking the others had gotten you nowhere. They knew about as much as you did. Not even Dr. Skirth was willing to give you a hint, and she was by far the most easygoing researcher in the lab. You didn't want to think much of it, but the situation rubbed you the wrong way.

You were about to exit the communal showers when you heard muffled chatter from outside the room. You hoped the sound of the water running would mask your eavesdropping but at the same time your ears strained to make out what they were saying. You recognized Dr. Skirth - she didn't sound too happy, as she was trying to talk over the voice of a man. It wasn't until she quieted down that you realized the voice belonged to Carlton Drake.

"It's been six months at least, I think it's about time we introduce the symbiotes to the subjects."

"And I'm telling you they aren't ready! You saw how they reacted to the -"

"An unfortunate setback but that's all it was."

A minute passed and the gap in conversation would've felt far heavier had it not been for the cascade of water.

"We've had this talk before, Dora. You know my reasons."

You were really starting to hate him.

You hadn't heard anything after that, but you didn't exit the showers until you were sure you heard the door to the other room click shut.

Skirth was sitting at one of the tables, running a hand through loose strands of hair and staring at a corner of the room with an empty gaze.

"You okay?"

She flinched, quickly turning around to face you.

"Y-Yeah, yeah..uh, just wait for me outside, okay?"

You couldn't sleep that night.

It was rare for you to get so worked up so easily but it was nagging at your brain for the rest of the day. There were about a million questions popping up in your mind as you tried to get just a minute of rest. Why was Drake so insistent on borderline harassing people in the name of this "experiment" of his? But more importantly, what the fuck is a symbiote? A new drug or something equally questionable? With a company like the Life Foundation, you couldn't begin to fathom what they were planning.

You sighed, turning over once more in your bed, staring at the blacklights that lit up the room in a dim, blue glow.

The next week isn't any better. If anything, it felt worse.

The physical tests continued on as normal, only this time you noticed there would be..exceptions. The first one they took was a tall, thin man with long stringy hair. You hadn't spoken to him much in your time in the cells, but you and the others had formed a strange solidarity in knowing you were each subjected to these secretive circumstances. When he didn't return one day, everyone noticed, and none of you were in the least bit comforted no matter what excuses the scientists gave you.

You thought it couldn't get any worse until it kept happening. By the end of the week they had replaced half of the old subjects with new ones, one being a particularly feisty woman with long black hair that nearly always fought back the men that would take her away for her tests.

You dreaded the day your turn would come - it was inevitable. It was only a matter of time before they carted you off to who-knows-where to supposedly dispose of you somewhere. And when that time came, you were quiet, calmly trailing after Dr. Skirth and two other men that accompanied her. She said nothing, but she held the same solemn - almost fearful - expression you had seen her with a few days ago. It made your stomach turn.

You entered a different room from the main lab you had grown used to.

It was fairly large, still keeping with the theme of smaller rooms made from clear glass. Monitors and tanks littered the space, though you couldn't see what they held. You would've been a little more than nervous upon being led to one of the rooms and left there by yourself. But the fact that Carlton Drake once again appeared in the room along with a larger group of scientists made your pulse quicken. You didn't trust him at all, and after the past week's events you didn't have a reason to. You scowled, leaning against something that looked like a small, horizontal tank. Drake approached the glass wall you faced. He smiled, though it seemed genuine, the smile wasn't reflected in the look in his eyes.

"So we meet again!" God he sounded like a comic book villain.

You shrugged. "So you gonna tell me what I'm really doing here now?"

Drake chuckled. "Patience is a virtue."

You drummed your fingers against the tank impatiently. The tank tapped back.

You shot away from it, swallowing a yelp as you tried to recover from the surprise. Drake still held that amused expression that was quickly becoming annoying. Your head twisted to the glass, frantically hoping someone could tell you what you were trapped in a room with. This couldn't be that thing he mentioned earlier, was it? You gathered your composure as best you could but you couldn't hide the nervousness growing in your gut.

"Wh-What is that?"

"That," he smiled "is the future."

#venom x reader #venom/reader #venom #venom fanfic #venom symbiote #dyadfic #takenbytheweeds #takenbytheweeds fics

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biollantebutch · 3 years

Text

"I got a couple jugs'a gasoline in my trunk, a bag of those bigass camping firestarter things, and a lighter. Jeanette and I will go fix the problem ourselves 'n leave you here."

did it not occur to you that as an organism existing within a greater organism, your intrusion would be felt?

word count 6033. heavily implied death. features a hotel!

"It's a goddamn eyesore's what it is."

The sparks of an oncoming headache danced behind Jeanette's eyes. The lights were too bright. The patrons were too loud. The acrid aftertaste of her drink sat heavy on the back of her tongue- she was going to regret this tomorrow. Rosa sat across from her, arms slung over the back of the booth like she owned the place. If she was making an effort to take up as much space as possible, it was paying off. Whether out of discomfort or just outright fear, Robin had squished himself against the wall. It was as far away from Rosa as he could get, but he still clutched his cardboard-colored cardigan around his bony shoulders with a white-knuckled grip. The longer she spoke, the tighter he pulled. It'd be a damn shame if it ripped, Jeanette thought, idly stirring at the ice of her empty glass. He'd look actually naked without it.

"It's supposed to be demolished soon. Besides, that part of town is borderline empty nowadays. I'd argue it's not making anyone's eyes sore." His voice was little more than a whisper, barely audible over the barroom chatter. Apparently Rosa wasn't done ranting, judging by the glare she shot him even as he opened his mouth to continue. Whether those were tears budding in his eyes or just the reflection of the lights in his glasses, Jeanette wasn't sure. If she really strained her ears, she could just pretend they weren't there. Her bed plead for her company from the other side of town, and she'd be answering its call as soon as she could.

The familiar sounds of the crowded haunt bubbled up around them, but Rosa's presence commanded attention, and God help anyone who didn't turn their eyes to her when she started speaking. Hell, she even styled herself like it. Wild, curly hair that puffed out around her head and down to her shoulders like some mockery of a bowl cut. Gaudy Hawaiian shirts in tropical neons bright enough to sear any sane person's eyes out. There was a reason that she rarely, if ever, interacted with any customers. She'd scared off plenty a self-respecting man, and the few friends that remained at her side remained mostly out of fear for the repercussions of speaking out against her. A select few just found her crazy. Crazy in the fun way, but crazy nonetheless. She had a way of making herself seem like the only person in the room, and the aura of confidence she gave off was strong enough to melt steel. Even as Jeanette sat there, she could feel the ice in her glass getting less and less solid.

"The debate's fuckin' stupid," Rosa spat, brow creasing and fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose. "It's supposed to be 'bringing in tourists.' It's bullshit. All of it. The beaches are what's bringin' in the tourists. All that rotting hunk of bricks can do is get Buzzfeed listicles written about it and clog up the skyline. The thing's condemned, for Christ's sake! What good's a 'tourist attraction' y'can't even get anywhere near without getting arrested?"

Jeanette trained her eyes on her straw as she pressed it back against her lips. "Buzzfeed listicles."

"Don't get smart with me." Despite the ever-present background chatter, the air still managed to fall stagnant. She didn't dare look up. She could feel Rosa's eyes on the back of her neck, two points of heat on her skin and a growing weight in her chest. Across the table, Robin stared at her in something like pity, biting down hard on his thin lips. She didn't realize she hadn't blinked until the table suddenly quaked. Rosa had her chin cupped in her hands, filling her companions' fields of view with nothing but her. The way her round cheeks pressed against her mouth disguised the gummy grin spreading across her face. "Listen. I got an idea."

Robin scoffed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "You always have an idea. I'm not getting arrested again, Rosa."

"Not even for widdle 'ol me?" The expression Rosa plastered on was probably supposed to be charming, but it resembled something closer to an old porcelain doll. The kind that felt like they were always staring at you, planning something.

"Especially not for you."

"Whatever." She tossed herself back in her seat, arms slung behind her head. The way Robin winced, anyone could've sworn he was expecting a slap across the face for that. Even after she started again, the tension in his shoulders didn't fade. "I got a couple jugs'a gasoline in my trunk, a bag of those bigass camping firestarter things, and a lighter. Jeanette and I will go fix the problem ourselves 'n leave you here." As soon as the words left her mouth, Jeanette's pupils shrunk to barely more than pinpricks. Having adopted the same posture as a shrimp the entire outing, the way her back straightened itself out sent a resounding crack across the room.

"I never agreed to anyth-"

"I'm not payin' for an Uber for your broke asses."

Off to the side, one of the buttons on Robin's cardigan snapped off. That budding headache returned in full force, and everyone let out a collective groan. Everyone except Rosa, still beaming from ear to ear.

"Great answer. I'll foot the bill, then."

Rosa braced her weight up on the hood of her old beat-up Hummer, neck craned back to get a better view of the imposing building in front of her. Jeanette had never actually been this close to the thing before, but now that she was, she could definitely see why anyone'd want it gone. At some point in time, it had probably been glorious. It was massive, for Christ's sake- the corridors stretched back into the distance farther than she could see. Despite the wear and tear, some aspects of its former glory remained. The ornately carved trim making perfect floral swirls along the entryway. The grand double-doors with their rusted bronze handles, worn smooth from decades of hands and weather. Logically, Jeanette knew she wasn't the first to visit the Carnelian after its closure, and she sure as hell wouldn't be the last. What she expected out of an abandoned building, though, was something frozen in time, at the mercy of the elements. The door handles carried the distinct slick of skin oil, though. Someone had been here recently enough for it to still be present, but she couldn't see any other signs of human life in the area. No footprints besides their own, no parked cars or bikes or any other transportation. Just three kinda-friends-mostly-just-coworkers and a hotel.

"Goddamn. Look at the thing," Rosa tutted, shaking her head. "Tonight's gonna be the night, ain't it? We've lived in its shadow for too long. Can't wait to see this on the news tomorrow." Robin stared in her direction like a deer in the headlights, choking down a lump so thick you could see it sliding down his throat. He shook like a leaf despite the tepid summer air not carrying any hint of a breeze, and what he wouldn't say, Jeanette could- just in a more subtle manner.

"Hey, why don't we try getting inside?"

Rosa cocked a brow in her direction, watching as Jeanette pulled her tight ponytail into a messy bun. "What for?"

"I mean, there has to be some stuff in there the last guys haven't looted. Memorabilia. Even if we raze the place to the ground, there's gotta be someone out there aching for Carnelian merch, right? There's money to be made here."

Rosa's eyes lit up at the mere mention of money, pulling herself up straight. Robin almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden movement, letting his fingers worry along the edges of his cardigan once again. He didn't make eye contact with either of the women. Apparently, the broken windows and crooked beams of the hotel before him were very, very interesting. Far more interesting, at least, than having to listen to Rosa's half-baked nonsense again. Before she even moved towards the doors of the Carnelian, she had already rolled up her sleeves and cuffed her pants, almost too eager to toss herself inside. Jeanette swore she could see dollar signs gleaming gold in the deep brown of her eyes the more she brushed her hair out of her face and tied it back into a ponytail more of a glorified man-bun.

"Jeez, Jeanette, I could've sworn you had a stick up your ass! So you finally decide to live a little, huh?" The smile on Rosa's face was very audible in her voice, each syllable ending in almost a squeak. The woman in question only stared at her with her brows knit and her lips pulled tight against her gums, not daring to respond. Rosa didn't seem to care. "Yeah, this place was fuckin' loaded back in its day. No way in hell there isn't something of value in there. Even if it's, like, riddled with asbestos or something. We can make do, yeah? Sell it on eBay for a couple hundo?"

"I doubt we can get that much." Robin quivered, shrinking into himself more the longer he had to tear his eyes away from the watchful gaze of the Carnelian. "I mean, what's of value in there that hasn't already been l-looted? If you're so dead set on getting rid of the thing, can't we just light it up and leave?" His voice belied an underlying feeling of dread, one that was creeping into Jeanette's bones too the more time she spent standing before the maw of the hotel. Already, she was starting to regret her decision. It'd bought her time, though, and Rosa seemed pleased with it- there was no stopping her when she had her mind set on something.

"Shut up, stringbean. You're comin' too." Jeanette shot him a you don't have to listen to her glance, a just get back in the car, we'll come back for you glance, but Robin nodded anyways and trudged towards the doors on feet like bricks. As much as he wanted to just let the other two go about their little adventure, he just... couldn't. His face was pale, almost green, but Rosa's word was tantamount to law. "Alright, guys. On three. To riches?"

"Shooting too high. Maybe pocket money."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "To pocket money. Alright."

"One." Jeanette gripped one handle, already preparing to brace herself on her heels.

"Two." Both of Robin's fists clamped down on the other. Even in the calm night air, he clung on for dear life.

"Three!" The two of them threw their weight back, watching as the doors swung open to hit them with a column of stagnant air. Dust billowed out in thick clouds, sending the two closest to the blast into a brief coughing fit as Rosa looked on with hands on her hips, chest puffed out in pride. She inhaled deeply, taking in the fruits of the others' labor- and immediately started coughing as well. It stank of years of dust, mold, rotting wood and probably other, less savory things. The marble tiles of the foyer, grand as it was, had chipped and broken to the point of the embossed mural being all but unrecognizable. Chairs and tables lay overturned, shards of broken vases surrounded the dessicated remains of long-dead flowers, and light fixtures lay shattered among them to the point that what had been what was entirely obscured. Arches that had once led into dining halls and ballrooms had long collapsed under their own weight, the gold paint that they had once glittered with having chipped away until only the underlying wood was left. Even the air itself was heavy and oppressive, urging them to turn around, leave, and never look back. It seemed far too vast a space to be left so empty for so long, and just standing inside the building itself was making Jeanette feel lightheaded. Over her shoulder, she could see Robin dry-heaving, his hands covered with the baggy sleeves of his cardigan.

All Rosa saw, though, was dollar signs.

"Alright, ladies!" She clapped twice, taking a step further in. Even with all of Rosa's confidence, she'd stopped repeatedly to shake her head, let a wave of chills wash over her body- it seemed to be getting to her, too. "No time for lollygagging! We're in, 'n this is our last chance to get what we want out before we wipe this joint off the map. Now get up and start rootin' through this shit. It's already 9, and we've all got work in the morning. I don't wanna be here any later'n 2 A.M."

Jeanette silently thanked herself for wearing flats that day. If she'd had to tromp through an abandoned building that practically had a glowing 'TETANUS RISK' sign plastered to the front in heels, she might've just let herself collapse there and then. With hungry eyes, Rosa had already made her way over to the checkin desk and hauled her squat frame over the counter to get at whatever was on the other side. Robin's dainty fingers trailed over shelves upon shelves of chintz and other knickknacks- shelves free of any dust. Of course people had been here before, and of course they'd touched things, but... why leave them?

"Hey, hey, spread out! C'mon, we ain't gonna get anything done if we're all stuck in one damn room all night!" Both Robin and Jeanette's eyes fell on Rosa, who only scoffed at their shocked expressions. "What, are you scared? Worried some sexy, sexy ghosts are gonna come up behind ya? It'd be reeeeeal awkward if one slapped my ass right about now!"

When nothing happened, she only shrugged. "C'mon. Y'know those are, like, kids' stories, right? There's no reason to be all freaked out over a fuckin' building. Now get to work." The other two stared at each other for a second before silently nodding, waiting until Rosa's back was turned to make their way into a cordoned-off side room. On the walls hung rows upon rows of hat racks and coat hooks, some with coats still hanging on by their last threads. The only light in the room was the little that could filter in from the still-open front doors, trickling through the cracks just enough to illuminate the grim look on Robin's face. That, combined with his fair hair and slight frame, made him seem almost ghostlike. Maybe that had something to do with the rancid vibe she was getting from the place.

"Jeanette," he growled, clamping his hands down on her shoulders, "I don't know how much of this you're going to believe, but something doesn't feel right. I know Rosa's fucking-" his hand flew in wild circles beside his head- "Y'know, batshit, but that doesn't mean we have to be. Can you feel it too?"

Jeanette could see her blanched face in the reflection of his glasses. She nodded.

"Right. I'm not some kind of paranormal enthusiast. I'm not a ghosts and goblins kind of guy. But something- Something does not want us here. Outside, when Rosa was on her little spiel, I saw something. In the window. Swear, to god, it was a person. Looking down. At us. It looked me straight in the fucking eye, and then it pulled the curtains closed. I don't- I don't know if it was, like, a squatter or whatever, but I'd rather face Rosa's wrath than whatever the fuck is up there."

Through the crack in the door, she could still see Rosa hunched over behind the checkin counter. The sound of paper flapping against paper echoed through the high walls of the foyer, a pile of files rapidly accumulating behind her as she squatted with little care as to just what she was tossing about. She was in her own little world, and it was beyond Jeanette to even consider what she was looking for. Whatever it was, she couldn't bring herself to value what little money she might be able to make off of the rotted husk of the Carnelian over her own life.

"So are you proposing we just-"

"We just leave, yes. It's not like she'll notice. The door's wide open. Either I crash at your place or you crash at mine, and we somehow make it to work in the morning like nothing happened. Deal?"

"Oh, thank god you're sane. Deal."

As they left the closet, Jeanette could've sworn something in the room had shifted. The doors were still wide open, the chairs were still upturned, the vases still lay toppled. She grabbed onto Robin's shoulder as she wracked her brain, so sure despite all evidence to the contrary that something wasn't right. The wind whistled through the empty corridors, and it finally hit her.

She couldn't hear Rosa anymore.

Robin asked her something like what's wrong as she turned toward the checkin desk, but she could hardly hear him. Rosa was the one with the keys, so Rosa was the only one who could access Jeanette's purse and Robin's medications and god damn, where was she? Even the piles of files, the piles that Jeanette could've sworn she'd seen while she was planning their escape with Robin, were no longer sprawled across the floor. The cabinet was open, yes, but the files inside were all neatly labelled and ordered as if no one had disturbed them to begin with. God, the corners weren't even wrinkled. They were like brand new. Imagine that. Brand new manila folders in the hundred-year-old cabinets of a hundred-year-old building. She closed the cabinet with a shudder, stepping back and-

Oh, god.

Something squelched.

Her shriek was audible all the way across the foyer, where Robin was already making his way towards the door. The harsh thud of his shoes on the tile was overpowered by the blood rushing through Jeanette's ears, louder than anything she'd heard before. She knew she'd stepped on something. It had sunk beneath her feet without much resistance, sighing quietly as the air was pushed out of it. When he finally arrived, though, Robin couldn't find anything amiss. Just Jeanette, soaked in sweat and chest heaving. Her eyes darted between him and the floor, gasping like a fish to spit out words that, no matter how hard she tried, just wouldn't come.

"Jeanette? What's going on?"

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, before heaving herself up from the floor like it had wronged her. Because it had. Whatever she'd touched was clearly, distinctly not right. Robin jumped as she shook the thought from her head and grabbed him by the hand. "We're leaving. Now." She could feel the tendons shifting under her grip, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear him yelp and question her motives, but she was determined. She was going to get out of this hellhole as soon as possible, and she was never going to go anywhere near it again. The cops could find out what happened to Rosa later- it wasn't her problem anymore. Her free hand extended in front of her, ready to plow her way out through the doors and into air that didn't stink like an antique store.

Doors that she could've sworn existed just a little over an hour ago.

Doors that were definitely not there now.

Jeanette blinked, an incredulous laugh forcing her way from her lungs. So that was it, then! She was going insane, too! Maybe she'd just gotten turned around. The doors were on the other wall, yeah? She'd just turn around and try those. Then she'd be out. Out and on her way to bed where she could sleep off this entire crazy ass experience.

Her hand met damp wallpaper yet again. She turned. She tried. Wallpaper. She turned again. Tried again. Wallpaper. No matter which direction she tried, which wall she slammed her whole body weight into, there were no doors. No windows, even. The whole space should've been enclosed, pitch-black, but she could still see her hands in front of her face, right? So there had to be a light source somewhere, right?

Hands?

Where was Robin?

He couldn't have just disappeared, she'd been holding onto him the entire time, right? The room was entirely enclosed, anyways, there weren't any doors or anything he could've left from. So he had to still be in the room. So she just had to call his name.

No response.

She'd try again. And again. And again and again and again to no avail until her throat was sore and hot, salty tears streamed down her cheeks. Whatever had happened to Rosa had happened to him, and oh god, she was alone, and she didn't have a way out, and she couldn't call for help because she'd left her damn phone in her damn purse in the DAMN car. Some good that did her. She couldn't just lay down and die, though. She screamed what was left of her voice away until it was little more than a hoarse whisper. She pounded on the walls until they warped and bent around her bruised knuckles, more elastic than plaster had any right to be. She turned over every piece of furniture in the room looking for some way out, but all that yielded was more wall and more floor and more stinking, melting hotel decor. She'd exhausted her options. She'd exhausted her options, but she was still frustrated, and if she couldn't find a way out, she'd have to take that frustration out on whatever was nearby.

As soon as she'd hoisted the end table above her head, she heard something sliding.

It wasn't from anywhere in the room. Somewhere distinctly outside the room, actually. So there was still an outside, so she could still get outside, and she could still get out. But something was sliding. The hotel had ceased its shifting long ago, and it wasn't accompanied by the sounds of creaking wood, so it was unlikely for it to be wayward furniture. She didn't know of any Californian wildlife that slid, much less anything large enough to create an actual, audible sound. In her curiosity, Jeanette spared the end table, setting it back down on the floor to press her ear to the wall.

Scratch that. The door. It wanted to be a door now, so it was a door, and Jeanette tumbled face-first into the hallway. Unlike the hotel she'd entered, it looked almost... clean. The wallpaper was still peeling and the carpet was still torn up from the floorboards in places, but it wasn't any worse than any given roadside motel. The walls were lined neatly with doors upon doors, with number placards firmly affixed onto the front of each, so they had to be rooms. The longer she looked at them, though, the more her head swam. They were rooms, and most hotel rooms were numbered, so they had to be numbers. What she found herself looking at, though, were distinctly not numbers. She wasn't sure what they were. Her mind couldn't wrap around just what kind of shape they were trying to portray, so it just gave up.

She could still kind of read them, though. Which was strange, since the rest of the hotel had been pitch black, and she and Robin had to navigate by moonlight. Despite the building she was sure she was still in having sat dormant for over half a century, though, it was perfectly lit by rows of electric wall sconces with frosted glass shades shaped ever-so-lovingly like flowers. That's what she told herself they were, anyways. She'd ran her hands along one and found it pleasantly cool to the touch, to say nothing of the texture being less akin to glass and more to a human fingernail. Thinking on what they were actually made of wasn't going to be good for her mental wellbeing if she wanted to find a way out.

So Jeanette hauled herself to her feet, dusted herself off, and started down the hallway. The sliding noise hadn't come back since she first heard it, but she couldn't care less if it did. She was in a hallway. Hallways had a start and an end. Usually, at the start of a hotel hallway, there's an elevator or a stairwell or a path to the lobby or something, so as long as she kept walking, she'd eventually get out. It was a sound enough plan, and she didn't press herself to think of any potential flaws. If she did, she'd get distracted, and if she got distracted, she wouldn't be walking fast enough. So she started moving, and she tried not to think about the way the walls pulsed around her. Her head ached. Her knees wobbled. If she didn't fall facefirst into a bed soon, she was going to die. She knew it. This was cruel and she'd had enough and something's on the floor.

Knocked suddenly back into reality, she stooped down for a closer look. She hadn't seen any other signs of human life once she'd started walking, not a single light on in a room nor a "do not disturb" sign to indicate, at least, that someone was staying there. It was just her, the harsh incandescent lights, and the ambient sounds of pipes settling and appliances buzzing. A random, discarded item on the ground, then, seemed terribly out of place. It was an awful shade of orange, with big red umbrella-leaves and deep purple hibiscus flowers printed into the fabric. It was buttoned up to just below the collar, which flopped lazily about no matter how hard Jeanette tried to press it down. She'd seen this shirt before, just a few hours earlier. She knew she had. It was Rosa's.

She stood there for a second, clutching the shirt in her fist until the skin went white and her nails dug tiny holes in the fabric. Why here? Why now? If this was her shirt, where the fuck was Rosa? Her hands shook. Her tongue sparked with the taste of blood- she'd bitten into her lip. No more distractions. She had to keep moving forward. If she let herself get distracted like this, she was never going to get out. Just keep walking, she told herself, you're going to get somewhere if you just keep walking. When her feet started to ache- flats were not made for long periods of walking- she took only the time to yank her shoes off and keep going. In the worst case scenario, she passed out from exhaustion. She could already feel herself getting lightheaded. It wasn't clear, though, if it was an actual risk, or she'd just inhaled mold spores. Maybe a little of both.

Behind her, the floor swallowed the shirt back up.

It didn't end. It just didn't end. The longer Jeanette walked, the longer the hallway seemed to get. The longer the hallway got, the farther away her goal seemed. The farther away her goal seemed- against all odds- the more she was driven to keep going. Keep going, and keep going, and keep going. It was just an exercise in insanity at that point. Walking until her legs gave out, laying prone on the floor for what was either 5 minutes or 5 hours, and hauling herself back up to start it all over again. It wouldn't let her pass out. It wouldn't even let her sleep. The second its sweet embrace came close, she was consumed by a primal, animalistic feeling of something's close, not safe, something's close, not safe and she had to haul herself up and keep. Going. She was determined. She was on a mission. She was going to see it through at all costs.

She'd found open doors, a few times. Some of them opened into a vast, empty blackness. No light, no stars, like someone tore a hole in reality. Some of them had trays of refreshments, pitchers of ice water still so cold that she could've sworn they were left out for her on purpose. Some of them were broom closets. Some of them were just more hallways. Some of them opened into human gums and human teeth and the hot, sticky inside of a very human mouth. Those she left alone.

The one she found herself before opened into a perfectly ordinary closet. A perfectly ordinary closet where a dull brown cardigan sat on a hook, torn to shreds and spattered with something that was definitely not blood- despite being similar in both color and viscosity, it smelled more akin to the chemical "floral" scent of complimentary shampoo. Despite all that she knew would be a "normal" reaction to something like this, Jeanette couldn't find it within herself to be even remotely surprised. No matter how hard she tried, the most intense reaction she could claw out from the foggy recesses of her mind was a flat huh. So that's where that went. The whereabouts of its owner no longer concerned her. She had work to do. She was headed... somewhere. She had to be headed somewhere. That's why people walked, most of the time. To go places. So she was going somewhere, and it was at the end of the hallway, and she continued. The cardigan remained on the hook.

Jeanette's eyes fixed forward. She moved automatically, robotically, with no regard to her surroundings or the way they warped around her. She could actually see the end of the hallway getting farther and farther away from her as she walked, but her mind refused to process it. All that she knew at that point was that it was there, and she was walking towards it, which was what she was supposed to be doing. That was what mattered. Not the walls narrowing around her or the floors bubbling and squelching around her feet or the patterns on the wallpaper pulsing like veins. They were part of the hallway, so they were supposed to be there. So she kept walking. And walking. And walking.

Until she stopped.

Not of her own volition. She tried to move her feet, continue ever onwards, but the floor had wrapped its greedy tendrils around her ankles so she couldn't take another step. So she tried to crawl, clawing at the carpet until her fingertips were bloody, but it only sunk her in deeper. The fight left her, and Jeanette shut her eyes and let herself go limp. Whatever wanted to claim her could claim her. She'd failed.

Or maybe she hadn't. When she came to her senses, she was no longer in the hallway. Why was she in a hallway to begin with? She'd never left the foyer, and she hadn't seen any doors. Or maybe she had. This definitely wasn't the foyer, and she was the only one she could see present. Grand pillars stretched from the floor to the ceiling, circling a massive crystal chandelier suspiciously free of dust. And there was that sound again. The sliding. The sliding she'd heard earlier. How much earlier, she wasn't sure, but the distinct sense of deja vu it gave her cemented that feeling in her gut. What had been a wall yawned wide open like the maw of a lion, and a new figure slid in. One she wasn't familiar with. It wasn't Robin (the hair was too dark) and it couldn't be Rosa (the skin was too pale) and neither of them would be caught dead in a dress. It never occurred to her that it would've dwarfed either of them, even both of them sitting atop each other's shoulders, or neither of the two had a crown of glossy, keratinous horns that brushed the ceilings when they walked- it just seemed irrelevant.

Without any visible light source, the room lit up as it made its way inside. The sliding sound that followed wasn't accompanied by anything like footsteps- just the shrill squeaking of skin on tile. Suddenly, Jeanette found herself paralyzed. It inched closer painfully slowly, posture stock-straight and eyes fixed somewhere faraway. The figure loomed above Jeanette, trapping her in its shadow. She couldn't look away- she couldn't even move. She bit down hard on her lip again, wincing at the pinching and the taste of blood in her mouth. Her jaws clenched, her throat lurched, sweat beaded on her brow and rolled down her face in sloppy arcs, but the figure's expression never faltered. The corners of its mouth pulled its lips into a tight, thin smile. Its eyes were vacant, faraway, milky and cloudy and dull. Dull like a corpse's. As if an old porcelain doll made of wet, writhing flesh had come to life. It had the content, empty stare of a farm animal, not reacting to any of the stimuli surrounding it. Jeanette's lungs squeezed tight anyways, and they squeezed tighter when the thing bent in half like the stalk of an anemone to lay a single, massive flipper across her body. It was like being trapped under layers upon layers of weighted blankets, a pressure intended to be soothing suddenly turned painful when used in excess.

"What do you want with me?" Her vision blurred itself with tears, still trying to comprehend just what was in front of her. The figure's eyes, already half-lidded and rimmed in what was either dark eyeshadow or head-sized patches of mold, turned upward in almost-pity. Either a distant pipe burbled to life, or it laughed. Or both.

"Please do not remove anything from the premises." Its voice was smooth and cordial, riddled with an unidentifiable crackling sound like a degraded tape. Despite the flat, customer-service tone, Jeanette could hear the barely-held-back snicker. Like it didn't mean a damn word it said. Like it was enjoying itself.

As it removed its sleeve from her chest, the lack of pressure made it clear to her that something was very, very wrong. She'd been unable to move her limbs, but now? She couldn't feel them at all. All around her, she saw herself absorbed into the warm, throbbing tile below, sinking deeper and deeper into flesh all too eager to welcome her to its ranks.

"And please, enjoy the rest of your stay. We'd love your feedback."

And Jeanette tried to offer hers. It would be rather valuable, an important asset to the Carnelian if it were to fix itself up and finally achieve its goal of reopening to the public, and it needed all of the advice it could get if it were to effectively self-manage. To its knowledge, it would be the first (and possibly only! How thrilling!) hotel to do so, and the prospect excited it deeply.

Unfortunately, Jeanette no longer had a mouth to give feedback with.

Ah, well. C'est la vie.

0 notes

junk-and-clutter · 6 years

Text

Adamsville Carnival

Presented by mayoral candidate Louis King

Date: April 17th, 2018

Astrid Hofferson: Astrid had a way of standing out. Not because she was a tall girl w/braided hair that dressed in tight ripped jeans& a bulky leather jacket that hid plenty of weapons if she needed it as she was the label of trouble. Carrying a blazing look of annoyance on the borderline of the fairgrounds w/ the forest at her back. She didn’t have to be told what it meant to be a hunter. Doing the job saved lives, which meant time spent not doing the job meant people could die or get seriously hurt. Why she stood on the sidelines. She had a better advantage that way.

Random People: Among the attendees, shady looking men lurked along the edges of the Carnival. They weren’t really engaging anyone else but one another… something about their presence was menacing…

Astrid Hofferson: Astrid noticed something odd as if she were suspicious. From the distance, she seemed to advance further inside the Old Fairgrounds. She could tell they weren’t from Berk. Their mannerisms seemed to be closed off. She wasn’t sure she trusted these new people staying covered by the mass of people following their movements without being tracked. Closing on her phone what looks like a girl taking selfies was more of a girl taking pictures of them.

Astrid Hofferson: Being in the fairgrounds made it harder to clearly hear any conversation happening between the shady looking men. Reading lips would be useless so she didn’t even bother. But she observed their mannerisms, their signals from the distance copying other kids blending as she waved to no one she knew- or got in a line she’d duck out of later. Gathering enough photo’s she’d begin to zoom on mages one after the other. She looked for what she was trained to look for. Earpieces that gave orders and were they armed with weapons? And where would be a good place to duck under that’ll possibly get her closer to know what they’re up to without blaring carnival music distorting anything?

Random People: “Did you drop them into place, yet?” one man whispered to another. “Not yet. We need more time.” another replied. “Well hurry the fuck up. We don’t have all night.”

Astrid Hofferson: Astrid was very unhappy, and her feeling of being in top form tonight had completely evaporated quickly, and it bothered her. She wasn’t sure who these men were targeting. She had no backup. Her first thought was to shut the power but that might leave kids endangered. From fast walking to jogging- she started to text Hiccup slamming into someone hard. Her phone skidded out of her hands into the sea of people as she felt flustered. “Sorry- you hurt?”

Random People: The strangers seemed to be disbursed throughout the crowd. They remained in the shadows and kept a watchful eye on the prep school kids.

Astrid Hofferson: Well to whoever she ran into. She sort of patted them down and ditched them? She thought for a moment she could have used them to help make a distraction but then again that would have put them in danger so she left them to pursue the weak members outside the Old Fairgrounds by maneuvering by the weedy underbrush, the darkness of the night seeking concealment and with her wearing all black she had the element of silence and surprise knocking a couple weakling shady men within the group out with her high voltage Taser and the handle of a long knife for good measure. Tying them off and gagging their mouths. Worked well enough with positional adequate shelter but it seemed those grouped together started to go to the fairgrounds! So she couldn’t hunt them down. Not sure what was going to happen… She followed at a quiet distance behind.

Astrid Hofferson: She may not know what they’re planning and staying far enough but not too far to lose them not be suspicious was hard. She knew there were smudges of grass and dirt on her. Coming to a halt as a girl offering her cotton candy. She growled annoyed. She seemed to be a little winded. “What? No.” She said flatly as she craned her neck trying to decipher where they’re going.

Flora/Jack: Flora’s eyebrows shot up as she heard Astrid’s annoyed voice. “You sure?” Flora teased lightly, “It might sweeten you up.”

Astrid Hofferson: She was going to lose them. Suddenly she looked at her and back at the crowd. Her heart was pounding in her ears and suddenly she grasped the girl and though she didn’t grip her hard she gripped her enough to nearly drag her. “Yea? Well, I don’t have time for that. What kind of skill sets do you have?”

Flora/Jack: Flora squeaked and dropped her cotton candy on the ground as she was pulled along. “Skill sets? Where are we going?”

Random People: At the peak of the entertainment, a man took the stage where Louis King first stood to announce the opening of the festivities. He tapped the microphone and cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” his voice was but a whisper.

Astrid Hofferson: Great. She found the one that could squeak… Well. That wasn’t bad. Maybe a little useful. “Skills. Can you make a scene? Scream? The whole dramatic works? I need to separate those two guys right in front of us. The ones that look a little shady.” She spoke quickly and quietly.

Random People: “Excuse me!” His voice boomed and all that could be heard were the rides and the games. “That’s better,” he flashed a quick smile as he adjusted his stance at the podium.

Astrid Hofferson: Astrid didn’t know what was going on, or who was the enemy or not but when ADAMSVILLE kids were involved she was rushing to the front already armoring herself with her own weapons. She already sprang towards the front kicking a seating area tripping two men. She seemed to kick one guy in the temple and tackled the other to the ground pinning him down and depleting him of his air source as she used him to shield her own body. Never really knowing the girl she had helped was a witch she didn’t stick around that long.

Astrid Hofferson: Dropping the body after it went limp she could hear the air split and Astrid pulled out her long knife sheathed clang as she felt the strain of her wrist burn. Unsheathing it the clang of metal against metal zinged as she was holding her long knife against a machete quietude as she was fighting off a hunter who advanced along her. Kicking him in the gut when she found he doubled over it as there were a scream and a thump. Trails of red weld along her arms as minor knicks got her but it didn’t get her. Taking the fallen hunters machete and throwing it with such a force out of reflexive training as the hunter about to strike someone didn’t know what hit him when his hand was split in two.

Astrid Hofferson: Astrid had a spartanness-viking wildness about her. Pressing forward into Hunter’s guards forcing them to step back in order to meet her blows. Many buckled and died because she pushed back harder but without back up how long will it last? Doubling over having the wind knocked out of her momentarily as she had a baseball bat slammed into her stomach as she held her breath trying to push the pain down only to let out a howl of hate feeling a hot burning pain making it hard to move her left leg. Grasping his hand and struggling with the knife that was ready to claim her life she twisted his wrist forcefully hard making him drop his weapon. Struggling to take a couple of breaths she took her other hand and spear handed his throat making him gasp and bull rushing the hunter she grasped the back of his head and slammed it hard against the nearest ride. Guiding all sorts of No Majs and Witches to safely. Finding she wouldn’t be able to move as well well her injured leg she’d just have to stand her ground or die to fight.

#v.bewitched disney #@Astrid Hofferson #toughestgirlviking astrid

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wildfire-1980 · 7 years

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What’s your opinion of Hap x Prairie?

Oh goodness, where do I start? Maybe the beginning, Isuppose, although, I know once I answer this, it will be like the Sanhedrintrial all over again, where the masses are shouting Jesus’ conviction to PontiusPilate, “Crucify him, Crucify him!” So, with that being said, here goes…

Personally, I fell in love with Hap/Prairie in the oysterbar. The way their communication and interaction flowed so easily in the beginningreally left me with the impression that this was not their first meeting. Thewhole scene just resonated with me over and over again, like some booming echoreverberating off the mountain tops, screaming, “There’s more here.” Abackstory of some sorts. Maybe not in this dimension, but one beforehand.Possibly one that neither Hap, nor Prairie remembers. Oddly enough, I didn’tget the same notion with the other characters, especially Homer.

Honestly, I’m operating under the assumption that once thejump is made into another dimension, the memory of everything else; people,places, actions, even past relationships are erased…or either suppressedsubconsciously (although I could be wrong, but the show is not really clear onthat issue.)

You see, there are two types of connections – a heartconnection, and then a soul connection. A heart connection (which isHomer/Prairie) can be severed, it’s more of a natural, physical tie. But a soulconnection (Hap/Prairie) tends to be more ethereal, more supernatural. A definitive force of nature when threatened.I don’t believe that a soul connection can be as fractured as the mind, or leftso vulnerable. It doesn’t forget. The tithes that bind two souls together are notso easily broken by the strains of time…or dimensions. It endures and remainsto the bitter end. It’s the deepest kind of connection to exist because it’seternal. This was my initial take on Hap/Prairie from the very beginning and Iimagine it will be until the show proves me otherwise.

I think John Welwood explained it perfectly: “A soulconnection is a resonance between two people who respond to the essentialbeauty of each other’s individual natures, behind their facades, and whoconnect on this deeper level. This kind of mutual recognition provides acatalyst for a potent alchemy. It is a sacred alliance whose purpose is to helpboth partners discover and realize their deepest potentials. While a heartconnection lets us appreciate those we love just as they are, a soul connectionopens up a further dimension – seeing and loving them for who they could be,and for who we could become under their influence. This means recognizing thatwe both have an important part to play in helping each other become more fullywho we are…A soul connection not only inspires us to expand, but also forces usto confront whatever stands in the way of that expansion.”

Sound familiar?

Prairie’s presence in Hap’s life forced him to reconnectwith his humanity. She was the catalyst behind his undoing. I firmly believe hewas beginning to remember the man he was before his obsession with NDE’s andwas starting to question if he could become that man again…but only for her. Ithink he possibly would have, if he could have reached some sort of emotionalacceptance to initiate change. But Hap was only focused on the emotional defeatof it all. I think that’s why he remained in denial about his love for Prairietill the end and eventually discarded of her. If you get rid of the objectthat’s threatening to tear your defenses down, then an impending surrender issuddenly out of the equation. And let’s face it, after seven years, Hap wasbegging Prairie to run away with him. That’s all the proof you need of a whiteflag slowly ascending the flag pole. But when she said no, then he withdrew deeperinto his jealousy and eventually just lost it when he saw her trying to leavewith Homer after the 5th movement was revealed. Hence, why he wentso crazy. So, in his mind, the only way to get her out from under his skin, wasto get rid of the dilemma that was Prairie Johnson. Problem solved.

Another thing I want to point out about the oyster barscene, if you watch it, you can clearly see that Prairie is actually attractedto Hap. And yes, I know she is blind, so I don’t mean physical attraction inthe traditional sense. I’m talking about his personality, his kindness towardher during lunch, his gentleness toward her disability. The way he genuinelyenjoyed introducing her to the world, despite her inability to physically seeit. He was able to gain her trust in an amazingly short span of time. Perhapsan hour at the least. I noticed also that she smiles a lot around him withinthat hour. Her smile is practically plastered to her face. A sure sign ofattraction. But it’s not the only proof that I have. There is one particularscene that I’ll narrate below:

Prairie closed her eyes and began repetitively shaking herhead.

“Ever since I’ve left Russia, the only thing I’ve thoughtabout every day is how to find my father. And he was the only person” Shepauses a moment, remembering, “…that never made me feel like I was demented or– “

“No, of course not.” Hap interrupts. “You should have neverbeen medicated…Never. Why? Because you had vivid dreams.” His voice laced withconviction.

Prairie began fighting back the urge to smile, to laugh,until eventually she gave in, and this rarity of joy bubbled up out of her.

“It’s insane.” She heard him say, until she had to cover herface, not from shame, but from the disbelief that a man this authentic wassitting beside her.

“I’m sorry, it’s just strange to hear that” She swallowedhard. “…I am weird, but that you like weird.”

He studied her, transfixed by her smile.

“No, weird is good.” He said, “There’s some patheticallyordinary guy somewhere, wearing a t-shirt with that emblazed on it, ‘Weird isgood.’”

Hap watches her intently, enjoying the sound of her laughterand noting sadly, that it’s something that seems so foreign to her.

After a moment, he looks down, closes his eyes and shakeshis head, internally fighting the monster within.

You need to leave.Just walk away. Far away from her.

He takes a deep breath and regards her once again, almostwhispering.

“I have to go.”

There’s three things I want to point out about that scene.

One: They’re clearly flirting, with Prairie being theinstigator of that banter.

Proof: The whole “You like weird” line belies anattraction on her part. And then, when Hap confirms that weird is good, Prairiecan no longer contain her joy over the revelation.

Two: Hap neverintended to take her.

Proof: When he closes his eyes, and began shaking his head,sadly whispering that he had to go. That right there alone shows that he wasn’t trying to manipulate her into leaving with him. He didn’t concoct some master plan to convince her either. Which later tells us that we’re seeing a much different Hap, than when he first exploited the other captives weaknesses against them. And here’s a little side note: This is also the moment when Hap’s internalwar began. His battle to become what Prairie’s presence demanded – abetter man.

Three: Look at Prairie’s face when he announces that he hasto leave and then calls for the check. Her face tells it all. Her smile slowlyfades and she appears to be internally fighting disappointment. She didn’t wanthim to go.

Now what was my point in laying that all out?

Well, I wanted to show the beginning of their attraction andthe slow burn, if you will, of Hap being brought back to life by Prairie in asense. Of course, we all know that Hap fell in love with Prairie, but I tend tobelieve that Prairie cared for Hap as well. That her feelings started all the wayback to the beginning at the oyster bar – perhaps further subconsciously, if mysoul connection theory is correct.

I do buy into Prairie’s story to the C5about her captivity and the other four captives, but I don’t believe that shewas completely honest about Hap, or should I say her feelings for Hap. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe she didn’t want to be labeled with Stockholm syndrome, or perhaps she was too embarrassed to admit it. I don’t know. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that Prairie was in love with Hap, but I am saying that there is some sort of hidden affection there. My reason for that assumption are a couple, one which I will go into further detail below and that being the soup from her childhood. The other is when Hap got into his death fight with Dr. Leon Citro and received that famous forehead cut. When Prairie saw him afterwards, he was a bit erratic, borderline frantic. So what does she do? Yep, you guessed it. She asks him about it. Why? What did she care if the guy got his head bashed in or not. Or if his work was challenged by someone else. He was her abductor, the very cause of her current predicament and yet, she is inquiring about his well-being. My point: She. Is. Not. Supposed. To. Care.

Period!

I mean, she loathes the man, right?

Well, you would think. But at times, it seems like her growing feelings for Homer are acounter reaction to what she initially felt for Hap…perhaps still does. Maybeour Dr. Percy wasn’t the only one in denial about his feelings. I know thatscene where Prairie cooks Hap soup from her childhood is also very insightful.For example, when Hap was staring at her in the kitchen and she literally calls him out on it.

“You’re looking at me.”

And he whispers this guilty, “yes.”

The woman literally turns full frontal on him, almost as ifshe was offering herself to him, like a sheep to the slaughter. Pushing againstthe boundaries of his humanity, by offering up the very thing he wanted – Her!And Hap literally looks like he considers it, his eyes actually does thisperusal of her body, then he pauses, as if ashamed and cowers down to theproposition. Now why did he do that? Because I think Prairie misjudged him. Shethought all he wanted was her body, when what Hap really wants is her heart.And how does he prove that? By passing up on an opportunity that will surelynever come his way again. At least in that dimension.

Which that whole scene is a bit of a contradiction when it comes to Hap. He is more than willing to violate her as a scientist by drowning her over and over again. But he cannot bring himself to violate her as a man. I guess his depravity will only go so far in that sense.

Anyways.

I could virtually go on and on about these two, but I thinkit may be best if I just wrap this all up in a nice, tidy little bow.

So to answer your question, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t sympathize withHap, or that I’m blind to the redeeming qualities that Prairie tends to bringout in him. He seems like a man that is desperate to be loved, to feel wanted,needed even. Kind of like Prairie. And just when it seems like the monster within him has overpowered what little empathy is left, he finds this woman that completelyunhinges him. Someone that’s brave enough to save him from his demons. Andcaptivating enough to disarm all his defenses, with her weapon of choice beinga simple smile. I personally think that Hap had given up on any possible hopeof redemption and then, Prairie comes along and suddenly – Hope has a name.

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pumpkins-s · 7 years

Text

Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters on Tumblr Here

Lance Alexander Rafael McClain is born in the middle of a summer storm, thunder cracking and rain slamming onto the roof of an old ramshackle house that had seen more than its fair share of children.

The miracle baby, that’s what the family had called Lance. The unexpected son to a mother of five daughters.

(In which family is always complicated, Lance’s life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, and he and Keith are really emotionally constipated for each other.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Keith/Lance, significant platonic Lance & Hunk

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran

Chapter 9: Liar

((Author’s Note:

Hello! New update here for SLAOS to kick off July before I get busy with my Klance Big Bang fic!

Before we begin, a few exciting things:

My lovely friend Logan has done some beautiful doodles of Mavis and Loraine, which you should absolutely check out here and here.

Also! Since I love having something to listen to while I read/work, there are now matching playlists for Loraine & Mavis for you to so check out if you so please! You can find the tumblr post for both playlists here (complete with coverart!), or go to them each directly-- Mavis: Spotify. Youtube. Loraine: Spotify. Youtube. ))

It takes four days before things to go to shit.

…Naturally.

Why on Earth would Lance have expected anything else, with such a foolish, hopeful, half-thought out idea?

It’s four days of awkward, stumbling missteps in trying to relearn himself, filled with scrambling changes of clothes every time he dares to look in the mirror and feels his stomach flop unsurely at seeing bright patterns and knock-off chiffon, pairing skirts with his loose, faded t-shirts in hopes of finding some suitable balance between memory and self-taught reality, and one rather memorable incident on the second day of this little mini-venture when Mavis had opened the bathroom door to find Lance in tears after he had accidentally jabbed himself in the eye with her half-stolen, half-borrowed mascara brush.

Even after making the decision to give this a try, it’s not as simple as throwing on a new set of clothes and calling it done. It’s hardly easy unlearn a year of practice keeping himself from these things, and it’s never really just been about clothes, regardless.

After all, Lance thinks, if this was just an odd addiction to what most people might call cross-dressing, then that might be easier to be rid of. But this… This is just himself. Lance. It’s an itch under his skin on hot, muggy mornings that he cannot escape and a distinct feeling of wrongness every time his shirts rub against his collarbone and long skirts sit too low on his thin, unshapely hips.

No matter what he does, even in this… experiment, it still feels like he’s running from himself, and it leaves him with an aching, wishful desire for the easy sense of self he’d known as a child, happy and unquestioning of what he wanted or how he wished to look or feel.

He’s not sure if this is all a result of his choices in the last year after losing Loraine, or if this was, perhaps, inevitable. Maybe he would have faced the same struggles had he persevered anyways as he got older.

Still, no doubt this would have been easier, with Loraine here.

…Then again, having Loraine would have meant no Mavis, and that in of itself is a can of worms and complicated feelings Lance isn’t quite ready to open yet.

Regardless, for those few strange, itchy, yet oddly content days, he presses on to figure out what he wants from this, what he wants from choice.

On the fifth day, he finds himself sprawled out on Mavis’s couch in the heat of the summer afternoon as the humidity clings to his skin, NASA t-shirt from his suitcase and skirt from Mavis’s purchases thrown on and the hair bow pinned haphazardly to his curls, tongue darting out idly to prod at the leftover sticky sweetness on his lips from an ill-advised foray into lip gloss, old stuff found in Mavis’s bathroom drawer that likely hadn’t been touched in years and was well past any advisable expiry date. He’s sitting in a position that would likely get him scolded for indecency at home— Shoulders resting on the cushions where he should be sitting and legs flung up in the air, knees hooked over the back of the couch and skirt pooling in his lap as his arm stretches past his head to flick through channels on the television with the remote clasped upside-down between loose fingers. Across from him, Mavis sits with her feet tucked up under the pillow Lance rests his head on, shirt abandoned in favor of just her sports bra and jean cut-off shorts, brow furrowed as she fiddles with a replacement string for her violin, loudly confident in her occasional bluster that she can do it herself rather than take it to the shop.

It’s a quiet, pleasant kind of companionable silence intermingled with the background noise of the TV ads and Mavis’s occasional swears as fine, long fingers poke and prod at delicate woodwork.

At least, until the sharp rap of knuckles on the front door jolts them both into awareness, attentions turned to it in half-awake confusion.

“Mavis?” A man’s voice rings out. “It’s me, are you home?”

Mavis blinks, looking to Lance for a moment, and then promptly trips over herself and falls to the floor with a squawk as she tries to scramble off the sofa. “Shit!”

“You okay?” The voice asks, concern drifting into the friendly words. “I’m gonna come in, alright?”

There’s the scraping of a key being inserted into the lock, and the door handle turns, sending Lance wiggling desperately in a similar failed maneuver to Mavis’s in an attempt to at least sit up properly. In some distant part of his mind, he wonders in what alternate universe Mavis, paranoid, private Mavis, would ever give some random guy who clearly wasn’t a relative a spare key, as Mavis waves her arms pointlessly from her upside-down position on the floor at the door, one knee still caught on the sofa, and screeches. “No, wait! Jeff—“

The door slams open all of three inches, before catching on the chain lock, and jolting to a sharp stop. Sighing, Mavis drops her arms, covering her face with one of them tiredly. “Chain lock, Jeff.”

“Whoops.” Half a man’s face hovers in view in the crack between the door and the wall, grinning abashedly. “Sorry, forgot.” Below him, another face, younger and with wider eyes, peers into the space as well as the man’s eyes slide over to Lance.

Lance’s heart catches in his throat as it finally registers with him what he is wearing, in plain view, to this man who is not Mavis and not safe, and he finds himself frozen, half-tempted to flee, but unable to find his feet.

“So…” The man drawls, thick New Jersey accent caught up in cigarette smoke roughness visible in his words. “Who’s the girl?”

“The what?” Mavis half mumbles, stumbling to her feet, grabbing her shirt where it lies on the coffee table and pulling it over her head as she staggers to the door and nudges it back enough to unhinge the chain lock, opening the door properly once it’s free.

“The kid?” The man says, sticking calloused hands into loose jean pockets and meandering into the room enough for Mavis to shut the door behind him, with his shadow hot on his heels, a boy around Lance’s age with dirty blonde hair that hangs in front of his eyes and a scattering of freckles on his forearms that stand out against his pale skin. “Wait, wait, don’t tell me…” He pauses, thinking. “…Your brother’s daughter? You mentioned you had family coming to visit, and you’re the youngest sibling, right? So…”

The guy’s gaze slides between Mavis and Lance, questioning, and with a lurch in his stomach, one part horror, one part elated relief, several things click into place for Lance all at once.

Most importantly, that this guy, amazingly, impossibly, thinks he’s a girl. Somehow.

A girl, not… Well.

Apparently a skirt, a hair bow, and a bit of old lip gloss did a lot more than Lance gave it credit for, especially given this was paired with his loose, boyish shirt that he knows for certain is one of Carlos’s old things, and his distinctly short hair.

“…What?” Mavis says, and then her eyes widen as she catches on, darting to Lance in a panicked question. “I mean, uh…” He stares back at her with something like frightened desperation as it fully registers their only options here are to roll with it or correct the man’s mistake and face the potential consequences, which is… unappealing. Making a split-decision in seconds, he silently begs her to play along.

He’s not ready to face it again. The judgmental looks, the uncomfortable questions. Not in this place that is supposed to be his secret haven. He knows nothing about these people, aside from the fact that they seem to know Mavis, and that alone is not enough to confirm they are safe for Lance.

“…Yeah.” Mavis finally finishes, trailing off unsurely and lapsing into momentary silence. “This is… My niece… Lance.” The man blinks, surprise flickering over his face, and Lance looks to his cousin with a strained, pleading expression, prompting a quick, aborted movement on her part that looks like something between a shrug and throwing up her hands, the meaning, as far as Lance can determine, best equated to a sentiment along the lines of ‘I panicked’.

Which… Fair enough.

“It’s… a nickname.” Lance offers unsurely, edging closer and wincing at how frail and borderline whispery his voice is. “Long story.”

“Alright then.” The man’s voice is bemused, but not unkind, and Lance unfurls, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as he registers that, yes, this guy has accepted the ruse without question. “Lance it is. It’s nice to finally meet Mavis’s niece. She doesn’t talk ‘bout her family half as much as she should.”

“Right then.” Mavis coughs into a fist, eyes flickering unsurely to Lance once more, as if she can’t quite believe this is happening either. “Lance, meet Jeff and his son, Tommy. Jeff and I um… work together, and Tommy helps out sometimes around school.” She turns back to the newly christened Jeff, sticking her hands into her back pockets in a nervous gesture that is purely Mavis, and goes to work doing what she does best— Deflecting. “You’re supposed to call me before you just come over, jackass.”

Jeff grins unashamedly, holding up his hands in an easy gesture of surrender. “I needed to go over some numbers with you for next month’s stock, and I was in the neighborhood.” Mavis raises an eyebrow, distinctly not amused, and Jeff waves the plastic bag in his left hand carefully. “I brought takeout, your favorite Chinese place.”

Something gives in Mavis’s expression, and she looks to Lance. “I don’t know if now is the best time, Jeff…”

“Come on,” Jeff waves his hand dismissively, and for the first time Lance finds his mannerisms rubbing him the wrong way. People listen to Mavis, that’s just part of the way she works, and to see someone so casually ignore her unsubtle suggestions is… unusual. Different. “You love Chinese. It’ll just be for a bit, promise.”

Hesitantly, Lance reaches out, catching Mavis’s fingers at her side, and she glances at him again, clearly sensing his discomfort. “…Leave the food on the kitchen counter. We can talk in my room, give us some quiet.”

“Great.” Jeff says jovially, sliding a hand around Mavis’s waist that makes Lance’s skin itch uncomfortably, and leading her away without a backwards glance. “Tommy, keep Ms. Lance company, yeah? Talk about your video game things or something.”

“Yeah, sure…” The boy mutters quietly, sounding as if he’d really rather not, and then Mavis is gone into the other room, quickly flashing Lance a reassuring smile as the door shuts behind her that he does his best to mirror.

After a couple long seconds, it properly registers that he is alone with Tommy, and he turns back to the other boy, the other boy who thinks he is a girl and who’s father apparently is close enough to Mavis to touch her like that, and prays that he doesn’t fuck this up too badly.

His only reassurance is that Tommy looks just as unsure and uncomfortable as he does.

“So…” The boy drawls, soft and questioning. “You’re… Mavis’s niece.”

“Um. Yeah.” Almost unconsciously, Lance crosses his arms, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “And your dad and Mavis… They… Work together?” His voice lingers on the last words, dubiousness easily soaking through. He may not know an exceeding amount about the adult world just yet, but he doesn’t think randomly showing up to someone’s apartment that they apparently have a key to with lunch is standard coworker behavior in the slightest.

At least, no one’s ever shown up to their house with lunch for any of his sisters or mother claiming to know them from work.

“A-Ah, yeah!” Tommy brightens considerably, nodding and shoulders relaxing slightly. “She works at Dad’s bar! She helps with my music theory homework for band class when I’m there after school sometimes, she’s really nice.”

“Yeah…” Despite himself, Lance feels a smile slip onto his face. “She is.”

“’M sorry about my dad, for the record.” Tommy offers. “I know he can be a bit… much. He just… really likes Mavis. He tries to find excuses to talk to her and stuff.”

“It’s alright.” Lance offers hesitantly, not completely sure if it is all right at all but trusting the other in his honesty in regards to the situation.

Tommy grins unsurely, bright and cheerful, and idly Lance catches a similar, fainter pattern of freckles along his cheeks to match the ones on his arms, scrawling around the length of his face and catching on the edges of his nose. “Yeah— Sorry, I don’t think that was a very good introduction before, with me hiding being my dad like that.” He sticks a hand out, thin fingers smudged with dirt and ratty friendship bracelets crowding his wrist. “Tommy Buchanan.”

Lance smiles, and takes the proffered hand, his darker skin tone contrasting sharply against Tommy’s. “Lance McClain.”

It’s only then that he once again considers the oddness of his name compared to this ruse— So easy Tommy’s presence is, at least, compared to his father, that it previously slipped his mind once more that this is… Happening.

Lord help him, whatever this is. Perhaps he would have been better off never touching those clothes Mavis had bought, had he known such complications would arise so quickly.

“Um—“ He shifts awkwardly, and Tommy shrugs amicably, retracting his hand as Lance lets go.

“Don’t worry. I know a girl named Dylan and another named Billie… And a guy who insists people call him Sugar. Lance isn’t the oddest nickname I’ve heard, especially not for a girl.” Tommy smiles, young and unassuming and all the things his father appears to be without the undercurrent of wrongness Lance in his potential paranoia feels. “I think it suits you.”

“Oh.” Lance feels heat scrawl across his face and shuffles back, bringing his hands in front of him and twisting his fingers together nervously. It’s… strange. It’s not that he’s never been complimented on his name before, but the idea of someone now appreciating it in a way that is wrapped up with the idea of him being not-a-boy is odd. He’s so used to forcing himself to associate what it means to be Lance with being what he needs to be— Not his memories of being Lancie Loo-Loo, the child that never feared these associations of name and meaning at all.

And no, someone thinking Lance and associating it with girl isn’t quite right either, but it’s something different, at least, and that is… enough. Maybe. Maybe.

“Thank you.” He says softly, and Tommy brightens.

Perhaps, he thinks, this is not so bad after all.

“…Do you want to watch TV with me?” He offers. “Mavis and I were watching this old music competition she likes.”

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hands shoved into his pockets and previous nervousness all but disposed with, and Lance feels himself breathe a sigh of relief.

Later, much later, long after the Chinese food resting in its plastic bag in a sorry heap on the counter has undoubtedly gone cold, Jeff and Mavis reappear from her room. Jeff collects Tommy as he leaves, the food still untouched where it sits as he loudly laughs and talks his way out, hand on Mavis’s back all the way to the door, and Tommy shyly waves Lance goodbye, chasing after his father down the hall without bothering to close those last couple steps of space between them.

They migrate back to the kitchen on an unspoken agreement in awkward silence, Mavis spooning out the now sticky, clinging-together mixes of rice and meat and vegetables into chipped bowls and shoving them into the microwave to reheat while Lance perches on one of the too-tall bar stools, legs kicking idly and meeting only air.

After their food is placed in front of them, Mavis sits down next to him, fork twirling in her hands as she pointedly looks down at the bench and not at Lance. “So that was… a thing. That happened.”

Lance blinks, and automatically fills his spoon and shoves it into his mouth. “…Yeah.”

“Jeff thinks you’re a girl.”

“They think I’m a girl.”

Mavis’s head thunks dully against the kitchen counter as she drops it, arm outstretched to snag the glass of some dark, auburn liquid Lance can safely assume isn’t meant to be shared with him that she’d poured while reheating their food, and then once again brings her head up enough to down the liquid in one fell swoop. “Is this good or bad?”

“I don’t know.” Lance says honestly, bones thrumming with the knowledge of exactly what just has occurred, and it’s the truth. He really doesn’t know— On the one hand, there’s the strange, bubbling elation at the idea of being something else for once. Maybe not what is right, whatever that is, but… Something. On the other, though, there is a kind of precarious inevitability to this sort of thing that promises doom. He is not prepared for this sort of situation, for the upkeep and forward planning needed to maintain... this.

If his mother or Marcie were here, they would promise him that this is his life, and he doesn’t have to keep secrets or, vise-versa, tell anyone anything he doesn’t want to, especially things that are none of their business. If Karen or Igraine were here, they’d call him an idiot for getting himself into such a mess, and then they’d smack Mavis upside the head for letting it happen.

If Loraine were here…

He doesn’t know.

If Loraine were here, it is very likely he wouldn’t be here altogether, either.

Lance trusts Mavis though. He knows this much, whatever that means for this rather odd little situation. “I really… don’t know.”

Distantly, he wonders if he should be panicking over this.

…Probably should, in all honesty.

He isn’t. At least not currently, though he can’t speak as to whether some kind of panic will set in later— He got good at compartmentalizing these things almost subconsciously, after Loraine. Right now he just feels… numb. Lost.

This is not overwhelmingly positive in any way, and this is not awfully bad. It’s certainly not easy, definitely, but it is what it is, and now the only question that remains is what to do with it.

“Mm.” Mavis hums, staring down at her empty glass and swishing the ice resting in its base gently as if it might offer her the secrets of the universe, or at least of their current predicament. “You’re damn lucky you inherited whatever same genes that Lucas got for a pretty androgynous appearance, honestly. And that your voice hasn’t dropped yet.”

Lance pales, and Mavis blinks, eyes widening as she rethinks her words, turning to him with a faintly panicked expression. “Hey, not saying that it will happen! You might get a fairly ranged or high-pitched voice, lots of people do! Look at me, I sound like a forty-year-old man often enough and I’m trying to pass myself off as a singer half the time!”

Lance snorts, breaking into unexpected giggles. “No, you don’t. You sound like Mavis.”

Mavis pauses, and then relaxes, a small, fond smile slipping onto her face. “…Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Lance says, awkwardly poking his spoon around the remnants of his lunch. “I’m not that worried about that sort of thing with um, with Jeff and Tommy, anyways. Like…” He frowns. “Yeah, it’s surprising, and it makes me a little nervous, not gonna lie, but this isn’t my real life, really. What they think I am or am not, it doesn’t matter that much. I’d just never really considered the fact that those… changes will happen one day.”

“Growing up happens to the best of us, Lance.” Mavis grins wryly. “We all just have to live with it, there’s not many alternatives.”

There’s a pause, soft but peaceful, as they both poke unsurely at their food, and then Mavis breaks into giggles, growing in volume and hysteria quickly. “God, what are we doing?”

Despite himself, Lance finds the infectious laughter catch him, leaving him burying his mirth in wide, tight-lipped smiles against his palms. “No idea.”

Mavis cackles at that, hunching over and sending her bar stool rocking unsteadily, and it only sends Lance into further giggles, grinning over his fingers as he peers down at her doubled-over form, her shoulders shaking from surprised, relief-stricken nerves.

It’s all a mess, but at least it’s their mess— To own, to claim, to do with as they please.

And that? That is good.

Eventually, after the food is finished and the dishes washed and left on the drying rack, they find themselves curled back up on the couch as the evening heat falls to mildly warm and humid night air that clings to their skin like a second pair of pajamas. The two of them sit in the middle with Lance slumped into Mavis’s side, her arm thrown over his shoulders and his fingers tangled in the edge of her large sleep shirt as she flicks through channels, looking for a late-night rerun of a movie or a cartoon.

There is a steeping quiet, made up of uncertainty and a million questions they both have about all this, and all the things they cannot understand about each other, even after Mavis finds an old anime being shown and leaves it with the volume on low.

Lance lets himself be the first to break their waiting, speaking into the night where the daylight may not have his unsure thoughts. “So… Jeff.”

Mavis freezes ever so slightly, eyes trained on the television. “Jeff.” She says. “Jeff is… a friend.”

“You said he was a coworker.”

“He is!” Mavis blinks, and then shrugs. “Well, I mean, technically it’s more like he’s my boss—“

“You’re sleeping with your boss?!” Lance screeches, surprise getting the better of him, and Mavis cringes.

“I’m not sleeping with anyone. And how do you even know what that means?! You’re like… barely twelve.”

“Mavis I grew up in a house with eight teenagers.” Lance deadpans. “I know what sex is, thank you very much!”

Mavis turns red, sputtering, and he sighs. “Geez, what is he like, ten years older than you?“

“Only eight, and it’s really— It’s really not like that, okay?” She says sharply, cutting him off, frame still tense and awkward, and Lance relents, burying back against her side and resting his head against her chest.

It’s a different sound than Loraine’s heartbeat, just ever so slightly in its feeling in a way he cannot explain, but it’s still calming, regardless. Mavis is not Loraine, but that does not inherently make her lesser. It just makes it… Well, different.

Loving Loraine, attaching himself to her as his anchor in the world, that was easy, natural. Mavis is… This is a foundation, a trust they have chosen to build, rather than one that was innately there from the beginning. They do not automatically know each other the same way Lance and Loraine did, but they have chosen to, and in a way that is maybe even more powerful.

Maybe.

It is difficult, he thinks, to define his relationship with others without using Loraine as a reference point, and he neither wants to live his life seeing everything as lesser than Loraine in some way, nor as ever coming to see the bond he shared with his sister as somehow less important, because of what it held in inexplicable connections over fostered faith and work.

“So what is it like, then?” He asks instead to quiet the rabbit-heartbeat thoughts of his mind, and Mavis hums, unsure and considering.

“I dunno kid, alright? It’s just… Jeff is kind to me, and the attention is nice, I guess. He’s apparently been really lonely since his wife, Tommy’s mom, left a few years ago, and I think he just likes having someone to talk to.” She shrugs, shifting Lance’s weight ever so slightly. “He says he needs me around, and it’s… It’s flattering. He owns the bar I work at, and when I started helping him with more managerial duties, my paycheck like… doubled. I was really struggling to make rent at the time so he inadvertently helped me out a lot there.”

Lance crinkles his nose. “Still. Giving him a key, though? You used to lock your bedroom door at home just to stop people from getting in. Including your brothers. Whom you shared the room with.”

Mavis makes an unhappy noise of half-hearted denial at that, twisting her hands together in a way he knows means she’s fibbing. “It just sort of ended up that way. I started doing all this extra work around the place and helping him with the books and suddenly there was just a lot of off-hours talks and him showing up with lunch and stuff and then it was just… easier, for him to have a key. I got used to it, I guess. He means well, and I don’t dislike the company. And it’s free food and stuff and… My job too, y’know.”

“It doesn’t sound like it makes you happy, though.” Lance says, because no matter what his dwellings on the knowing of Loraine versus the knowing of anyone else, he understands enough about Mavis to discern this, at least.

“It doesn’t make me unhappy, and that’s enough when it comes to me dealing with people.” Mavis says firmly. “He’s… It’s complicated.”

“I guess.”

“I promise you it’s fine.” She says with all the certainty that comes with being someone like Mavis. “I’m not going to start shacking up with psychos or something, don’t worry.”

Lance grins against her sleeve, shaking his head ever so slightly. “If you say so.”

That night is when the panic does come, fleeting but certain as it leaves him breathless and stumbling from sleep, dreams of hands yanking back his hair and cutting and of whispered voices from long-left classrooms chasing after him. It’s a wordless hum of anxiety of what happens if they know, what happens if they find out, that leaves him rolling and scrambling his way off the pullout mattress and up into Mavis’s bed, clinging to her shakily as she whines sleepily and shifts over enough to make room for him, patting his head absently as she passes out again.

He falls asleep to the soothing sounds of her breathing and the distant honks of the cars in the night traffic outside, and in the morning she makes him frozen waffles that are still soggy after being toasted and promises him that if he wants it so, Jeff and Tommy will never set foot in this apartment again while he is here.

And it’s the truth, for a couple days— Before Jeff calls to invite himself over for lunch with a fifteen minute warning Mavis cannot seem to deny him, and Lance throws on a frilly shirt and shorts without thinking.

That second time, he doesn’t bring Tommy, and Lance sits fidgeting uncomfortably in the corner.

The third time, he does, and Tommy teaches Lance poker with the card set he brought stuffed in his shorts pocket with a hopeful, hesitant expression.

Despite everything, the Buchanans suddenly seem to become a part of the regular schedule, after that.

Perhaps it’s not surprising, in a way. This may be Lance’s escape from his reality, but this is Mavis’s actual life at the end of the day, and apparently Jeff and Tommy, for better or for worse, are part of it.

And so he gets used to Jeff showing up every few days to eat or to talk or to drag Mavis out to go somewhere with him, and to dodging inside the bedroom every time he hears a knock at the door and he’s not appropriately dressed, per se, just in case.

It becomes a part of the new normal disconcertingly quickly, if he’s being honest.

He likes Tommy’s company, at least. It’s odd, hanging around someone the same age as him— He’s used to befriending people who are technically older, no matter how infinitesimal that one year gap between himself and Hunk might feel, and knowing Tommy’s only a few months older is odd.

Not bad, but… Definitely odd.

Still, it’s nice, to have someone to hang out with when Jeff inserts himself into Mavis’s daily schedule with charming smiles and reassuring words, and Tommy holds a kind of quiet peacefulness different from Hunk or Yuu’s that Lance can appreciate. The afternoons he spends playing snap or go fish with him and helping him braid more messy friendship bracelets for his wrists and ankles are… Good.

It’s undeniably strange when Tommy braids him ones in bright pinks and yellows and tells him that they’re nice colors for a girl like him, but that’s not bad either. It’s a strange half-ruse he adjusts to. Not quite a lie, not quite truth.

He thinks of home, sometimes, when he works, and he sets aside three bracelets, lavender and yellow and dark red, for Ritzie and Hunk and Yuu.

An obnoxiously neon pink one gets made for Mavis, to match the bright nail polish she puts on her toes every few days with consistency, and she ties it to her ankle and doesn’t take it off.

Lance ends up with six, all from Tommy in varying colors, scattered up his arms, and he admires them as he desperately tries to ignore the anxious curling in his gut when Tommy rambles happily about his father.

Jeff makes Mavis happy, or so she says, and that’s what’s important.

Outside of that, it’s nice. Mavis cooks oversized bowls of spaghetti or makes toasted tomato and cheese sandwiches on the nights she doesn’t give up and order takeout or pizza, and the two of them eat dinner sometimes on the couch with old anime reruns on the television. She takes him sight-seeing around her schedule and to the theater she works as a stagehand at on the slow days, introducing him to her coworkers there, all of whom Lance likes infinitely more than Jeff, if he’s being honest. He dresses in his clothing from home on those occasions, until his second visit when he spots what he had at least previously assumed was a man in tights and heels milling about the stage and a then assumed woman wearing a binder and wifebeater.

“It’s off-Broadway theater in New York, Lance.” Mavis tells him airily. “Almost everyone’s either queer, not-cis, or liberal as all fuck.”

After that, he hesitantly dresses as he pleases for each particular day on those occasions, and Mavis takes him for ice cream from the corner dairy afterwards like clockwork.

He listens in the spare evenings as Mavis practices the instrument of the day, most often the tiny upright piano jammed in the corner of the living room or her violin, and calls out song requests based off whatever show or movie was just on TV.

Mavis, blessed by her ability to play by ear, normally nails them.

Once his three and a half weeks are up, Lance packs away the clothes he didn’t bring with him in the first place into Mavis’s closet, pockets the random junk she bought him, and leaves with photos for Marcie, a book for Evie, Tommy’s number programmed into his phone with a promise to text, and thirty-six missed calls from Hunk.

And then he, reluctantly, unsurely, clinging to Mavis’s sweater in the airport as he hugs her goodbye and wonders how long it might be until he sees her again, goes back home.

Home to Veradera.

#Voltron #voltron fanfic #vld fanfic #my writing #Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink (Voltron)

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