#like just with the fact he kept his anxieties and depression all bottled up and how he never got help from his past with his father i just
Note
Ted Lasso hcs bc I have so many....
Ted is autistic. There are zero allistic explanations for anything he does.
He also has ADHD
He's bi (I mean obviously) and he's known for a while. He just says he's straight bc he thinks it's easier to say that than to explain bisexuality to straight people who just don't get it.
Trent had no idea he was bi and is shocked to find out Ted has dated men.
Has body image issues (I love making fictional characters have all my problems)
Gets diagnosed with autism later in life. Everything starts to make a lot more sense to him after his diagnosis.
He snores in his sleep and is a blanket hog. The snoring doesn't bother Trent bc he also snores.
Kinda canon but he hates being angry. Like if he is angry at someone he feels like the worst person alive.
Also somewhat canon but he's an alcoholic. He starts working on it in therapy.
Legally adopts Trent's daughter. Ted loves her so much it kind of scares him at first.
THIS!!!! i remember i talked about ted being autistic with a friend before and how he went undiagnosed for soo long because people just thought it was some sort of quirk of his like his jokes that only a white middle aged man from kansas gets
#its also this whole thing with henry also being autistic and got diagnosed earlier and ted seeing the diagnosis and being like.#/oh!/ and everything just clicking#<- queue that one post thats like hes wearing a suit to his autism appointment HELP#IM JUST NODDING AT ALL OF THESE BTW. no need to add anything im just reading and giggling and kicking my feet#pn.ask#PAPA LASSO THOUGHHHH 🥺🥺#like just with the fact he kept his anxieties and depression all bottled up and how he never got help from his past with his father i just#know this man would be too 'busy' to even stop and think about if hes autistic or not until his own kid started showing symptoms that hit#way too close to him methinks#I HOPE IM MAKING SENSE AND NOT STEPPING ON ANY TOES i am an undiagnosed beast so idk how anything works so im just Rotating it#<- definitely projecting a little bit
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Invisible scars
(TW: religious trauma)
Looking at me, you wouldn't know that I've survived religious trauma. The marks of religious trauma are seldom visible. In fact, I had no idea for the longest time that I had religious trauma (I thought it was a thing that happened to other people). I simply spent decades questioning the reasons I felt like I was so broken on in the inside. I kept trying to figure out what I was doing wrong and why I never felt happy or like I was never able to connect to anyone. I had no idea that my experience with the church as a small child is what shaped me into the anxiety-ridden, majorly depressed disaster creature I am today.
I spent 12 years learning inside of Catholic schools. It has taken me more than 20 years to process and deconstruct, and I am always going to be a work in progress. I was brainwashed into believing the very worst about myself, and I was always just beyond saving because I had the misfortune of being a woman in a church that taught us that women experience pain during childbirth as a natural consequence of Eve eating the apple, which is why they enjoy making us suffer in the first place. They taught us that Adam ate the apple because Eve seduced him, so even though Adam also ate the apple, his sin still wasn't as bad as Eve's because she did it first and used sex to get him to do the same. They placed the blame for Original Sin squarely on Eve and thus onto every single girl who entered the church. If a boy did something to me that I didn't like, it's probably because I did something to provoke him first.
Do you know what I learned to do at a very young age just to be able to cope with that?
I learned to use humor to deflect when I was struggling. I smile when I don't want people to know I'm sad. I laugh at inappropriate times, especially when I'm uncomfortable. I learned to bottle up all of my emotions because expressing anything other than happiness is bad. I learned to compartmentalize. I taught myself how to pull out the right emotion for the right occasion because I was always striving to be who I thought everyone else wanted me to be. It was exhausting.
In the midst of all of this, I'm trying to figure out which parts of me are really me and which parts of me are things that were put into my head. If you've experienced indoctrination, you know what I'm talking about. They pulled us apart as small children and placed us in specific boxes and told us that deviating from the norm was bad.
Crowley is a fallen angel. His change from angel to demon is drastic on the outside.
You know he fell and that his wings turned black and he ended up in a pool of boiling sulfur. It's the reason Crowley is so easy to sympathize with. He suffered unfairly because of arbitrary rules that deemed him unforgivable. He's accepted that part of himself. He's clever and creative and it has helped him find ways to get out of doing his job for centuries. Hell doesn't care how jobs get done just as long as someone does them, and at this point humanity is doing more to damn themselves than the demons are able to keep up with. They're tired and overworked. Hell is overpopulated even though it should be infinite in size. Crowley wants no part of that system because he sees it for what it is, just as he sees Heaven for what it is. He has the marks to prove that he is one of the damned, but that has given him all the perspective he needs to see that both sides are fucked up and toxic and "irredeemable" (just like him). He has yet to fully let go of the hold Heaven has over him because of how badly he got hurt.
Aziraphale is still an angel.
He never fell, and he doesn't know why. He has lied to God. He has lied to Gabriel repeatedly. He lies to protect Crowley. He lies to protect humanity.
Remember, Crowley and Aziraphale started off in the same place.
They both started off as angels who were created to do God's bidding. Aziraphale is the one who told Crowley what he'd heard about everything shutting down in 6,000 years. He was simply trying to make conversation. He didn't think it was something Crowley would object to. Angels were just supposed to go along with God's plans, but Crowley had a different opinion and was vocal about it. Where did Aziraphale get his information in the first place? Why does nobody ever ask this question?
Aziraphale knows Heaven is toxic. He's not blind. We need to move past this idea that because he still has love for God that he doesn't know Heaven is fucked up. He never fell, and it's something he still fears because who the hell doesn't fear the thought of eternal torment, especially if you know it's real? God has never cast him out of Heaven though and he doesn't know why. It's probably something that hangs over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
Letting go is not an easy task. Aziraphale has always been an angel. He didn't have his identity ripped from him the same way that Crowley did. Crowley had to adapt to a brand new way of existing because he was cast out of Heaven.
Crowley's trauma is evident on the outside. Aziraphale's trauma is hidden on the inside. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there.
Crowley was an angel and then he was a demon, but he doesn't want to be labeled as either.
Aziraphale has only ever known how to be an angel. He's only ever known the ways of Heaven.
I'm only in my early 40s. It has taken me 20+ years to undo 12 years of religious abuse. Aziraphale is immortal. He and Crowley have abandoned their jobs, but four years in the space of millions isn't a lot. No one overcomes indoctrination in four years. Especially when you had millions of years of blind obedience indoctrinated into you. It simply does not work that way no matter how much you want to believe it can.
It has taken me more than two decades to learn how to stop hating myself. I still have no idea how to love myself, but it's something I'm trying to learn.
My entire identity was wrapped up in what the church told me it would be. Once I fully denounced it and all organized religion, I found out I had no idea who I was. No one had prepared me for a life outside of this one very specific identity and role that I was expected to fill based on a very specific box I was placed into.
I still struggle with black and white concepts. It's hard to unlearn when you have no other basis for comparison, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. It means that these changes do not and will not ever happen overnight.
The fall didn't just affect the demons though. It affected the angels as well. Look at how tightly wound the angels are. They're always trying to do the good thing, but they have no idea what that actually means, and you realize this when Uriel asks The Metatron if they had done something wrong. They are scared of making mistakes, but none of them know what they are supposed to be doing since Gabriel disrupted the status quo. You can see they are unsure of themselves and of each other. The concept of free will is so foreign to them, but Aziraphale showed all of them that it was in their grasp when he allowed Gabriel and Beelzebub to decide where to go so they could be together.
It takes a lot of audacity (and sheer ignorance) to dismiss Aziraphale as power-hungry and abusive.
Aziraphale did nothing to punish Gabriel and Beelzebub. He allowed them to leave because they were in love with each other, and he knows what that feels like. He thought he was about to get the same fate with Crowley until The Metatron showed up and refused to take no for an answer.
He doesn't want to fix Heaven because he thinks it's perfect. If he thought it was perfect he wouldn't want to fix it.
Aziraphale is going back into the Lion's Den. He knows what he's going up against. He's been humiliated and belittled and abused by Heaven for thousands of years.
His scars are there even though you can't see them, and he hides his pain with humor and silliness.
When I see people advocating for Aziraphale to suffer even more because they don't think he has suffered enough, I find myself sitting back in one of those classrooms in Catholic school being told that I deserve the bad things that happen to me because I somehow failed to measure up to some impossible metric. The cruelty of that mindset aimed at Aziraphale is kinda the reason Crowley hates Heaven in the first place because he's been there too.
And as someone who is processing religious trauma, it's disheartening to see people say that because Aziraphale has yet to fully let go of Heaven that he deserves harsher treatment. Crowley would definitely not agree with that sentiment.
#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#religious trauma#ex catholic#i don't know if this makes sense#i know the discourse on religious trauma is already another thing in this fandom#but this is how i process#deconstructing isn't fucking easy
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Baby Blues | Jake Seresin & Shy!Wifey
Opposites Attract Masterlist | Main Masterlist
✧ synopsis: Y/N has been struggling after the birth of her third baby, but Jake reminds her that its okay to not be okay. based off of a Black-ish episode.
✧ word count: 3.2k
✧ warnings: postpartum depression, breast feeding, overbearing parents, crying, cursing, mentions of miscarriage.
It felt like the day had been a whole year. There wasn’t ever a guide that helped parents navigate on how children would react to adding another one to the mix. Jake and Y/N thought that after having two perfect kids, adding in a third wouldn’t be that big of an issue. Alex was six, and Ella had just turned three when Eli was born. Sure, the whole birth of their newest son had been anything but ideal, but they thought that had everything figured out. Both Jake’s mom and Y/N’s mom had told them that the third baby was always a cakewalk.
But, Y/N was finding out that the third baby was not a cakewalk. Well, not for her anyway.
She had felt this before but couldn’t quite put a name to it. She remembered the feeling of anxiety as she’d sit and nurse her babies or whenever she’d pump. It was worse with Alex than it ever was with Ella, and Y/N liked to blame that one on the Navy for all the shit they put Jake through. But there was no reason to blame the Navy for what she was feeling. The anger, the self-loathing, the anxiety, the depression.
“Momma! Eli is crying again!” Ella shouted from the living room. Y/N sighed as she set down the paring knife in her hand as she was preparing the kids’ lunch.
“You go get him,” Jolene said, “I’ll take care of the lunch.”
“Thank you,” Y/N said to Jake’s mother before heading into the living room where the kids were. Alex was doing his best to try and soothe his baby brother when Y/N walked in. Alex had taken to the role of a big brother just as easily as he had the first time. Ella, however, had her moments and was still getting used to the fact that there was someone younger than her in the house.
“Oh my boy,” Y/N cooed as she picked up the five-month-old from Alex’s arms, “You must be hungry.”
“Does he want apple slices too?” Ella asked and Y/N chuckled.
“No, he can’t have apple slices yet. How about you two go play out in the backyard and I’ll come get you when lunch is ready?”
The older Seresin kids nodded and scampered outside. Y/N walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, angling herself so she could still see them outside. Jolene glanced up from the fruit she was cutting, watching as her daughter-in-law struggled with the hungry baby in her arms, getting him settled to feed. Jolene had decided to make an impromptu visit to come see her son and her grandkids. Not that Y/N minded having her here, but more than a couple of hours’ notice would’ve been nice. But, Jolene was an extra set of hands with the kids and Y/N wasn’t complaining.
“C’mon mister,” Y/N muttered as Eli kept moving his head and unlatching from her breast, “You’re hungry, I got what you need.” But Eli was not having it today and let out a soft grunt in annoyance. Y/N huffed and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, “Jolene, can you grab one of the bottles from the fridge please?”
Jolene hummed in acknowledgment and grabbed one of the already pumped-out bottles of milk. Eli had moments where he’d want to feed directly from Y/N or the bottle, and he let both his parents know, putting up a fight until he was satisfied. Jolene warmed up the bottle before handing it to Y/N, who adjusted Eli in her arms to receive the bottle. Jolene watched over Y/N’s shoulder as Eli’s crying ceased and he began to suckle on the bottle.
“There, look at him,” Jolene smiled at her grandbaby, “Stubborn like his father.”
“Yeah,” Y/N said plainly.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“Nothing,” Y/N shook her head, “I just. . . I don’t even know why, but I just get kind of upset when he won’t feed from me. I know it’s not a bad thing but. . . With the first two I was an overproducer, when they weaned off, I ended up donating the milk I was still producing months after. But with Eli, I feel like I’m hardly making anything, but I know that’s not true,” Y/N let out a sigh and looked down at her baby, who’s eyes were half open, “It’s just a struggle, but I’m getting through it.”
All Jolene did was nod, and try her best to not have a skeptical look on her face. Things sure had changed in the world of motherhood since she had her kids. New research and science had developed and women were feeling more comfortable starting the conversation about how they felt after birth. Jolene had watched her eldest daughter, Andrea struggle to the first time she became a mom, and Jolene never quite understood it.
Once Eli was done eating, Y/N called her older kids to come in for lunch. She served them PB & Js with cut up fruit and veggies. Ella had managed to get grape jelly all over her face and Alex was not so sneakily handing Bucky carrots under the table. When the kids’ bellies were full, Y/N had them go lay down and take a rest while Eli took his nap. Alex was old enough to not need a full nap, but he’d go to his room and look through his books or play with his train set. Ella had started her nap in her room but somehow ended up curled next to Y/N, while Eli slept in his bassinet by Y/N’s bedside.
When Jake arrived home from his morning helping Rooster paint the nursery at his house, he was met with silence in the house, which was a rarity with three kids. He set his keys down in the bowl by the door and kicked his shoes off, before heading into the kitchen.
“Hey ma,” Jake greeted his mom with a kiss on her cheek as she sat at the kitchen table reading on her kindle.
“Hi sweetboy,” Jolene smiled, “How was your morning?”
“Good,” Jake said, opening the fridge and finding the plate of food that Y/N had made for him. He smiled at the sticky note and put it in his pocket, “Rooster insists on hanging up his Grateful Dead poster, but his wife said no way in hell, so it was a bit of a standoff.” Dragon could be one stubborn beast when she really put her mind to it, “How was yours? Kids good?”
“Yes,” Jolene nodded, “They are always good kids, Jake. They are all napping right now,” Jake nodded and took a bite of the sandwich Y/N had made, “How long has Y/N been. . . feeling off?”
Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he chewed the bread in his mouth and swallowed, “Well, she got diagnosed with postpartum depression a couple weeks ago and started a low dose antidepressant. She’s doing better, sees her doctor regularly, talks to a therapist when she needs to. Why?”
It was as if Jake had told his mother to fuck off, the look on Jolene’s face was one of pure shock and awe.
“She’s feeding my grandchild while on pills?” Jolene gasped.
Jake rolled his eyes, “It’s a low-dose antidepressant and it doesn’t pass onto her milk supply, her doctor and therapist told us both that. Eli is fine. And maybe instead of shaming her, you should be proud of her for taking charge of her mental health.”
Jake had been so proud of Y/N for speaking up and telling him that she needed help. He had watched as she struggled through the postpartum blues with Alex, and then a little bit with Ella. But with Eli, it seemed to have all gotten worse. Jake watched as the light slipped from his wife’s eyes and how she would cry every time Eli cried. He knew it was hard for her to speak up and tell her doctor what was wrong. It made her feel like she had failed somehow, but both Jake and her doctor told her that it would be okay, and that she was taking the steps in the right direction.
“What does she have to be depressed about?” Jolene asked, “She has three beautiful babies, a beautiful house, and a husband who has money,” She scoffed, “She has no reason to feel like that.”
“She also lost a baby.”
“Well,”
“I am not having this conversation with you,” Jake shook his head, and tossed his half-eaten sandwich in the garbage, “Your daughter-in-law is doing everything she can to be a good mother. There are worse things she could be doing than taking a ten-milligram pill once a day to help her.”
Jolene pursed her lips as her son left the kitchen. His feet carried him upstairs towards his bedroom, where he saw his sleeping wife and two youngest kids. Ella had starfished herself out on the bed, her little arm in Y/N’s face. Jake chuckled, that girl could take up a whole California king-sized bed if they would let her. He shredded off his khaki shorts, leaving him in just a t-shirt, and snuggled up behind his wife. Y/N stirred a bit at the feeling of an arm wrapping around her middle, but Jake pressed his lips to her shoulder, soothing her back to sleep.
— — —
They hardly ever went out anymore.
When they first started dating, Jake and Y/N would go on all sorts of dates. From movies to dinner, to dancing, to karaoke, to just getting in the car and picking a direction to go. That all changed when they had kids. But Jake found it important that they still tried to set aside one day every two weeks for them to go out on a date. It did them both some good to leave the kids with a sitter and have time to themselves. Sometimes, they’d even go drop the kids off at Y/N’s parents’ house so they could just have the house to themselves.
Tonight was their date night, and Jolene had so graciously volunteered to watch the kids for them. They had decided to just go downtown, enjoy the Marina and get fish tacos. Maybe, if Jake were feeling lucky, he’d get her to walk on the beach with him. Even though they had been married for a little more than half a decade, Jake still got that goofy boyish grin on his face whenever he thought about going on a date with his wife.
“Is this okay?” Y/N asked as she stepped out of her closet. Her outfit was simple; cute light wash capri jeans, with a navy blue striped shirt and a white jean jacket.
“Of course,” Jake smiled, standing up from the bed and walking over to her. He gently grabbed her face in both of his hands and brought her up for a kiss, “You could wear a garbage sack and still look amazing.”
Y/N giggled, and pecked his lips again, “You flatter me, Mr. Seresin.”
“All in a day’s work, Mrs. Seresin,” He kissed her again, before letting her go so she could finish getting ready.
Jolene was busy prepping the kitchen for dinner, which Jake was shocked she even knew how to make. His mother was a loving woman, but she had her parameters when it came to that love. She hardly ever cooked, they had hired people to do that for them. Jolene was primarily a baker, and would slave away baking pies, cakes, cookies, you name it for hours. Jake also didn’t know if his mother knew how to take care of an infant. He remembered the various nannies he had growing up who would take care of the new sibling for his mother.
Ella and Alex were set at the kitchen table coloring away, while Y/N was holding Eli in her arms. This was the first date night they had had since he was born. It was a terrifying thought to leave Eli alone for a couple of hours. Jake watched as Y/N’s eyes started to gloss over as she bounced Eli slightly. She knew she needed to go out and enjoy the fresh air and time alone with her husband, it was so hard to put her baby down.
“Sweets,” Jake said, placing his hand on her arm, “We should get going.”
Y/N nodded and swallowed back the tears ready to fall, “Okay.” Jolene was right there, ready to take Eli from Y/N’s arms. Y/N sucked in a breath and carefully handed the baby over to her, “Okay. He has two bottles ready to go in the fridge. He can have one in like fifteen minutes and one in about three hours, but I don’t think we’ll be out that long.”
“Take as long as you need,” Jolene smiled, “They’ll be just fine.”
Y/N nodded again and Jake ran his hands down her arms, “We should get going. Alex, Ella, come tell us goodbye.” The older Seresin kids jumped off their chairs and came sprinting to their parents, hugging them tightly and giving them a kiss on the cheek, “Be good for Gramma, alright?”
“Yes, mommy!” Alex said and hugged his mother again.
“Please call, if anything and I mean anything happens,” Y/N told Jolene.
“We will be okay. Enjoy your night, kids.”
Jake smiled at his wife and put his arm around her shoulders, directing her towards the front door. It took all the power in her body to not turn around and go back to get Eli. Jake could feel her trembling slightly under his arm, and planted a kiss on the side of her head. He helped her get into his truck, and buckled her in, kissing her lips.
“I’m proud of you,” He said and Y/N caressed his cheek with her thumb, “Let’s go get tacos. Bird Boy has been talking about these shrimp tacos for three weeks and I gotta try them before I lose my shit.” Y/N giggled and sat back in the seat. Jake shut her door and jogged around to the driver's seat.
— — —
Rooster had been right about the shrimp tacos, they were some of the best things Y/N had ever had in her life. The date had gone wonderful. They had gotten tacos from the truck that Rooster recommended, and then walked along the marina before settling on a spot on the beach. Jake had convinced her to walk along the shore when they were done eating, and he held her in his arms as the dark waves crashed against their ankles. Then they went to the Hard Deck, where Jake had a drink and Y/N a lemonade, both enjoying the silence of sitting next to one another in a booth before coming home.
Jolene stood up from the couch as the front door opened and her son walked in, his wife in tow behind him. She smiled at the happy looks on their faces.
“Welcome home,” She greeted, “Alex and Ella are in bed.”
Y/N nodded and walked over to Eli, who was asleep in the pack-in-play by the couch. She was surprised that he was even asleep, he usually fought to go down at night. She swore that he had his days and nights mixed up while he was in the womb, and it only proved to be right when he was born.
“He’s sleeping?” Y/N asked, running her finger over his cheek, “How did you do that?”
“Gave him a little something to eat,” Jolene shrugged, “Tell me, how was the date!”
Y/N let Jake fill his mother in on the date as she walked to the kitchen to update her feeding log. She grabbed the small notebook that was in the cabinet by all the bottles, and opened the fridge to see how much milk she had left bagged up. However, she was met with a much greater shock. Dropping the notebook, she grabbed the two bottles still in the fridge and marched into the living room, her heart beat in her ears.
“H-how come these are still full?” Y/N asked, interrupting their conversation and holding the bottles up to show Jolene.
“Oh, I gave him some formula you had in the pantry,” Jolene waved it off like it was the most okay thing in the world.
“W-what?” Y/N stuttered out, her chest becoming tight with tears, “H-he’s never had formula. I’m just breastfeeding right now.”
“Well, I thought that maybe your milk was the reason why he was so cranky and didn’t want to go to bed, you know with all the pills and stuff,” Jolene said, trying to justify what she had just done.
Y/N took a deep breath, and slammed the bottles down on the side table, “Are you kidding me? What the hell!?”
“Okay, you need to calm down,” Jolene said, holding her hands up in defense.
“No,” Y/N ran a hand through her hair, “I just. . . I put up with a lot of things you have done. I don’t say anything when you make fun of my parenting styles, or my hair, or my clothing, or the fact that I wouldn’t hire a nanny and you said I was ‘out of my damn mind’.”
“A nanny would be a big help,” Jolene chided and Y/N clenched her jaw. She sat down wordlessly on the couch and held her head in her hands.
“Ma,” Jake spoke up as he watched his wife leave the room, “You crossed a line. Y/N is right. You haven’t always been the nicest and she lets you get away with it. But this is too far.”
Jolene shook her head, “I fed my grandbaby, that’s all I did. Sorry, I won't let him starve and be pumped full of depressants.” Jake didn’t say anything as Jolene grabbed her purse from the coffee table and walked out the door towards her rental car in the driveway. He let out a sigh as he listened to the car pull out of the driveway and head down the street.
Jake walked over to the couch and sat down next to his wife. He put her hand on her knee and that's when the dam broke and sobs started pouring out of her mouth. Jake grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her closer to him, putting his lips on the crown of her head, and running his thumb over her pulse point. His green eyes looked over to where his sleeping baby was.
“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, pulling away from Jake and wiping her eyes, “I didn’t. . . She’s right, she didn’t let him-”
Jake shook his head and wrapped her arms around her, “She didn’t have the right to do that. She knew right from wrong and chose to do that wrong thing.” Y/N nodded her head, “What do you need me to do?”
“Can you just hold me? Please?” Y/N said meekly and Jake kissed her forehead again. He shifted them on the couch so he was laying down and her on top of him. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heart.
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Our World Au - Haircut
Characters: Idia Shroud, Floyd Leech, briefly Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit, Malleus Draconia, mentions Ortho Shroud
Tags: mentions of cutting hair, insecurity, bleach (for hair) and depression/anxiety
A haircut
Idia stared at the mousy brown mop draping down his shoulders in the mirror.
“Just d-do it!” He gulped, closing his eyes and tensing his shoulders.
Floyd laughed, taking his hair and putting it into a neat ponytail. “Y’know hair doesn’t have nerve endings, right?”
Idia flushed pink and kept his eyes shut. “Just get it ov-ov-over with-with!”
Floyd just shot him a grin and straightened out Idia’s shoulders. “Relax, firefly squid. I’m a good stylist, just ask Black Tailed Gull!”
Somehow, Rook’s straight cut bangs didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in Idia. Instead, the poor third year was shaking as he sat, tugging at his bangs as Floyd finally got his hair in a ponytail.
“‘S not gonna hurt. I’ve never nicked anyone by accident.”
“What about on-”
Snip
“-purpose.”
Idia went silent as Floyd began cutting. He seemed engrossed in his work as he chopped through the thick rope of hair little by little.
“Eh, sometimes I get bored ‘n I just wanna see someone squirm a little. Set the hairdryer too high, drop some soup on the table, spill some ink in class…y'know.”
“I-I really don’t.”
“So you just keep goading Azul into board games for what? Business?”
“That’s completely different! The fact Azul refuses to play games based on chance rather than strategy only makes it more of a challenge! He throws a fit if he loses, I swear he almost popped a blood vessel when we played Magical Life!”
There’s a snicker from somewhere behind him as suddenly a ton of weight is lifted from Idia’s shoulders. There’s a breeze in the room that wasn’t there before, and a pop in his neck as he leans back after a moment.
Floyd stands there, holding the ponytail of hair high like he caught a fish and is posing for a picture he’ll use on tinder.
“‘S pretty heavy, for hair.” He looks over it a moment as Idia begins to get up. “Eh~? What’re you doin? Sit down, we’re not done.”
Two hours of silence as Idia sits perfectly still while Floyd styles his hair. The only sound filling the room is their breathing and an awkward quiet that sits in the room like humidity.
“Kay. We’re almost done- just gotta bleach ‘n dye.”
“B-Bleach?”
Floyd hums, not acknowledging his apprehension. He’s busy mixing the bleach, shaking the bottle so vigorously the liquid might not even be mixing at this point. Or maybe it was mixed at first shake, who knows.
“Wha-what are y-you going to do with-with that?” Idia watches with wide eyes locked onto the bottle.
Floyd grins, wiggling it back and forth a moment before he comes closer. “‘S a surprise. Now, don’t move - don’t wanna get this in your eyes.”
“I-I thought you said you’ve never hurt someone whi-while doing h-hair?”
He grins, laughing, “I said not on purpose. Now be a good squid and sit still.”
Floyd is surprisingly thorough as he works the peroxide bleach from the tips of Idia’s short, fluffy hair all the way back to the roots, each and every strand covered in the stinking solution. It lightens surprisingly fast, though Idia’s hair did border on blond prior, and soon he’s so blonde it’s nearly white.
He takes great care in rinsing Idia’s hair, much to the third year’s surprise. His hands aren’t too rough and he manages to hold him up enough that his back doesn’t dig into the bathtub and he doesn’t fall in. It’s almost soothing, aside from the fact that it’s Floyd. He’s even more calming as he towels and blow dries Idia’s hair, revealing a solid ten lift.
It’s a few moments of silence as Floyd admires his work, fluffing Idia’s hair and making sure its completely dry. Heterochromatic eyes have never seemed so observant or focused, nor has his quietness seemed so…ominous.
Idia nearly gets up again when Floyd just pushes him back down into his chair, then walks off to grab something. He returns, silent, a few minutes later with two small boxes and a pair of gloves.
“Don’t move or it’ll make a mess.”
The stench of peroxide and burning hair and bathroom soon has a new dimension added - bergamot, citrus, and the general smell of earl grey tea. For a moment, Idia had thought perhaps Riddle had come to his rescue, but the cool feeling of something on his head suddenly threw that thought to the wayside.
Idia stands at the top of the stairway, Floyd grinning and shooing him further into view.
Bright blue hair bounces as he slowly steps down in a dramatic princess reveal, tired eyes looking nervous and excited and terrified all at once.
Rook notices first, exclaiming excitedly, “Ah! Roi de Ta Chambre! Monsieur Spontinae! What a wondrous change to one's aesthetic! Magnifique!”
“You look nice, Shroud. Much better than the matted mess you had before.” Vil said, standing up to come over and circle around Idia. His scrutinizing eyes made a chill run down Idia’s spine, sending shivers through him. He look nervously back as he tried to find words.
“You look nice. Your hair is much more similar to the younger Shroud’s now.” Malleus said, standing stiffly in front of him.
Idia paused. It almost looked like he was shutting down, eyes going teary and arms folded tightly across his chest, long fingers digging nails in through his hoodie. After a moment's pause he took in a deep breath and gave Malleus a smile, one that reached his eyes.
“Thank you.”
#idia shroud#floyd leech#twst idia#twst floyd#ortho shroud#twst ortho#vil schoenheit#rook hunt#malleus draconia#our world au#our world
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You Say Hate But I Think You Mean The Other Thing
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Warnings: All the feels, I don't know where this chapter came from.
Angst. Depression. Anxiety. Mourning. Drug and alcohol abuse. Vomiting. Choking. Blood. Near death experience. The ending is hopeful.
The next six weeks passed in a haze. It took three weeks of you dragging yourself through each day on autopilot before you asked for a leave of absence.
It was amazing you lasted that long with all the speculation surrounding Dave's death flying around the office.
His body was found burned beyond recognition in a his car by the docks. Some people didn't understand why he would be out there. Some drew a tenuous link between his death and the botched op. He was accused of being a traitor, killing himself for the payout for his kids, of playing both sides off each other and getting himself killed.
If you weren't so numb, you probably would have been fired for punching those gossiping assholes. It took another two days of sitting with your thoughts at home for you to finally break.
Dave was dead. You'd seen his body. Seen the dental records and DNA test results. He was gone. The ingredients for tomato soup had rotted in the fridge before you threw them out. Dave wasn't going to use them. He was gone. You loved him and he was gone. Death wasn't anything new to you. Even the death of a loved one. It had been decades since your father died but part of you still couldn't wrap your head around the fact that you would never see him again. Dave was gone, you would never see him again.
Alcohol and prescription meds dulled you in a different way now. Your stomach ached all the time from anxiety and the empty churn of your stomach acid. Your clothes were loose. Your face was pallid. You slept all day and stayed up all night. In the night it was easier to pretend Dave was just away somewhere, chasing a lead, back with his wife. The thought of his family going through this brought tears to your eyes. Sobs burst from you as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Those poor little girls that Dave worshipped.
The day time just made you angry. People just going about their business, like your world wasn't braking apart. Like it hadn't stopped spinning the moment you got that call. They got coffee, rode the subway, went to work. They acted like everything was normal. It wasn't normal. It wasn't okay. It never would be.
The empty vodka bottle in your hand smashed on the hardwood floor. The house was in darkness. Even the ever present glow of the TV was gone. You must have slept even longer today.
"Damn it." Slipping to your knees, you began to pick up the pieces. The smaller pieces bit into the skin of your fingers, jerking in pain, you knelt on a larger piece.
In your current state the sight of blood was too much. Bile rose into your throat as you stumbled to the bathroom. With nothing but some dry toast in your stomach from yesterday, your whole body lurched as your stomach fought to empty was little was in there. When it finally forced the tiny morsel up it caught in your throat causing you to choke until your vision darkened. Your body kept trying to dispel it. Your now blood soaked knees fought for purchase on the tiled floor as you wretched. Your pulse was erratic as you fought for breath. All of this was done on instinct, you didn't have enough left in you to try to save yourself.
Death must have been pulling at you, you could have swore you could hear Dave's voice. It was only when someone pulled you up right to deliver a sharp slap between your shoulder blades you realised someone was actually there. Your mind must have convinced you it was Dave. Another blow to your back dislodged the food. Strong arms picked you up and delivered you back to bed.
It was late afternoon when you woke up. Everywhere was cleaned up, only the ache of your throat and sting of your cuts served as proof that last night happened. A sound from the kitchen drew your attention. "Dave?" You called without thinking.
"You're awake." Two soft, brown eyes appeared around the door. Though not the ones you expected.
"Ray?" You blinked at your brother, well half brother. After your mom ran off, when you were five, she had Ray. She dumped him too so you weren't raised together. His dad was a preacher. Your's was a cop. Ray was ten years younger than you. He was a good kid. You? Not so much. It was only after your father died when you were seventeen that you even knew about him. The relationship between you wasn't exactly an easy one. You just didn't have than much in common. He was a sweet, decent man. You were bound by blood and little else.
"Your work called me. They were worried." He tried to answer some of your questions before you could ask them. "I came right away. Good job I did, you were in quite a state."
It was Ray that saved you. He was probably the last person alive that would be sad if you'd have died. "Thank you, Ray."
"You're welcome." He pulled the chair over from the corner of your room before he sat with you. "Listen, I know you lost somebody but I can't imagine they'd want this for you. Look at you. When did you last eat?"
Looking anywhere but at him you shrugged. It was a long time since someone showed that much interest in your health. It was hard to accept his care. "That long, huh? Let's get you clean and fed back up. How long you been on the pills?" Ray had worked with enough users to see what was going on. "It's fine. You don't have to tell me. I'd like you to get cleaned up though. I'd like you to be around to meet you niece or nephew in about six months."
"Amerie's pregnant?" The first smile in a long time tugged at your lips. A long time ago you forgot what actual life was like, life outside of work. This is what it was made of. It felt good.
"Yeah. We've been trying a while. We were finally blessed. So you have to get your ass sober to meet them."
You wanted to scream at him, swear at him, throw him out. Dave was gone. That should be it, there shouldn't be anythjng beyond that. He wouldn't tease you or asked you for advice or kiss you or cook for you again. How could there be more life you had to live without him?
The wide smile on Ray's face and the kindness in his eyes kept you docile. You looked down at the plasters on you knee and fingers. You wouldn't be here without him. He was right, Dave wouldn't have wanted this for you. Ray stayed for the next week. He cleaned the house. Cooked food for you, nothing more complicated than pasta, but by the end of the week you were grateful for it. He was chopping up tomatoes when he cut his thumb.
"Hey, where's your first aid kit?" He called up to you room.
"I just have the one in my bathroom." You called back.
When he appeared holding a towel over his thumb and breezed past you, you moved to follow him. He was rooting in your cabinet when you caught up.
"Not there. That one." You pointed to the one under the sink.
Ray retrieved it and set to work patching up his thumb.
"You forgot where that was already?" It struck you as odd because Ray had a fantastic memory.
"What do you mean?"
"The first aid kit."
"What? You never told me where it was."
"I know but didn't you use it to patch me up? Don't tell me you had your own plasters on you like a boyscout."
"What? I didn't patch you up."
"You said about the state I was in."
"Yeah, you were on the bed muttering in your sleep. You were saying your friend's name. You must have been having a nightmare, you were crying. Your hands were already patched up though. I saw them when I pulled the covers over you once you were calm again."
The blood in your veins ran cold. Ray didn't save you. "Who did you say called you?"
"Honestly, I can't remember his name. He just said he was a concerned friend from work. He said you needed looking after. He told me where your spare key was and the alarm code."
"Where...?" You didn't have a spare key. The people you knew didn't need keys to get into your home. You knees buckled at the thoughts forming in your mind. "Whoa, whoa easy. Are you okay?" Ray helped you to sit back on your bed.
"Yeah. Low blood sugar or something. I guess."
Ray didn't believe that for a second but figured you could use a moment alone. "I'll run over to the bakery, get you something sweet."
Once the front door closed you reached for your phone. It was a stupid idea. Scrolling through your messages you found the burner number Dave used. You knew it was untraceable. You thumbs flew across the keyboard as you sent a simple message: Dave?
Coming back to your senses to tossed the phone on the bed and buried your head in your pillow. You must be going mad. Picking your phone up, you tapped to delete the message, wantung to erasing any sign of you idiocy, only to pause when you saw that someone was typing. After what felt like an age, a message popped up. Dropping the phone, you let out a scream, every emotion seemed to be contained with it at the words on the screen: Hi, Princess.
Tears clouded your vision as you typed. You started and deleted the message over and over. You needed to know if it was him. It couldn't be, couldn't it? Would he really have faked his death, he could have easily but why do that to his girls? He adored them. There were so many things to say. He beat you to the punch:
It's really me. I'm sorry. I know it's been difficult. I wanted to stay the other night and explain but if I can watch you so can they. Don't tell your brother. Don't try to contact me. Just stay safe. Your brother wants you to go stay with him. Do it.
Your mind was reeling as another message came through.
I love you.
It only stayed for a second before it was deleted along with the other message. When you tried to reply the message wouldn't send.
It just sat there on your screen: I love you too.
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Bellie's gonna get ya
I woke up on Day 1 feeling like absolute crap!
I hadn’t had a drink in over 24 hours, I hadn’t stuffed my face with sweets and carbs in a vein attempt to mop up the wine in my tummy either. So, I was feeling it, big time. But I felt different. I didn’t want to hide behind another bottle and a takeaway, I suddenly felt for the first time strong enough to stop running from my past and from the person I was becoming, and that feeling had completely overridden the need to hide.
I had had a long-term relationship, my first serious relationship. From the ages of 20 to 29. So quite literally all of my 20’s. We lived up the road from his family and 250 miles away from mine.
This might seem like a strange thing to say but it was my depression and anxiety that had kept us together for so long. You see he was quite controlling he would sometimes gaslight me and he was selfish. My thoughts and opinions didn’t count. Nothing I did was note-worthy, unless he had achieved something greater. The day I ran my first ever marathon, there was no congratulations he just talked about the fact that he was going to do a challenge far superior to a marathon. This behaviour on his part largely went unchecked because I was too distracted with my mental health to recognise it and my family, we’re too far away to see what was going on.
Things changed when I got therapy. For the first time in years I had been able to see light at the end of the tunnel, and that light was bathing the reality of the situation in those harsh fluorescent strips. I started to essentially confront his behaviour head on. Simple things really. Why is it that I have altered some of my habits because I know they annoy him, and he hasn’t done a damn thing to alter any of his? Why am I not in control of my own wages? The list of questions went on. He hated it, and I wondered if anyone had ever questioned his behaviour before.
We had split up 7 years ago, I had of course dealt with the break and reflected on where and why it all went so very wrong and comes to terms with it. Made my peace with it.
What was new today was the connection I made between him and my dad. My opinion didn’t matter as much as his. My choices in life weren’t as good as his. And no matter how hard I tried I would never ever be good enough. Judging me for the person he thought I ought to be and not accepting me for who I am.
As soon as I realised this I cried. So, Flash come over insisting that stroking him would help. It did. Thing is, it wasn’t tears of sadness. It was tears of relief. Tears of understanding. This is where I had been going wrong.
My relationship with men in general had been moulded by my dad’s example and I always ended up unhappy and frustrated because I was at odds with myself. Half believing that I ought to be grateful for every shred of affection I get no matter how much its wrapped in an insult, and half believing I deserve to be treated so much better than that – but now realising that this is my fault.
I was choosing this again and again and again. Thereby allowing this behaviour to be acceptable and then of course getting treated like crap by people who didn’t even deserve my smile much less anything else.
And so, I sat there, with a pounding head, feeling very sick and crying but I somehow also felt better than I had done in years.
I opened my diary, page 1 and began to write.
‘’Day 1 (29.12.18)
After a booze fuelled 2 days and after finally accepting that if I don’t change, it will kill me. I’m done.
So, sugar detox.30 days (to begin with).
I’m not going to say I will never drink again, but I am going to go cold turkey for the time being.
From this I will also start running again. I am going to run the Brighton Marathon, 2020. 8 years after my first and this time I’m aiming for sub 4 hours.
Why all of this? – because I can’t carry on like this, I’m not dealing with my anger in a healthy way. I want to be physically and mentally healthier. I’ve got 3 ½ years until my 40th. By then I want to be happier, healthier and debt free. I want to have hobbies; I don’t want to let this consume me any longer.
So, here is my mission statement – I will not drink for 90 days, 90 days sober – start from there. I will not eat refined carbs or sugars for at least 30 days, and I will start running again.
I will get some scales.
I must focus on me. This must be it.
I know I will struggle at times.
I know I am stuck in a cycle, my relationship with alcohol has become supremely complicated. I must free myself from this.”
Withdrawal Symptoms
Dull Headache
Nausea
Anxiety
Sweaty
Shudders (at night)
Hallucinations (at night)
“Day 2 (30.12.81)
I had a weird night sleep. Took me ages to drop off, and when I did my head sort of shuddered and I kept twitching. I feel a bit odd this morning. I’m sweating but I’m cold.
I took Flash out for a walk, saw loads of runners, I really wanted to go myself – but I literally need to walk before I can run. I want to settle into this new healthy food thing before I started my running plan. I’m about to have my first decent breakfast since staying at Jenna’s 6 weeks ago.
Withdrawal Symptoms
Dull Headache
Nausea
Anxiety
Sweaty
Shudders (at night)
Hallucinations (at night)
“Day 3 (31.12.18)
I’m itchy today. I think partly because it’s now been 3 days since I last had a drink or had any bread or any sugar, but also because it’s New Years Eve. A classic night for everyone to drink too much. I had been invited out by a couple of different people, but I think I’m just going to stay in. Make a nice meal, stick the TV on watch a movie and go to bed. For tomorrow I will go for my first run in months.”
Withdrawal Symptoms
Dull Headache
Nausea
Anxiety
Sweaty
Dizziness
Fatigue
Shudders (at night)
Hallucinations (at night)
“Day 4 (01.01.19)
2.47-mile run, my pace. 12-minute miles. It was tough. Probably a combination of having not run since October and not being on the detox.
First day of the year and I found an empty wine bottle under the sofa when I was hoovering. I felt disgusted by it. How had I let things get that bad?
The house behind me had had a party last night, I hadn’t heard any of it until I had gone to bed, since my bedroom is at the back of the flat. It was quite entertaining. To begin with I could make out the conversations and they we’re all quite civilised and jovial then, weirdly like a switch had flipped or something they we’re all just suddenly smashed, and I couldn’t understand a single word. It got me thinking about how many times I had tried to hold conversations after having had too much wine and basically how much of a dick I must have sounded, quite a lot of the time.
Today I’m quite itchy. I think it’s more the habit of it than anything else. But remembering my disgust at the wine bottle under the sofa and how much that party had changed through too much booze has really helped my resolve.”
Withdrawal Symptoms
Dull Headache
Nausea
Anxiety
Sweaty
Dizziness
Tingling
Shudders (at night)
Hallucinations (at night)
Run – 2.47 miles. 12-minute mile pace.
Perspective is powerful. Within 4 days of the detox I was simultaneously suffering with 8 different symptoms of withdrawal and I just thought blimey booze and sugar are very obviously bad for you, otherwise your body wouldn’t react so terribly to it being cut out. I mean let’s face it, if you we’re to cut out apples for a week – it’s not going to make you anxious. It might make you think about apple pie a bit more. But you won’t get sweaty or shaky through lack of apples. If I was on the other side of the perspective, I’d be thinking this is terrible, I shouldn’t put my body through this, where’s my purse I’m going to by a beer and a doughnut.
I got through the first 4 days by focusing on my thoughts and my feelings. Not having the distraction of booze was really helping me face my past and deal with it in a healthier way than finding solace at the bottom of a bottle (which never ever ever happened anyway)
Day 5 was my first day back at work after the Christmas break, it was also the day I decided to tell everyone what I was doing. A brilliant motivational tactic by the way. In a dark moment of weakness when your itching for a Snickers or a bottle, realising that if you eat it/drink it and someone asks you how the detox is going – you either have to lie to them about the fact that you failed or you have to be honest and tell them you failed. Either way – it doesn’t feel great.
Next stop …. Withdrawal central….
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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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Could I request Heisenberg with a female s/o who's negatively pent up from anxiety and depression and feeling like they're not good enough for Karl but they always put on a brave face to not look weak? They just want to make him happy and proud maybe maybe when they're either fucking or just working, maybe he says an offhand comment that hits home, idk being called useless is a good one to feel like being stabbed. They love him but they've been hiding all their mental struggles and bottling it up be a use they always focused on him first? Mental health feels neglected rn and could use the hurt/comfort if you're okay with this! Up to you if you want to add smut or not, with or without is great
Of course, baby. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the story. (CW: Hurt/Comfort, mentions of anxiety and depression. Sexual scenarios: Fingering, face riding, praising, general NSFW)
Living with Karl is a task that can be mentally taxing on anyone. For you, this wasn't an exception. There was no doubt in your mind that you loved him, but that dragged along a few issues with it. You loved him so much, that you constantly felt an unbearable pressure that pushed you to attempt to impress him out of fear that he may view you as inferior to him. Karl is without a doubt strong, insanely intelligent, passionate, and all around tremendously powerful. Often times you wondered why he even keeps you around.
You had grown very close with him over time. He never put a real title on your relationship, but you both knew that he loved you. He loved you enough to let you help out on his work. He assigned little tasks for you to do such as organizing his blueprints, creating blueprints, and organizing his tools. Each time you did something, he would reward you with praise. Sometimes the praise would be heart to heart while other times it may be skin to skin. While the praise he provided felt rewarding, you began to worry what may happen if your work wasn't good enough. What if you weren't good enough? What if he stopped finding you useful or attractive? These troubling thoughts had been torturing you recently. But, you kept it all bottled up, worried that he may view you as weak if he knew you were so afraid of failure. Whenever you would work on something, you would sit there for hours on end. Nothing could stop you until you were finished. You did this as a way to imitate Karl and his tireless work. Though, Karl does have powers that help keep his body from shutting down the way yours does. That didn't stop you from constantly pushing yourself overboard, though.
A knot grew larger and larger in your throat as you attempted to sketch out a new blueprint, slouching while sitting on your bed. He had asked you to work on it that morning and it was nearly midnight now. The lines were uneven, your hand writing was messy, and it was easy to see where you had erased and redrawn a lot of little details all over the paper. A single tear fell from your eye and onto the paper, causing a wet spot where the ink began to smear. You ignore your body and minds cry for help by quickly wiping your eyes and acting as if it didn't happen. Your hands were shaking as you applied more details, not being close to finish. Your eyes were twitching, fed up with staring down so harshly at the paper for so long. Suddenly, the door to the room opens.
You jump and face the door, realizing how cramped your neck was from your poor posture. Karl entered the room, obviously tired from a long days work. His eyes looked heavy and he was running his hands through his hair. "Still working on that blueprint, buttercup?", he asks as he walks towards you. You look back at the paper and realize how low quality it was, along with unfinished. You quickly hold the paper to your chest, attempting to block it from him. 'Um it's almost finished I swear! I just n-need to add a few more little details.", you assure him. He holds his hand out. "Let me see.", he raises an eyebrow and begins to wiggle his fingers. You attempt to swallow the knot in your throat as you shakily hand it over.
Your hands clutch each other tightly, digging what's left of your bitten nails into your skin. His eyes scan each inch of the paper and his eyebrows begin to furrow. "What.. is this?", he looks over to you. "What?", you're voice is shaky and cracking, but you attempt to cover it up by clearing your throat. "(Y/N)... you've been in here all day and THIS is all you could do? What have you been doing all day?", his voice began to grow into a semi-shout. It felt like thunder as it shook your body. You take a deep breath, attempting to toughen up to his words. "I really did try! I did exactly what you told me an-" he cuts you off before you can finish. "Really? You did exactly as I told you?! You said you could have this done by tonight and i trusted your judgement. But (Y/N) this shit is useless!"
He continues to fuss, but it was all silent to you. All you could hear was the echo of his voice saying that word. "Useless." The one thing you feared of becoming. The one thing you feared of creating. Your balled fists begin to shake. Your lip begins to quiver and your eyes grow cloudy.
"I'M SORRY!", you cry out before looking down at the floor, failing to control your tears as they fell to the floor. Suddenly, your eyes began to flood. Your stomach and heart felt like they were twisting and turning with guilt. He froze, unsure of how to handle this sudden outburst. "Was I too harsh?", he thought. "I'VE TRIED SO HARD TO BE GOOD ENOUGH. GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! I'VE TRIED TO PERFECT YOUR WORK. I'VE TRIED TO LOOK MY BEST EVERY DAY! FOR YOU! I'VE DONE EVERYTHING YOU'VE TOLD ME TO!", your whole body shakes as you break down. "I never told you that you had to do any of that! What the hell have you been pushing yourself so hard for?", his tone was still stern, but he wasn't angry. He was very concerned, but had no idea how to express it. "I WANTED TO MAKE YOU PROUD!", you continue to cry.
The room was silent other than your quiet sobbing. He didn't know what to say. He had no clue that you had put so much pressure on yourself to impress him. He had no idea on why it mattered so much to you. And in that moment, something in him began to ache. He remembered being like that once. So dead set on making others proud of him no matter what it took. He had no clue what to say due to no one ever being there for him in his time of struggle, so instead he goes for a more physical approach.
He grabs you by the arm and pulls you to his body, holding you close. You bury your face in his chest to try and muffle your cries. He runs his hand through your hair, still confused as to why you pushed yourself so hard for him. "I just..", you sniffle. "I just wanted to be good enough.. for you...", you say as you try to stop crying. He lifted you up, carrying you bridal style to the bed. He crawled up and sat his back against a pillow, continuing to hold you close as you buried your face in his neck.
"Look at me.", he held your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger and waited for you to face him. You sniffle and pull your head up to meet him eye to eye. There was a new look in his eyes. Something unfamiliar to the both of you. Tenderness. "You are good enough. And I am so proud of you. Everyday you make me proud. Every time I look at you I'm proud.", he begins to wipe the tears from your face, struggling to find the right words to say. "Look. You don't need to overwork yourself. The fact that you stick around with me to begin with is enough for me." A small smile begins to grow on your face. The sight warms him and helps reassure him that he didn't say anything dumb.
Once you've seemed to calm down, he pulls you in for a kiss. It was warmer than usual. Softer than usual. And Karl isn't a man known for being soft or gentle. But this kiss was far from rough, but just as passionate. It was reassuring and safe. He pulls away and smiles at the sight of your now blushing face. "There's my pretty girl. Now, if you feel like it... since we're already on the bed.. I think I know a thing or two you can do if you still wanna feel useful.", he offers with a sly grin. You giggle and begin to straddle his lap. "Sounds good to me." you say as his hands start to wander around your hips.
"But, we're gonna be doing something different.", he says as his eyes scan every inch of your body. "What's that?", you go to unbuckle his belt but he grabs your wrist before you can continue. "Tonight's all about you. I wanna make you feel good.", he says. During every sexual situation you've had, you had focused on pleasing him first, not thinking about yourself and your own wants and desires. You don't object, so he moves his hands back to your hips and pulls you off of his body, effortlessly tossing you onto your back on the bed.
He then pins himself above you, towering over you. Your heart races at the new experience and your face glows more and more pink. His eyes meet yours and the sight alone is enough to start making your panties grow wet. He lowers his face down to your neck where he begins to place little kisses. Chills run through your body like ocean waves and you let out a quiet gasp as a kiss turns into a nibble. A hickey begins to form and he lets go, moving his mouth to your ear. "I want you to tell me what you want, buttercup." he whispers in your ear as one of his hands begins to wander across your body. It starts up near your breast where he fondles it gently, earning a lip bite from you. Then, he goes lower to your stomach where he scratches lightly at your skin. You squirm beneath his hand. He smiles and begins to kiss you once more before going even further, slipping his hands into your pants and cupping your vagina through your soaking panties. You gasp while your lips are still connected and he gently tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, pleased at the reaction he's gotten from you.
"Is this what you want?", he slips two of his fingers into your panties and finds your clit, rubbing it slowly. "Mhm", you whine and press yourself into him. "Goodgirl.", he moves from where he was and makes his way down to your pants. He unbottons them and begins to pull them off. He throws the pants across the room and crawls back towards you on the bed. He removes your shirt and your bra underneath, throwing them in the same direction of the pants. He lowers his head down to one of your hard nipples and wraps his mouth around it, caressing it with his tongue. This causes you to moan quietly and grip the sheets beneath you. Your nipple was already so tender, so the feeling of his tongue was powerful enough to make you squirm. He lowers his hand back into your panties, rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your knees bend inward, trapping his hand between your legs. He chuckles with your nipple gently between his teeth. "Looks like you like this, huh?" You moan in response.
It didn't take long for you to feel a climax building inside you, coming closer and closer to exploding with each touch he inflicted onto your throbbing clit. Moans of all volumes filled the room as you got closer and closer. Then, right when you were about to cum, he stops. You groan in disappointment and look over at him. "I was just warming you up.", he smirks and lays on his back. "Come here.", he commands and pats on his chest, signaling for you to sit there. You do as he says and sit upon his chest. The second you sit down, His strong hands grip onto your hips and he begins to pull your body towards his face. He places you on top of his mouth. The next thing you know, your soaked pussy is being attacked by his tongue. You can't help but let a moan slip out between your lips as he closes is eyes, fully focused on bringing you maximum pleasure. He places each hand on each thigh, gripping them slightly all while his tongue swirls around your clit. You use one hand to grip the headboard of the bed and the other one to grip his hair, tangling your fingers in the grey strands. You grip harder as he sucks on your clit, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure. He let loose a few muffled moans and groans, causing vibrations on your pulsing clit. "Oh fuck Karl!", you feel your body weight sink lower and lower as you melt into the pleasure of his tongue. You begin to grind your hips back and forth, riding out your orgasm. He doesn't mind at all and begins to work harder to finally push you to your limit. With a loud moan, you cum into his mouth.
As you catch your breath and shake on top of him, he grabs you once again and pushes you over onto the bed. His beard was shiny around his lips due to a mixture of your sweat and cum. He looks down at your flustered and flushed face, pleased with what he'd done. You noticed a large bulge protruding from his pants. "I want you.", you pant as you reach over, massaging the hard lump. He responds by stripping, too breathless to verbally respond. Once he's fully naked, he makes his way onto the bed. You take him by the shoulder and pull his face into yours, initiating a passionate make out session. Your tongues caressing one another as you both toss and turn, ending up with you straddling him.
You rub his already throbbing dick, preparing for its entry. It was quite large and veiny. The hair that led from his lower stomach to his pubic area glistened with precum. You position yourself and begin to sit on his dick, letting it slowly fit inside you. Your extra wetness helped lube it. Once it was completely in, Karl groaned, grabbing your ass in his calloused hands. "Fuck.. you're so good.", he encourages. You begin to slowly rise and fall, letting your pussy stretch to comfortably fit his girth. You both moaned quietly. Once you feel comfortable, you wrap your arms around his neck and begin to bounce on it, feeling each thick vein add texture. 'What a good girl..." Every time you made your way back down, you could feel the tip of his dick reach your special spot, making your knees feel weak. As overwhelming as it felt, you couldn't stop. You continued to bounce up and down on his dick as his fingers grip your ass for dear life. "You're doing so good.", he praises you and you thank him by clashing your lips together, sharing sloppy kisses as you both moan with each up and down motion. "Such a good girl.", he begins to squeeze your breast, causing you to squeal and pick up the pace. It felt amazing, but your legs grew weaker and weaker with each motion, and he could tell. You were panting as you fucked yourself senseless on his dick.
"Wait a sec.", he gently pats your ass to get you to stop. You stop and rest your sweaty forehead to his, legs shaking beneath you. You didn't want to stop, but you weren't sure how much longer you could continue. Your legs felt like they were on fire. 'Let me help you.", his hands glide up to your waist where he clutches your sides and begins to bounce you up and down, continuing the motion you could no longer do yourself. You kiss him and whine into his lips as he slams your body up and down, grunting harder each time. "Such a pretty girl.." he pants. "Riding my cock so good..", he begins to slam his hips into you, reaching a point inside you that he's never reached before. You throw your head back and moan, tears of pleasure and bliss begin to form in your eyes. You're both exhausted and so close to finishing. You're whole body felt like it was numb and on fire at the same time as your climax creeped closer and closer.
And with a few more strong pumps into you, you both cum. He lets loose of your sides and wraps his arms around your back, drenching in sweat. You collapse on top of him, unable to move any of your body. Karl places a few more sloppy kisses across your face, his facial hair tickling your skin. "Don't you ever.. ever believe you're not good enough. Got it?", he pressures. You're too exhausted to form words, so you simply nod your head, laying down on his chest. His heart beat was rapid but soothing. Soon enough, it lulled you to sleep. He soon followed, keeping his arms wrapped tight around you the entire time.
#re8#resident evil 8#karl heisenberg x you#karl heisenberg headcanon#karl heisenberg headcanons#karl heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#karl heisenburg x reader#karl heisenberg angst#karl heisenberg fanfic#karl heisenburg#karl heisenberg smut
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Trucy and Maya sign Phoenix up for Queer eye after his name is cleared. By the time filming starts he’s decided to study for the bar again and is honestly excited to have some help putting his life back together.
They tear apart his house and drag him for the fact he is wearing socks with sandles and his closet is nothing but sweatshirts and beach clothes. He Does have an old like shakespeare costume in the depths of his closet that Johnathan puts on as well as the Furio Tigre shirt. They check out the magic equipment and Phoenix goes on his proud dad rant about how she’s the light of his life and so talented and he loves her-
Jonathan takes him to the salon for a hair cutting. Under the Beanie his hair got kinda long and gnarly. He didn’t want people to recognize him and even know the idea of it’s still a little anxiety provoking. But he also Wants to look good again and feel confident. Jonathan gives him a scruff trim too and they stop at a goatee. They laugh and Phoenix sends a picture to someone. Oooh your boyfriend? Haha not exactly. They end up going clean shaven tho. As they’re walking out Phoenix stares at his phone and goes. Huh. Maybe we should have kept the goatee.
Antoni asks him what he can cook. He proudly announces he makes the best pancakes. And that he can make a few other things that aren’t blatant depression meals. That what he knows he learned cause he wanted to take care of Trucy but he’s a little ashamed at how often the priority was ‘just make sure she eats something’ because he was too exhausted for more. That he Wants to have this big family dinner with all the people who helped and supported him while he was disbarred. Antoni teaches him how to make a big roast for special occasions and some easier healthy meals for normal days.
Bobby helps him reestablish his house, reducing the clutter that Phoenix has been too tired to clean himself along with making the space more usable to the big groups of family Phoenix wants to be able to host here without embarrassment.
Tan takes him out to get new clothes. Before he does Trucy actually pulls Tan aside and says her uncle already got Daddy a new suit and can we arrange it so Daddy finds it because it’s perfect but Uncle Miles is worried he’s putting the pressure on too hard since Daddy’s already taking the bar exam for him again (again?) and-
Tan gets him a wardrobe that is more presentable and upscale for court/everyday. They ‘find’ a blue suit with a red tie. Phoenix breaks down crying and Tan is Very concerned but - No... I just... I know who made this suit. That jerk. Of course he already had a suit made for me. I love it. It’s perfect.
And Karamo and him talk about how he has all these people he owes so much to now because he couldn’t have done this without them and he doesn’t know how to even start paying them all back and honestly he was such a bastard these last few years and he’s not even sure how to stop being that person sometimes even though he Wants to. He wants to be that trusting person that Believes in people again. And maybe they all expect him to go back to being that person and he doesn’t want to disappoint them because he loves them so fucking much especially after they went and did this for him too-
And Karamo stops him and asks him if he saw the video that his family submitted asking them to come help Phoenix. Which he hasn’t.
Daddy gave up everything for me. To make sure I grew up happy and loved and he did. He’s the best Daddy in the world. And I want him to be happy. Just as happy as he’s made me.
Nick’s been there for me, when no one else was. Just. Over and over again. Believed in me when no one else did. Pearl give Trucy the camera and come tell everyone how awesome Nick is. He just needs a little help remembering that. Cause he’s a idiot sometimes.
Wright is... he’s my oldest and dearest friend. He’s brilliant and kind and he saved me. And if there is anything I can do to help him reclaim his proper place in the courtroom I would do it, without hesitation. Once you see him in court you’ll understand exactly why I- Kay. Kay why do you have a camera?!
You said you’d do anything Mr. Edgeworth!
I- what is this about?!
“You know you’re friends better than we do but I don’t think they’re keeping score. And if you really want to show your gratitude, beating yourself up over it isn’t the way to do it. You could start by saying thank you instead.”
“Heh. I told Edgeworth that same thing.”
And they invite the whole Wright family over to the big thank you feast. He’s cleaned up and wearing a nice Dad sweater. He gets dog piled in hugs and then Maya yells at him for not making hamburgers instead. Edgeworth shows up a hour late with a bottle of wine and a faint smile.
“Wright I was lead to believe you purchased a suit recently? If you’re done covering yourself in flour,” I’m gonna cover you in flour. “Would you like to show us.”
“Don’t expose the kids to your suit fetish Edgeworth.”
“That’s not! Wright just-. Put the damn suit on Wright.”
“Hahah yeah okay.”
He does and everyone tells him how great he looks and damn is that a waistcoat? Someone’s grown up. And not just out.
And Edgeworth just watches him with quiet tender eyes as everyone else talks.
“Wright?” Hm? “You’re missing a part.”
“Huh? I got everything! I double- no - Triple checked!”
“You forgot this.” He opens his palm. A shiny golden badge in it. “Congrats on passing the bar exam.”
The episode is a fan favorite.
#ace attorney#phoenix wright#miles Edgeworth#trucy wright#maya fey#i feel like Edgeworth would try very hard to avoid the cameras#but also he Does want to shake all of their hands and tell them he's a big fan#why am i incapable of writing short things
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Mentally tired
A/N: The story is based on my personal experiences from a few days ago. Even though I didn't have a person like Chris in my fanfiction, I still have a lovely friend who helped me. Please do not let anyone ever bring you to this state, because no matter what others say or do, YOU are the most important, YOUR mental and physical health is the most important and it is not subject to discussion. So remember that if something disturbs your well-being, cut yourself off from it if possible. Health is very important and nothing can replace it.
Summary: You always considered yourself a mentally strong person, but suddenly someone managed to break you in a way you didn't think you could. For the first time in your life you felt so many things at once and you were powerless, there was nothing you could do. Fortunately, there was someone in your life who, although only hugged you, made you feel that you had a place in this world.
Words: 1.8k
Warnings: AGE GAP, angst, anxiety, depression state, fluff and happy end, mistakes
Masterlist
There's a kind of tired that needs a good night's sleep, and another that needs so much more. It’s like a certain level of tiredness that equates to insanity. You always considered yourself a mentally strong person. Hardly anything upset you, made you cry from a feeling of helplessness or simply mental exhaustion. However, on that one day, in which very little happened, your strong psyche was broken. For the first time in your life, you felt that you were powerless and mentally exhausted.
You finished work late and tired as usual. All day on high brats, in a constant run and only half an hour to eat breakfast. A job that required so much of you was not the height of your dreams, but the fact that you needed money did not give you much choice. You had to accept what you had.
The air was sweet, the weather was fine even if there were clouds in the sky and you could feel the wind on your skin. You got in your car and turned on the radio. You should be on your way home, but suddenly someone flips a button in your head. You burst into desperate crying without knowing where you had so many accumulated emotions that led you to such a state. Tears ran down your cheeks, your hands clenched on the steering wheel until the knuckles on your palms turned white. Your lungs were running out of air, and your open mouth let out a silent scream that you wanted someone to hear, come and take what you felt.
You took your phone out of your purse and, with shaking hands, eyes still blurry with tears, you wrote a short message to the only person who knew he would be able to help you, or at least you hoped so.
"I can call?"
After a while, you received an answer: "Of course, Princess"
You pressed the button and after a few chimps, you heard Chris's voice.
"What's up? Everything's okay?"
You were silent for a moment and tried to control yourself, but it didn't help you, because the moment you opened your mouth to say something, another wave of tears flooded your mouth.
"I can't anymore, I don't want to work here. It's the first time I'm so mentally tired ... I ... I ..." you didn't even know if your gibberish and cry made Chris understand anything. “I…I'm so tired"
"Hey, take it easy. What's wrong, Y / N?" Chris immediately started to panic, he wanted to be next to you and beat everyone who made you cry so hard.
"Work. I can't work here anymore. Still, someone wants something, they move me from place to place, they treat me like a parasite, and the worst thing is that because of the number of fucked up rules, I have a headache" you cried all the time, unable to calm down "I eat breakfast on the run or not at all. Everybody expects me to do my 100% as if I've been working there for years. Nobody takes into account that I'm learning everything and I'm new here” you were crying on the phone.
"I know it probably won't work, but try to calm down. And tell me where you are, I'll come to get you."
"I'm trying, but I can't" you sniffed trying to breathe evenly and stop crying "You don't have to. I'm in the car and ...."
"Then take a few deep breaths and come to my place. I live closer and I won't let you be alone today. Not like that." he says firmly. You knew that a discussion with him would be useless because he was able to come to you, pack you and bring you to his home.
"Ok"
"Ok?"
"Yes, I'll be there in 20 minutes," you said and after a few words of comfort you hung up.
Even though you tried to stop crying, you couldn't. Salty drops ran down your cheeks whole way to Chris's house.
When you got there Chris was waiting for you with Dodger. You felt embarrassed showing yourself in this state and uncomfortable, but you still needed someone by your side.
"Oh my god, Y / N" Chris immediately hugged you to him, and you burst into a hysterical cry again.
"Please calm down. Everything will be fine. I promise." You knew Chris was trying to comfort you, but it was not successful. The tears kept rolling down your cheeks and soaking his T-shirt.
After a few minutes, you went inside where Chris gave you his hoodie and told you to go take a warm bath or shower. At first, you didn't want to cause him trouble, after all, you were just friends with a big age difference, and you didn't feel comfortable roaming his house like that. He, however, didn't mind and practically pushed you into the bathroom and went to order some take-out.
As soon as you got in the shower, you sat down on the floor and let the water wash off you all day. You didn't even know how long you've been sitting in the bathroom until Chris knocked to ask if you were okay.
"Yes" you yelled to him and grabbed a bottle of shampoo and shower gel to get a quick wash, then put on Chris clothes and went to the living room.
"I didn't know what you wanted, so I ordered pizzas and Korean food. I remember how you used to say it was your favorite, but if you wanted something less spicy ..."
"You didn't have to" you interrupted him seeing how embarrassed he was because of such tinsel as eating. "Thank you", you smiled and kissed his cheek, and then you sat down next to him.
Chris froze at your gesture and it took him a few moments to get back to reality. He looked at you in his clothes, you looked cute in his oversized hoodie.
You ate practically in silence, except for the TV's on and the Dodger's soft snoring. You were no longer crying, but still feeling mentally tired. You didn't have the strength to go home or to work tomorrow. You wanted to run away somewhere where no one would find you. And so far that place has been Chris's house and the Korean food you chose.
"I don't know how you can eat something like this!" you burst out laughing as Chris drank a glass of water in one breath, "This is fucking hot"
"Not for me," you said, taking a piece of hot chicken to your mouth.
After you finished your meal, you sat down comfortably on the couch and played a movie. You covered yourself with a blanket and slumped slightly on the couch, pulling your knees up. You saw Chris want to ask you something, but he doesn't know how to do it.
"Bosses are assholes, and the amount of work you have to do in a short time is impossible to get done. Besides, there are no human conditions to eat a meal and the constant noise and crowds ..." you paused for a moment to wipe the tear flowing down your cheek "I can't explain it, just a red lamp lights up in my head and someone screams run, but I can't because I don't know where the exit is. I feel, I know I'm trapped and .. . "you started crying again.
You felt strong arms press you against the hard chest of the body to which they belong. You immediately hugged Chris and closed your eyes. And how by a magic wand you started to calm down. He stroked your hair holding his cheek against your head. When you got up and looked at Chris's blue irises, you felt very calm and safe. You didn't know what it is about him that makes your body relax when he touches you.
Chris placed his hands on your cheeks and wiped away your tears. You felt as if you were enchanted, but at the same time, they were doing what your heart and mind told you as if you still had full control over your actions. You bet your lower lip as your gaze traveled from Chris's to his lips and back to his eyes. And then you felt his lips on yours.
In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment. His kiss is not at all the same as those you had before, but one steeped in a passion that ignites. It is the promise of realness, of the primal desire that lives in us all. You threw your arms around his neck and dragged him along. Chris didn't protest. He propped himself up on one elbow so as not to crush you with the weight of his body, and he rested his other hand on your cheek. In that moment of the kiss, you were in each other’s protective cocoon.
You felt his tongue gently move over your lip, subtly pleading for entry. You parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He took his time, slowly revealing every nook and cranny of your lips and letting your tongues dance at an unhurried beat. Your hands moved you from his neck to his hair, tangling your fingers in brown curls. Chris growled and moved his hand to your thigh, throwing your leg over his hip, then carefully placed his body on yours.
The feeling that accompanied it all was incomparable to anything else. It felt like you were just getting to know the world as a little child.
When you pulled away from each other to catch your breath, you couldn't take your eyes off you. Each of you has been examining the face of the other, trying to read feelings and thoughts.
Chris touched your swollen lips with his thumb and smiled slightly at which you smiled back.
"You are so beautiful when you smile. I don't want that smile to fade from your face. Never," he whispered.
Your cheeks turned red, you could tell by the warmth you felt on your face. But even so, you found enough confidence to answer him unequivocally.
"So don't let me be sad"
After these words, Chris's lips were on yours again.
tags: @patzammit @ivettt @mostannoyingbillioner @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @ozarkthedog @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @sweetflowerdreams @worksby-d
#chris evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans x reader smut#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x oc#chris evans x you#chris evans smut#chris evans sex#chris evans series#chris evans story#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans fluff#chris evans fanfic#chris evans fic#chris evans fanart#chris evans angst#chris evans instagram#chris evans imagine#chris evans imagines
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One- Shot: The Seaside Dream (written as part of my series ‘don’t worry about a thing’ on AO3, link can be found at the bottom of the post as it won’t let me embed it)
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters: GN Reader, Aziraphale, Crowley
Warnings and Tags: depression, skipping meals, dynamic duo, here come the boysssss, soft crowley
Summary: you don’t show up for wine with crowley and aziraphale, and the two hurry to your apartment to see what’s going on
Word Count: 2281
Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31055930/chapters/83889112
‘Crowley, please hurry!’
The pained cry of the angel came from the top of the flight of stairs in your apartment block, echoing off the concrete walls. This mixed with the reverberant sigh of Crowley, and the ever- so- slow tread of his footsteps.
‘CROWLEY. This is important! Do you not care?’
The demon stopped dead in his tracks, planting his feet at the bottom of the set of stairs that the out of breath Aziraphale stood at the top of.
Crowley was not at all happy with the angel’s question.
‘Do I not what? Care? Oh Angel, you’re asking to be pushed down these stairs,’ he responded, almost growling under his breath. In any other circumstance, this might have actually pleased Aziraphale, however this time, he was actually terrified.
-
The scenario had started with what Aziraphale called ‘a dreadfully funny feeling.’
Since Armageddon was narrowly avoided, the angel and the demon had found themselves at somewhat of a loose end on Earth, enjoying their free time together but still constantly striving for some higher purpose.
That’s where you came in. Little did you know that a walk into a lovely little bookshop called A.Z Fell & Co. one day to search for an overpriced illustrated copy of your favourite book would lead to drinking a couple of bottles of wine with the owner and his companion for seven hours straight, and that this would become a weekly tradition. You just clicked with the pair, you found them magnetising and, well, you were a fascinating human to the angel and the demon, so they quickly grew fond of you.
The two supernatural beings then decided that their purpose would be caring. Caring for you.
Not in a suffocating way though, at least that was never the intention. Between the two of them, Crowley and Aziraphale decided from the get go that they would just be there for you as a friend, with little extras added on top like going out and buying your shopping for you whenever there was a thunderstorm, or baking you enough cake to feed the 5000. But, the pair’s talents in observance and intuition slowly made them realise that something was always just slightly off with you.
To them, it seemed like there was always something hidden behind a wall in your head, like a pretence that you constantly held up. Granted, part of their realisation came when in one of your drinking sessions at the bookshop, you let slip that you hadn’t eaten a proper meal for two days and they both nearly hit the roof. They asked you why, and kept asking why (Aziraphale in particular was extremely persistent) but you brushed it off- you always brushed it off.
‘No no, it’s nothing to be worried about, I promise! I’ve just been so busy, y’know? It’s nothing, please Aziraphale, you can sit down. Don’t you worry about me.’
Now, Crowley could sense a lie from a mile off considering he was the lord of them, and Aziraphale could feel that your inner emotions were about as steady as a mongoose riding a pedal bike, and they therefore deduced that they should in fact worry about you.
And so the slightly incompetent suffocation began.
This was definitely mainly from Aziraphale, as his senses for detecting emotional suffering and hurt were a lot stronger than Crowley’s- this was just down to how long he’d been pulling angelic manoeuvres. Crowley was a lot less practised however when he felt that something was off, he really did feel that something was off. This however meant that wherever in London you were, Aziraphale would realise that something was wrong, no matter how small the inconvenience.
Notable occasions included when the tubes on the Central Line were running one minute late and Aziraphale unsuccessfully attempted to miracle another train up, causing even more delay and destruction, when the bottom of your shoe fell off in a puddle and Aziraphale got so upset that he cried for an hour, (to be fair, he’d had a long day; someone had tried to buy a book from the shop which had displeased him greatly) and when a seagull crapped on your shoulder while you were sitting outside a bar at Canary Wharf and the angel managed to manifest a fluke bolt of lightning which struck the seagull down right into your food.
And all this from the comfort of his own home.
Crowley had tried to tell the angel that not every inconvenience could be sorted out, that the pair needed to pick their battles with the perils of the human life.
‘Yes yes, I understand. I’ll stop, I promise. We’ll stick to the original plan. Now have you seen my banana bread recipe? I think they could do with a pep up.’
This lasted for 22 hours.
You hadn’t shown up to the bookshop like you did every week.
‘Oh Angel do stop pacing, they have a life of their own you know,’ Crowley nagged, holding a bottle of red wine in one hand as he stood in the doorway between the main shop and the back room.
‘Something is wrong, Crowley. I have a dreadfully funny feeling,’ Aziraphale insisted, wringing his hands and pacing at twice the average speed of an angel.
‘Right, yes, okay but the problem is, you’ve said that every night for two weeks and it hasn’t been true once.’
‘You can’t sense it like I can.’ The angel stormed towards the coat stand, reaching for his coat.
‘Oh no no no, we agreed, no suffocation. Put that down, you’re not going anywhere,’ the demon asserted.
‘Oh yes we are. Put that wine in the back, you’re driving.’
Crowley had rarely heard Aziraphale’s voice like this before, low and extremely demanding. There wasn’t any way he was getting out of this, the angel was on a mission.
-
And so, Crowley drove the angel to your apartment block and the two of them ended up in the stairwell facing off with each other. Too highly strung for their own good.
‘What if this is the one time that I’m right? You’re here getting all… demonic on the stairs and-‘
‘I will get demonic, Aziraphale. I am in fact a demon, plus if this is the one time that you’re right then you’re holding both us back by squabbling. Move out of the way.’
Crowley marched up the stairs stony faced, swooping straight past Aziraphale to your front door.
He did care. He really did. He just didn’t like to show it around Aziraphale because he always felt inferior in they way that he cared compared to the angel. He didn’t have those massively intuitive senses, his baking skills weren’t up to scratch, he felt held back by control. But something in the demonic form burned when he thought of the idea that you were hurting- and that burning was made more painful by Aziraphale’s suggestion that he didn’t care.
He snapped his fingers at your door, and it violently swung open, hitting against the wall of the hallway as it did. He stormed inside, barely letting Aziraphale follow behind before he snapped his fingers again to close it. Darkness and silence fell over the hallway as the angel and the demon stood completely still, their anxious breathing slowly filling the space.
They could both easily sense one important thing- you were present in the apartment, you were safe within the four walls. There was a collective sigh of relief.
‘Told you,’ Crowley sneered under his breath, trying to hide his still present anxiety. As much as he could feel your presence, he was struggling with any of the finer details, your emotional state or your exact whereabouts.
‘Don’t be like that. I was only trying to help,’ Aziraphale whimpered, taking a small step forwards. Unlike Crowley, he could just about tell that you were somewhere in the general direction of your bedroom. The angel clicked his fingers and uttered a small ‘let there be light’, allowing the hallway to be illuminated by a faint white glow. There was no other light coming from anywhere due to a distinct lack of windows in the architecture of this building, the only three were in your living room, your bedroom and your kitchen and even then, you’d shut all of the curtains and all of the doors in the place.
The angel padded further down the hallway, leaving Crowley to look at the prints on your walls like an awkward cousin at a party. By the time Aziraphale had reached your bedroom door, Crowley had moved onto examining the items on the coffee table that was slightly further down the hall. There wasn’t a lot to examine, a couple of books, your keys, an Alexa that you’d turned the microphone off on. The one thing that caught Crowley’s eye was a small painting of a seaside town just laying down on the table. It wasn’t anywhere near being finished and much to Crowley’s dismay, it was crumpled up. He assumed two scenarios from this, either someone had given you an unfinished painting and you felt so strongly about it that you took to crumpling it up, or this was in fact your handy work that had been partially destroyed.
‘Crowley, what now?’ Aziraphale whispered from the end of the corridor, bringing Crowley’s gaze up from the table and back to reality.
‘Uhhh, don’t scare them. Don’t just burst in,’ the demon responded, moving down to meet Aziraphale by the bedroom.
‘I wasn’t planning on doing that! I just mean, do I knock? Just go in? Announce our arrival?’
Crowley rested his hand lightly on your bedroom door, looking quizzically at Aziraphale who was jumping through every possible scenario in his head. The demon sighed.
‘Just, shush. Okay, let’s just be quiet. Follow me, angel.’
Crowley very slowly pushed your bedroom door open, being greeted with yet more darkness from inside as he did so. Aziraphale hung over his shoulder to try and look inside, with Crowley grunting slightly at this. Through the darkness, Crowley made out a shape in the bed.
You, curled into a ball and fast asleep. Your breathing was heavy, but not laboured, and the bedsheets rose and fell accordingly. You were as close to comatose as could possibly be, dead to the world but luckily, very much alive.
‘Aaah. Oh, look,’ whispered Aziraphale. Crowley glared slightly at the angel, but inside, his sentiments were very similar. The pair stared at your form resting in the darkness for a few seconds, relieved with every breath that you took. With anyone else? It would have been creepy.
But not with these two. It was a deep devotion and concern.
Aziraphale went to take a step forwards but Crowley stopped him in his tracks, stopping the angel from getting anywhere near you.
‘Don’t even think about waking them, look. They’re deep in dreamland,’ the demon hissed, meeting Aziraphale’s puppy eyes.
‘Oh please, I just wanted to check that they’re okay.’
‘Aziraphale, they’re very clearly shattered. I think that we’ve discovered that they’re definitely not okay, but interrupting their sleep won’t help anyone. Let’s just, y’know, help where we can.’
‘But their soul-‘
‘I know. We’ll help with that tomorrow. For today, they sleep.’
Aziraphale eventually backed off slightly, looking down while nodding in defeat. While his deep concern could only ever have come from a place of love, he realised that stepping back for a second could be beneficial to everyone. He started to head towards the kitchen to see if there was anything that he could help with in there, turning back round for a second to ask Crowley what he should do. Crowley however was no longer stood in your doorway, and was instead sat on the edge of your bed, resting his hand on your leg.
The angel went to protest in some jealousy for a moment, but the warm glow that filled up his heart because of the sight stopped him. He just smiled, and turned back.
—
Between the pair of them, you were treated to a clean kitchen, a full fridge, a massive fuzzy blanket for the bed and soft, warm light for each room.
But there was one final detail bugging Crowley.
As the pair crept down your hallway back to the front door, Crowley let out a soft whistle to his friend as he stopped beside the coffee table. The angel turned his head, looking at the objects scattered about the surface.
‘What’s this?’ He asked, strangely intrigued by the small speaker- like object.
‘It’s an Alexa, it’s like a - y’know what, doesn’t matter. That’s not what I need you for. Look at this.’ Crowley picked up the ruined painting that he’d spotted earlier, showing it to Aziraphale. The angel scanned over it.
‘Ooh, its Whitby, the place with Dracula!’ He half gasped half squealed, failing to see what his friend was seeing.
‘It’s fucked is what it is, angel. I think they’ve crumpled it up in frustration or something, which I’m not exactly thrilled with. I’m out of niceness for today, can you do something?’ Crowley sighed, thrusting the painting towards his friend slightly.
‘Oh, easily. Your wish is my command, dear.’
Aziraphale swiped his hand across the paper and watched as the creases disappeared and the smudges eased. The colours got just a little brighter, and the beauty of your half- finished painting was restored.
‘We’ll help them finish it tomorrow, yes Crowley?’ The angel continued. Crowley gave a small smile with all the good energy that he had left in his body.
‘Yes angel. That would be nice.’
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The Fight
With; Newt (TMR)
A/N: Kind of a long one guys. Thank you again for all the love. I appreciate every like, reblog, and comment. Enjoy!
Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts/attempt, anxiety, minor panic attack, Minho being an ass (I promise it’s not all depressing and sappy there is a good amount of angst/fluff ofc)
“Bugger off Newt, I want to be left alone.” The boy trails behind as you stomp over to the forest, figuring collecting fertilizer would be better than having to tolerate the pestering blonde any longer.
“Don’t you want someone to keep you company?”
“Am I still speaking English? Leave me be.” It’s been a long day, and a part of you is still getting used to the harsh, mundane work days of the glade since you’re arrival a few months ago. It’s been a lot of pressure, but surprisingly you’ve managed to hold it together. It’s impressive too, you’ve managed to adapt better to your new life better than any other glader had. Perhaps that was why the boy was so drawn to you.
It’s not like he had wanted to be. In fact, Newt would have been more than happy treating you like any other glader. But it just so happened the one and only girl in the glade just had to be a natural track-hoe, so there was no avoiding her. Not her smooth skin, glistening eyes, or her infectious laugh-
“Hello? Would you quit it, shank? It’s like you want to get me jacked.”
“Maybe I just like seeing you all riled up.” You can feel the smirk playing on his stupidly Cherry-red lips as he teases you, quickening his pace so he can grab the straggling branches of the thick forest out of your way. Your stomach flips at his words, but it’s quickly filled with hot anger as the nervousness fades. He won’t quit flirting, and despite your quit wit you’re finding it harder to snap back at him when he says things like that. He doesn’t even mean it
“You’re infuriating!”
“And you’re gorgeous.” The words slip past his tongue before he can catch him, and your footsteps stutter over a stray twig amongst the brush on the ground. You almost trip, but the glader behind you is quick to catch your forearm. It’s silent, and you’re darting your head around just fast enough to catch the stunned look on his face, informing you he hadn’t meant to voice the compliment aloud. Your eyes narrow, trying your best to ignore the longing temptation within you begging to kiss away the stupid blush in his cheeks.
“You know, instead of searching the forest for fertilizer, I should just pick up all the klunk that comes out of your mouth.” The harsh words come without much thought, but you don’t completely regret saying them. If he was actually interested, he wouldn’t be so keen on making you annoyed every minute of every day.
His eyebrows narrow, but if your snarky comment provoked any thought he doesn’t voice it.
“Shuck, sorry then newbie. I’ll slim it.”
“Listen, I was a newbie four greenies ago! So you can stop calling me that.” You spin on your heel to face him, standing your ground when he stops short in order to not run you over. When you meet eyes, he gives a kind smile, studying your features intently. Almost as if you were in a daze, you do the same. Relishing in the sounds of the nature around you and the warm sun beaming through the tree tops, perfectly illuminating the lightest streaks in the taller boy’s hair. You hadn’t notice before, but there are small puddles of gold in his deep brown eyes, speckled about in his irises and disappearing when he tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. He licks his lips before letting his accented voice break the silence.
“What’s up with you?”
“What? Nothing.”
“You’ve got that look about you.”
“What look?”
“That look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“Well, I’m looking at you right now, and you have a look.”
“What look?!” He grins at your suddenly aggravated persistence, holding back a laugh when you let out a dramatic groan and start to tread deeper into the woods.
Later that night, you’re making conversation with Frypan as you help with the dishes. He’s good company, and most times mundane chores like cleaning up after other gladers seem to fly by when he’s around. You let out a sigh when a familiar hand reaches out to help you take out one of the heavier pots from the drying rack.
“Didn’t know you were a cook, greenie.”
“Maybe I;’m just trying to avoid you.”
“Impossible, you’d miss me too much.”
“What do you want, shank.”
“What, I can’t help out too?”
Just then, you’re pulled away by the forearm with a strong yank. Releasing yourself from Mihno’s grip and rubbing the excess suds off of your hands quickly.
“What the hell?”
“Listen, you want him to quit being a shank towards you right?”
“Of course I do Minho, but-“
“Then flirt with me.”
“Wh-what?”
“Flirt with me, squeeze my arm and laugh like I just said something really funny.”
“You’re already saying something funny. You must be jacked.” You attempt to blow your friend off and walk away, but he pulls you toward him again.
“Just humor me for a minute, yeah? Let’s see how riled up this shank gets.”
“Minho, he’s not going to get mad. He lives to annoy me, he’ll be happy to see you’re joining in on the fun!”
“Y/n, you’re not seriously this dense? The poor shank likes you, he’s just got no idea how to show it. The playful banter you two have, although it’s cute, is starting to get old. So, because I’m an amazing friend and wing-man, I’ll help you shanks out. Now squeeze my arm and laugh.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Don’t believe me?” His challenging smirk is enough for you to give in, determined to prove the raven haired boy wrong. Setting aside your irritated mood, you adjust your hunched stance before giving Minho your most charming smile. Muttering idly and pressing his bicep with a dramatic laugh. He shoots you a glare when you pinch with a little too much passion, but a smirk stays on his face nonetheless. He moves just a bit closer to you, eyes darting across the glade and smile widening.
“See she-bean? He’s practically fuming.” The boy does all he can to contain his laughter, pulling himself together when you offer a subtle glance to the blonde across the glade. He’s leaning against the now empty sink with his arms crossed. Looking too angry to even begin to make his death glare towards Minho any less obvious. Admittedly, you don’t think you’ve seen Newt ever look so flustered. When you lock eyes, his lips remain tightly pressed together. Not long after does he turn back around to continue attending to the dishes. All whilst muttering something under his breath and shaking his head.
“Don’t get so cocky, you’re blushing too you shank.” You swat Mihno’s hand pinching your cheek, genuinely laughing when he nudges you out of the homestead hut.
“I’ll probably be banished by sundown for that.”
“You think he’s really that upset about it? I mean, I know we’re good friends and all but I never expected Newt to see me like that.”
“It’s a good thing I’m one of the only shanks around here with a brain.”
“Y/n, mind if I talk to you for a bit?” Alby approached the pair of you with a soft expression, his gentle nature filling you with a bit of concern. You nod hesitantly, feeling as though every damn glader needed to pull you from one conversation to the next tonight. You follow Alby closely as he leads you back into the homestead, sitting on one of the hammocks and motioning for you to do the same. There’s a contemplative silence before the head glader speaks, only taking him a few moments to gather his thoughts before meeting your eyes.
“I gotta be honest greenie, I’m a bit worried about you.”
“Why me?” Your eyebrows narrow in confusion, and the older boy’s worried tone makes your heart sink.
“Most of the newbies are jacked the first couple weeks. You know, lashing out one minute and crying like a baby the next. But you’ve been quite, collected. That leaves a lot of room for me to be concerned.”
“Alby, you’re upset that I’m not...Upset?”
“I’m upset that you remind me of myself. I was a lot like you, I kept everything in when I first got here. I was reserved, and I kept everything bottled up inside. And I’m no therapist, but that quickly tore me apart. I understand being a girl might...Complicate things, seeing as some of these shanks expect you to be weaker. You don’t have to prove yourself greenie, at least not in that way.” You take a minute to consider his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek in thought. He studies you for a moment, seemingly thinking about his next words with caution. “I don’t mean to jack you up, just think about it.” He finishes carefully, nudging your shoulder with his own before exiting the hut. Giving you a tight lipped smile and curt nod before disappearing from view. Was that supposed to be a pep talk?
**************
The past weeks had been confusing, terrifying, and downright unbelievable. That was clear, but didn’t you have no other choice than to accept what was going on? You still had millions of questions, and a certain ache in your heart that felt like it was pulling at you. But there wasn’t time to break down, not yet anyway. Is there even a right time? The conversation with Alby seemed to have made you worse off than before. You shuffle for the hundredth time in your hammock, letting out an exasperated sigh at the restless situation.
Despite your efforts, sleep never comes. For the past week, you’ve been exhausted just about everyday. Today had been no different, except when you try to relax, anxiety crawls in the air around you. Suddenly, the warm night air is absolutely suffocating. It’s too much pressure, too much unknown for you to handle it any longer. When your pounding heartbeat begins to drown out the cicadas and other sounds of the glade, you can only think of one thing. Alby was right
Stumbling out of your hammock, you start making your way out of the hut. It doesn’t matter where, you just need to escape. Even when you’re outside, there’s still not enough room. The four walls that once felt like a barrier between you and the horrors of the ominous maze, now feel like a cage. Trapping you inside and shrinking impossibly smaller until they eventually crush you.
Without thinking, you begin to sprint over to the west wall, pounding at the menacing stone and letting out a chocked sob. All at once, every emotion you’d suppressed since your first day in the glade releases from you. It’s nauseating, and you grip your stomach in an attempt to latch onto some sense of stability.
Who put you here? Why was everyone so indifferent to their lives here, and why had you eventually become the same way?
There’s been this ache, some rotting substance in your core that’s been emanating within you since you first woke up in the box. A horrible, indescribable hollowness that is the result of the loss of what must have been your life before the maze. Suddenly, you miss your mom. Or maybe a woman who resembled one. It’s mortifying, to know you must have parents somewhere out there. But you can’t remember them, can only feel the ugliest parts of you that aren’t whole without them. Your vision blurs, and there’s an awful white noise that drowns out any and all sounds of reality surrounding you. Completely immersed in your own thoughts, even the ground beneath you feels as though it’s been meticulously sculpted by whatever monsters put you here. It’s impossible to breath, feeling as though every beat of your heart, every blink of an eye is in the control of the creators. So caught up in your own panic, you don’t sense the boy calling your name behind you.
You attempt to squirm out of his strong grip, his stature never showing how strong he truly is from his long hours in the gardens. It’s no use to keep pulling away when his back hits the stone wall of the glade, using his strong grip to hold your hands against your chest as he slides you both to the floor. Weaker leg giving out from the sheer strength needed to restrain you. Newt’s not sure if he’s helping or making your panicked state even worse, but he’s reassured when you begin to calm. Erratic cries faltering into small whimpers as your head uncontrollably jerks at each sharp intake of air your body forces you to take. You can feel his heart beat rapidly against your back, informing you just how scared he is despite his stoic nature on the outside. You try to release from his grip once again, instincts telling you there’s too much to worry about to calm down. The blonde pulls you closer to him once more, hushing your cries and leaning his chin atop of your head. The world feels authentic again, and you silently think out a plethora of thank you’s to the boy for immersing you back into reality. Doing your best to cease your cries and gain control of your breathing, you grip onto the fabric of his long sleeve sleeping shirt with a terror-induced strength. It’s all too much
“Just breathe y/n, breathe with me.” He mutters softly, chest filling with pride when you mimic his dramatic intakes of air.
The ringing subsides, and the white clouding your vision finally clears when your heart begins to slow. Eventually, Newt releases your arms. And in an instant, you clutch onto his hand in fear the crippling panic will return. Rip you away from everything you’ve come to know in only seconds.
“You’re alright now love, just breathe.” He soothes again, not even flinching at your harsh grip on him. The minute you had left your hammock, something within him beckoned him to follow. You’d been off the past couple of days, and somehow the boy knew you couldn’t be alone. His eyes well with tears, you having reminded him so much of himself his first year in the glade. He wonders what you would have done if he hadn’t caught you in time, and what lengths you would have gone to if the pain never stopped and the maze walls opened. He wills away the thought with a shake of his head, reminding himself that you’re still here, and in dire need of a friend.
“I miss my mom.” You stutter out eventually, soft lips trembling and pulled into a pitiful pout. “I don’t remember her of course, but it’s like I can feel her. I feel everything and nothing at the same time, you know? There’s so much death here, it’s been hard to find something to live for. How am I supposed to do this, how are we supposed to survive this? I mean...This has gotta be some sort of sick joke, nobody could be this shucking cruel right?” You let out a pathetic scoff, still shaking uncontrollably in his arms.
“Listen to me y/n, I’ve been where you are. We all have, and I can promise you there is so much more than that feeling. You have to believe me.” You shake your head, refusing to accept his empty promises. He sighs before continuing, trying to gather his thoughts in preparation to confess what he’s kept secret from almost all other gladers until now. “A couple weeks into my first year here, I couldn’t shake the same feeling you’re describing. That dark, ominous part that sits inside of all of us here. The unknown, the memories begging to re-enter your mind. I hated it, I hated this place, and I hated myself.” You lift your head from his shoulder at that, wanting to study his contemplative expression as he carries on. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it. So I ran out into the maze....And I did what I assume you’ve been thinking about the past couple of days. And I can assure you, nothing you do to yourself with get rid of that pain. That’s why we survive, we persevere, we fight. It might have taken a shattered leg and permanent limp for me to realize, but I know now the only way to beat that feeling is to escape this shucking place. What comes next doesn’t matter, we have to show whatever slintheads put us here that they won’t ever win. Do you understand?” His expression becomes stern, willing each word to bore into your mind as a permanent oath. Stunning brown eyes boring into yours as if they’ll cement each syllable into your mind. You nod, unsure of how to respond.
“You have to promise me.” He mutters softly, eyes welling with tears at your empty expression. “Please love, promise me you’ll fight.” He’s holding your head in his hands now, silently willing the overwhelming demons your facing to escape that beautiful mind.
“P-promise. I promise.” You reassure weakly, overcome with love for the boy under you. Instantly, you encase him in a tight embrace. Heart swelling even more when he plants a soft kiss to your temple.
“Good that.” He breathes gently, pulling you impossibly closer to his heart. Just to hold you for a little while longer. You have to fight, and you’ll do it together.
Tagging: @8avery8 @jenny33996
#imagines#fanfic#fiction#death cure#minho x reader#newt maze runner#newt x reader#scorch trials#the maze runner imagine#thomas maze runner#tmr teresa#tmr fanart#newtmas#the maze runner#dylan obrien#thomas brodie sangster#tmr gally#tmr newt#frypan maze runner#james dashner#benny watts#thomas sangster#minho maze runner
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Johnny Lawrence x Reader
Matter - Chapter Six
Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral, Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Depression
You kept driving.
The constant sensation of moving, of going somewhere was the only thing that was holding you together. You needed to go, you had to get away. Your foot pressed down harder on the accelerator, your hands were wrapped tight around the steering wheel. The scenery was flying by faster and faster. The only thing you could concentrate on was the highway, everything else just fell away like it never mattered in the first place.
It stripped you bare, washed you clean. You couldn't remember the last time the anxiety had been silent. You drove faster, chasing the feeling, hunting it down, it was the only thing that mattered. Nothing else-
Shit, a sedan was pulling out in front of you. Slamming on the brakes, the seatbelt dug hard into your body as it held you from going into the wheel. The sedan ahead kept getting closer, your eyes widened at the imminent collision. Somehow you managed to slow down in time, the sedan was steadily pulling away from your car.
Your heart was thumping so hard it hurt. Adrenaline dissipated outwards from your chest and it made your hands shake. Turning off at the next exit, you parked up at a gas station and turned off the engine. That was close, that was too fucking close.
How fast were you even going? You didn't look to see, you didn't care. All you were focused on was maintaining that sensation of freedom and nothingness where the anxieties didn't exist anymore. But that was a momentary blip, they'd already come rushing back as you considered what would have happened if you reacted a second slower, half a second slower.
When you'd calmed down, you filled up the tank while you were at the gas station and realised you didn't have a clue where you were. It was hours ago since you'd left the city with no thought of where you were headed. It was already getting dark. After looking up the directions back to the apartment, you got back on the road.
Inevitably, you began to picture that pack of beer in the refrigerator again. Why hadn't you thought about him drinking? It wasn't like you'd only been seeing Johnny for a few weeks, you'd been going to the dojo for months. In all that time, you hadn't considered it? If you were honest with yourself, you felt betrayed by him. But he had never lied to you, he never said that he'd stopped drinking. You just didn't think about it.
You had blocked it out of your mind, content with your self-imposed ignorance. So what were you so upset about? Johnny was drinking in front of those kids, wasn't that reason enough to be angry? No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't picture him getting drunk in the dojo. Those beers were getting him through the day, a whole pack wasn't going to get him drunk, he'd practically still be sober.
You were so conflicted. You knew you were wrong, but it didn't stop how you were feeling. You felt dejected and angry and hurt. There was no one to blame, nowhere to put the emotions so they had to be buried away. You were in half a mind to go to a liquor store, buy a bottle of that cheap whiskey Johnny liked and get fucking wasted. Instead when you finally made it back to the apartment, you got high.
Though it didn't help much, you'd take any kind of relief you could get. You didn't know what to think anymore.
It'd be easier if you didn't have to think at all.
- - -
When Johnny called, you didn't pick up at first. You just let it ring and ring until it finally went to voicemail, unable to scrounge up enough courage to actually talk to him.
You needed more time to get your head straight. It still wasn't sinking in that he hadn't done anything wrong. Even though he was still drinking, he wasn't like before when you were together. He was healthier, he was more himself. No matter how many times you reminded yourself of the truth, it didn't ease the rising dread and the constant thoughts of the Firebird wrapped around a tree, him going on another bender, him ending up passed out in some alleyway, him lying face first on the ground, wheezing, choking, dying.
An hour later he called again. This time you answered, needing to hear his voice. He asked if you could come to the dojo tomorrow and you agreed, like always.
Parking up next to his Firebird the next day, you hesitated getting out of your car. A small part of you wanted to bolt. Maybe distance would somehow lessen the pain, maybe if you never saw Johnny again you could imagine that he was perfectly fine, forever healthy and untroubled. You pushed the anxious thoughts aside and headed into the dojo. There were a few kids already there. Hawk, Aisha and Miguel were chatting in the corner, too engrossed in their conversation to notice you coming in.
As you went into the office, you almost collided into Johnny and reared backwards to avoid him. He immediately reached out and held onto your shoulders, carefully steadying you before you could stumble.
“You okay?” He murmured softly, his bright eyes entirely focused on you.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you replied, unable to hold to gaze. Turning your shoulders slightly, he seemed to take the hint and let you go. He didn't. . .he didn't smell like booze. Maybe he was being polite and he'd wait until you left before he started drinking.
You moved passed him and settled down at the desk, quickly picking up some pieces of paper to start working. Johnny was still hovering by the door, his presence was almost oppressive. You were hyperaware of him in your peripheral vision, you could still feel his hands on your shoulders. Thankfully he went into the dojo and you could breathe a little easier.
This was so pathetic. The things you had made yourself believe, the things you convinced yourself of in order to try and ease the pain. It wasn't just being naïve, thinking that he'd stopped drinking, it wasn't even willed ignorance, it was worse than that. You had deluded yourself, you had created an impossible narrative and you hadn't even noticed until it stared at you right in the face.
Johnny was never going to stop drinking.
He didn't stop for Robby, he didn't stop for you, and he certainly wasn't going to do it for himself. Anguish bled into your heart at the realisation. You looked over to the dojo through the window, seeing Johnny talk to a few of the kids. There was nothing you could do, there was never anything you could do. That sense of helplessness you hadn't felt for months was back. You couldn't even help the one person that you loved more than anything in this world.
You were worthless.
- - -
The next time he called, you didn't answer. Not the second or the third time either. You couldn't bring yourself to go back there and see him again.
Your head was all over the place. You felt deeply agitated but calm at the same time. There would be times when your mind would blank, and then it would be a mess of racing, spiralling thoughts. Whenever you got home from work, you didn't know what to do with yourself anymore. You considered listening to some music or watching a movie, but you didn't have the energy to decide. It was too much effort.
A strange weight had settled deep inside your chest. Sometimes it would flare up, almost like the echoes of adrenaline. You didn't know whether it was agony or rage, neither conceded to the other so it felt as if you were in the eye of a storm, waiting for the moment when everything would come undone.
You parked up outside the apartment after another long, shitty day at work, trying not to think about the fact you needed to get some groceries. The refrigerator was almost empty, the cupboards were largely comprised of condiments and spices. There might be can of soup hiding somewhere. You walked to the entrance of the apartment building, thinking that the soup would have to suffice for dinner even though you wanted a proper meal.
A few days ago you got food poisoning from something, you hadn't worked out what it was in the end. Tomorrow you would go to the grocery store. Or maybe the day after that would be better-
“Hey.” The sound of Johnny's voice made you look up in surprise. He was standing near the main door with his hands in his jean pockets.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was driving through, thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing.” You let out a sigh, rather irked by the fact he'd turned up in person. It was easy to ignore a call, but you couldn't ignore him standing right in front of you. His eyes were watching you carefully, expectant of anything but a dismissal.
“Let's go up,” you told him, pulling out your keys and opening up the main door. He followed behind you silently as you took the stairs, Johnny's presence was making you nervous, you almost tripped up on the last flight of stairs.
The sound of an argument from one of the neighbours permeated through the corridor as you went to your apartment. You fumbled impatiently with the botched lock, completely forgetting the normal routine of opening it up. Taking in a breath, you focused on doing it slowly and managed to get it open after a few seconds.
“Want me to take a look at that?” He offered as both of you went inside.
“It's fine,” you replied, gesturing to the sofa. After kicking off his shoes, he sat down with his elbows on his knees. There was that same sour expression on his face from the last time he was here. You tried not to take it personally, he was just thinking about his mom. Rather than sitting next to him as the sofa was a little small, you perched on the armrest, waiting for him to say something.
“I tried to call a few times,” he told you, obviously waiting for an explanation.
“I haven't had time to come to the dojo.”
“How about next week? Is Thursday okay?”
“Do you have a lot of paperwork then?”
“Uhh. . .yeah I guess.”
“I'll let you know,” you replied, taking to your feet. “Was there anything else?” Johnny's jaw twitched as he looked away from you for a brief moment.
“I wanted to know how you're doing.”
“Fine,” you immediately responded. “Just tired.” He kept watching you, wanting more than a three word response. “How are you and the kids?”
“I'm okay, kids are doing great too.” You nodded slowly, pressing your lips together. After a few moments of silence Johnny asked you how things were at work.
“Busy.” He looked down to his hands, he seemed uncomfortable that you were being so unresponsive.
“I saw Robby yesterday,” he mentioned, trying to keep the conversation going.
“How's he doing?”
“Pretty good. He was in a bit of trouble at school but he's keeping out of it for now. We go to a burger joint each week and I drive him to school sometimes.”
“That's good. He needs you, Johnny.”
“He asked about seeing you. I haven't told him that we're not uh. . .”
“Why not?”
“I didn't want to give him another reason to be disappointed in me,” he murmured. “He's got enough already.” The hurt in his eyes made your heart twinge in discomfort. Both of you broke eye contact, unable to hold each other's gaze.
“I think he'd be more disappointed that you lied to him,” you replied quietly. He stared at you again. Your chest hurt even more so you turned away and headed towards the front door. You said that you'd let him know whether you could make it next week. Johnny finally took the hint that you wanted him to leave and got off the sofa. After he put on his shoes, he stood in front of you for a few moments, his hands were almost balled into fists, his fingertips grazing the pad of his thumb.
“Are you sure you don't want me to take a look at the door?”
“I said it's fine.” You opened up the front door for him and he moved past you. He turned as if to say something else so you cut him off before he had the chance.
“Talk to me first before turning up here again, alright?” Your tone was harsher than intended. His eyes flicked down to the floor, he nodded in response and then walked off down the corridor.
You watched him walk away, trying to ignore how wrong it felt to watch him leave, just like you wanted.
- - -
It took less than five minutes for you to regret how you had spoken to Johnny. You shouldn't have been so rude to him. You were just so exhausted, and for him to catch you unawares like that, like he always managed to, made you shut down. The only thing that seemed to make sense was to put some distance between you and him, to give you a moment to process what was happening.
Almost a week has passed and the agitated state you'd been in had finally started to settle out into something more predictable. Extra shifts and overtime kept your mind occupied. It was almost like you were functioning on autopilot, going to work, driving back, eating some food, getting high, sleeping, you did a lot of that now. Before you had barely been able to sleep, but now you'd go ten hours straight and it still wouldn't be enough.
You didn't think about those beers in the refrigerator as much. Every now and then the anxiety would bleed into you uncontrollably as you wondered where Johnny was, whether he was okay, how much had he been drinking, had he got into a fight. Was he safe?
He had the dojo now, he had the kids, he had Robby back. It would be enough for him to keep it together, he wouldn't get as bad as before, it had to be enough.
When he was in your apartment, you'd said that you were going to call to let him know whether you could make it to the dojo on Thursday. It was only the night before that you finally managed to coax yourself to give him a call and tell him you'd be able to make it.
The next day you found yourself driving to the dojo, smoking a joint to try and relax a little. With the windows down and the music blaring, you ran over the apology you were going to tell Johnny. You hadn't meant to be so dismissive and kick him out of the apartment after he'd barely been in it. You were still pretty fucked in the head, maybe seeing him every now and again would calm you down, maybe you wouldn't worry as much, maybe you wouldn't be so scared.
After parking up next to the Firebird and heading inside, you asked Johnny whether you could talk to him for a minute.
“Everything okay?” He asked when both of you were in the office. You stood in front of the desk, keeping your arms from crossing over your chest.
“I wanted to apologise for being rude to you last week. I was just so tired and. . .” you trailed off, the words you had prepared earlier didn't seem right. How were you meant to explain yourself? How could you tell him that-
“It's okay. I shouldn't have turned up without checking with you first,” he replied solemnly. That wasn't what you'd been trying to say, was it?
“Sensei!” Miguel said as he came in to the office. “Aisha can't make it today, she's got a family thing she can't get out it. . .sorry am I interrupting something?” He must have noticed the tension between you and Johnny. Forcing a smile on your face, you shook your head and sat down behind the desk.
“It's fine, Diaz. Text down what we've been doing today and let her know.”
“Oh I'll just FaceTime her later.”
“Face what?”
“It's a video call, Sensei.”
“Right, sure.” Miguel failed to hold back a grin as he left the office. Johnny turned his attention back to you. For a moment you thought he was going to say something, but he simply nodded at you and went into the dojo. Over the next few minutes, you watched as he chatted to his students before gathering them all together on the mat and starting the class.
His words kept playing over in your mind over and over. Was he never going to turn up at your apartment again?
Why did the thought fill you with so much dread?
- - -
Maybe monthly visits to the dojo would be the best compromise. It was frequent enough to keep on top of the paperwork but infrequent enough to give you time away from Johnny. It would be better if you started to drift away from him. Aside from helping him out in the office, there wasn't anything good you brought into his life. You hadn't helped him before when he needed it the most. All you did was watch him get worse and worse until you couldn't do it anymore.
Why hadn't you helped him? Were you really that useless? Why had you walked away? Were you really that much of a coward? It was shameful what you had done, unforgivable. You'd left him. You'd left him all alone. What if he did that to you? You'd never recover, you'd never be the same again.
When Johnny called, you didn't answer. The week after you'd been to the dojo, he called a few times, the week after that maybe once or twice. Even though you'd told him not to, you held out hope every time you went to and from work that you'd see him waiting outside your apartment.
But he never turned up again.
It had been a tiring morning. Work had been torturously long and you were only halfway through your shift. You were on lunch break, sitting in your car smoking a joint. It was the only thing that took the edge off anymore. Your phone buzzed and you were taken back by a text message from Johnny. He never texted. You checked the number a couple of times, making sure it was him. The content of the message should have been evident enough.
>> can u come to dojo tonite at 8?
He had never texted before, he didn't know how to. Immediately you called him back, but it went to voicemail after a couple rings. A few minutes later you received another text.
>> have class cant talk. really need to see u. its urgent
Your eyebrows furrowed. It was urgent? Was something wrong? Was he okay? You texted him back, telling him you'd meet him at eight, asking if he needed you to come sooner. He sent back a reply saying eight o'clock was fine. Unable to hold back your curiosity, you shot off another message, asking how he knew how to text.
>> Diaz teachin me
He didn't text anything else back for the rest of the day. The rest of your shift passed by in an anxious blur as you worried about whether he was okay. Something must have been going on. Had something happened to Robby? If it was really bad, he wouldn't have waited until the evening, would he?
You parked up at the dojo a couple minutes before eight o'clock, trying to ignore the growing nerves. Heading in through the door, only the office was lit with the main lights turned off. Passing round the mat, you heard Johnny's voice.
“For the last time Diaz, I'm not buying you those nunchucks, they're-” Johnny stopped talking the moment you walked into the office. He was sitting with his feet on the desk, beer in hand, a magazine on his legs which he must have been flipping through. There were a couple of empty beer cans on the desk, one had already fallen to the floor. You suddenly felt nauseous and had to force yourself not to turn away from him.
“What are you doing here?” He questioned as he took his feet off the desk and dropped the magazine down onto it.
“It's eight o'clock,” you reminded him quietly, eyes fixating on the beer he was holding. How many had he had already?
“So?” He spat back.
“You said you wanted me to meet you here at eight.”
“No I didn't.”
“It was a couple of hours ago, Johnny. You texted me.”
“Since when do I text?”
“Since Miguel started to teach you?” He looked at you puzzled for a few moments before his expression filled with recognition. He let out a deep sigh.
“That kid. . .” he mumbled in irritation. You suddenly realised that it was Miguel who had texted you. Shit. . .why didn't you realise? Johnny always called him Miguel whenever he spoke to you, not Diaz. You should have known. He'd never texted you before, and then after he rejected your call, he didn't call you back. He always called you back. You felt stupid, embarrassed.
“Well. . .I didn't mean to interrupt you. You seem to have plans so. . .” You tried not to think about how many more beers he'd get through tonight. About to turn away from him, he quickly stood up and put the can down on the desk.
“What's going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What's going on? I haven't seen you in nearly three weeks.”
“I've been busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Work's been crazy, I haven't found the time.”
“Haven't found the time, that's a good one. I should remember that.”
“What?”
“I'm just making a note of your bullshit,” he told you as he began to approach you.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
“No, I don't want to fight,” he replied softly, stopping a few feet in front of you. The smell of alcohol was even stronger now. “I want you to tell me what's going on. Something's not right with you, what is it?”
“I say no when you ask me for a favour and that automatically means there's something wrong with me?”
“I thought you liked it here. The kids think you're great, they keep asking me when you're coming back and I don't know what to tell them. It's better when you're here.”
“Gotta have someone to do your busy work, right?”
“Don't do that. Don't put words in my mouth. I don't give a shit about the paperwork. I like having you around, alright?” Your eyes dropped to the ground, you didn't know what to say, you didn't know what to think.
"Look I know work's crazy but. . .can't you come here once a week? Just for an hour or two."
You slowly started to shake your head, every week was just too much.
"Okay, what about once every two weeks, starting tomorrow?" You pressed your lips together, hesitant to agree even though it was better than every single week. "Please?" You looked up at him then, at his bright, hopeful eyes and you were nodding before you even realised.
He walked you out of the dojo and to your car not long after that. You supposed you would be back here tomorrow.
- - -
The kids greeted you warmly the next day when you walked into the dojo. Miguel, Aisha and Hawk followed you into the office, but it was only Aisha and Hawk who were chatting excitedly about the mock tournament that Johnny was going to plan, discussing who was going to fight each other, what new moves they could incorporate in the fights, who was most likely to win.
Miguel remained quiet and avoided your gaze, Johnny had probably chewed him out for the stunt he pulled on you last night. He might have been trying to do the right thing and help his Sensei, but he had no right to lie like that. It wasn't fair.
Johnny greeted you without any awkwardness or tension and rounded up the kids to begin the class. It was. . .kind of nice being back in the dojo, listening to the rhythmic sound of the kids doing their movements, to Johnny as he walked along beside them, effortlessly explaining how they could improve and complimenting the students which had cracked it or had shown improvement.
After the class, Miguel came into the office with his backpack and apologised genuinely for what he did. You nodded in response and accepted his apology before asking him why he wasn't staying.
"Sensei says I have to do some endurance training today."
"Endurance training?"
"Yeah, it's a lot of running and stuff. Fifteen miles to start and then-"
"To start?" You reply incredulously before mumbling under your breath where's Johnny. Taking to your feet, you looked out to the dojo to find him talking to Bert. Miguel might have done wrong, but he didn't deserve to be punished like this.
"Oh it's fine, I do it anyways. Just not usually on the night I'm supposed to be going out with my friends," he reassured you. Your eyes flicked between Miguel and Johnny, uncertain whether it really was okay. "I know I shouldn't have lied so. . .really it's fine."
"Alright," you told him. After Miguel left the office and more of the kids headed out of the dojo, Johnny came in to see you.
"Diaz apologise?" He asked, coming around to your side of the desk and perching on the edge of it.
"Yeah, he did.”
“He's a good kid really.”
“I know.” He nodded slowly, his eyes avoiding your gaze like he was preparing himself to tell you something.
“I uh. . . I told Robby about us. About a lot of things actually.”
“Yeah?” “About Sid, and Cobra Kai and all the shit I did in high school.” He paused for a few moments, taking a deep breath. “I told him about my mom too and. . .how she passed.”
Johnny had told you what happened to her a long time ago. He talked about the months he'd spent visiting her in hospital before she died, how day after day she got worse and worse until she wasn't really there at all. Her death hit him hard, she was all he had.
“I think I said too much. He hasn't answered my calls in a couple days.”
“He probably needs some time to process,” you replied. “That kid's always got a lot to process huh?”
“You still taking him to school?”
“He'd already left when I got there yesterday.”
“Beat him to it next time.”
“What. . .I should camp outside the front door at sunrise?”
“You gotta show someone you love them right?”
“Yeah. . .” Johnny mumbled back, focus drifting away from you as he became preoccupied with his thoughts.
- - -
The angst fest is back in town! Been a while huh? I'd hoped to get this finished months ago but season 3 of Cobra Kai really just put me off Johnny's character and I had a total loss of inspiration. I do plan on completing this story and hope you'll enjoy this next installment. Your comments are much appreciated as always.
Taglist: @whyhaveyouwritten-mehere @lacontroller1991 @stressedstark @wndrcarol @carissakingofthecastle92 @witchcraftandwit @magicwithaknife@80strashbag @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @chlqefrazer @actuallydrew @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @deadpoolgirl23 @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @princealfie @jackbarakms @the-a-word-2214 @sunflowerkitt @supernaturalcat7 @marvelfangirllll @walkerchick007 @kaelyn-lobrutto24
#johnny lawrence#johnny lawrence x reader#cobra kai#william zabka#atmo-x#the johnny angst fest is back in town baby
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[11:25p.m.] kiss in the bedroom + missing each other | lee minho
warnings: hints of depression, self-esteem issues, mentions of anxiety
requested: yes!
a/n: i’ll be super honest. i haven’t been feeling great these last few weeks. i’ve had a crazy amount of work piled on, and even now it’s like looming in the distance. im always stressed, and i’ve gotten max like 5 hours of sleep every night. i don’t usually like talking about my personal problems here on this blog, but this drabble was sorta my way of venting i guess, so i thought there might need to be some context. anyways, i hope it wasn’t too angsty for you, anon! as always, i love y’all so much, and i’m always here to talk if anyone needs it! <3
Minho wasn’t quite used to the feeling of missing you.
Of course, he’s longed for you before, wished that you were sitting next to him rather than only being a crackling voice over the phone, but this felt different. Normally, he was the one leaving, he was the one that had an utterly impossible schedule, the one that would drop by your shared apartment for only a few minutes before heading off again to god knows what.
He quickly realized that this feeling of being the one left behind? Yeah, he hated it with every fiber of his being.
The poor man had been utterly over the moon when he got a week off of work, and Minho had every intention to spent every single minute of it with you. Except, your schedules didn’t seem to line up this time, and for the last three days, you’ve probably been home for no more than a few hours, rushing off to your school’s practice room in preparation for a big piano competition.
Minho was bored. But more importantly, Minho missed you. He wanted to feel you lie in his arms, wanted to see your puffed up cheeks when he woke up before you and didn’t want to get out of bed. He wanted to cuddle with you on the couch along with his cats. He had created a whole checklist of things he’d wanted to do with you this vacation, and none of them have come true yet.
So now, Minho was plopped down on the couch, sulking as one of his cats sat comfortably in his lap, looking up at him.
Reaching down, his gentle fingers stroked Dori’s cheek as he mumbled, “Do you think your Mama’s going to come home today?” Dori only meowed in response, obviously just as distraught about your absence as he was.
Minho glanced over to the kitchen with a forlorn gaze. On the table sat a perfectly good meal of ddeokbokki, rice, and whatever side dishes he was capable of cooking up. He wanted to surprise you, after all. Spending all this time without you but also without anything to keep him busy made him realize just how much he needed your company, how much he longed for it. It made him marvel at the fact that you haven’t broken things off with him yet, especially since you felt this sort of unresolved longing almost on a weekly basis.
But by now, the ddeokbokki was already growing cold, and Minho felt the thorns around his heart constrict the more he waited for you, the more he could only wish that you were with him.
As if the heavens had answered his prayer, his ears suddenly perked up at the sounded of someone punching in the passcode to the apartment. Dori pushed off his lap immediately, rushing to the door along with his two other cats, and Minho wasn’t far behind. They were all eager to welcome you home.
What Minho didn’t expect was for you to open the door sopping wet, your clothes dripping water onto the doormat as you shivered, probably soaked to the bone. What scared him more, was that you seemed almost entirely oblivious to this fact, only standing at the door with your shoulders hunched.
“Y/N!” He gasped, snapping out of his stupor and rushing over to you, fluttering around you like an anxious fairy. Taking your wrist, he pulled you into the bedroom and immediately grabbed one of the towels that he’d cleaned that morning when he’d reached peak levels of loneliness.
“What were you doing walking out in the rain? You should’ve called me,” he scolded lightly as he dried your hair, bending down to do so. His hands froze midway, however, when he caught sight of the expression on your face.
There was no other way to describe it except that it chilled Minho to the very core. The utter hopelessness in your eyes, the way your cheeks seemed to be drained of their usual rosiness. Your lips were pale, and you looked the farthest from okay that he’s ever seen you.
His hands slowly came down and he placed the towel on the bed before very delicately cupping your face with his hands, “Y/N? Are you with me?” He asked, his tone cajoling and gentle.
You didn’t answer him, your gaze still unfocused as if you were looking through him, not at him. Minho was frightened, to say the least. This hasn’t ever happened before, at least not to this degree. You’ve hit slumps before, but you were always able to let it out, throw a little tantrum while Minho was happy to indulge in your rather adorable anger. But now, you looked almost like you didn’t even know how to let anything out, as if everything had been bottled up inside for so long that you were incapable of shedding yourself of whatever burden you were carrying.
“Y/N?” Your name fell out of Minho’s lips again as he grew more and more concerned by the second. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, but you were entirely unresponsive, only staring out in the distance as if you were seeing something that he couldn’t.
Minho was just about to pull out his phone and frantically call Bangchan about how to help you when you croaked out, your voice hoarse from lack of use, “I’m tired of this.”
For a brief moment, Minho felt panic like he’d never felt before. He panicked that you were referring to him, to the two of you. He panicked that he was going to lose you. He panicked that he’d never be able to walk home and see you slumped on the couch waiting for him to return.
But, he kept his cool, because he knew the last thing you needed was someone to act out of anger in any way, “Tired of what, babe?” he cooed softly, gazing into your eyes and trying to get you to look at him.
“Everything,” you spoke softly, and finally, your eyes shifted up to gaze into his. The dullness of your eyes, your normal sparkle completely extinguished, it hurt Minho more than he could even put into words.
“I’m tired of practicing. I’m tired of music. I’m tired of getting up in the morning. I’m tired of having to shoulder the weight of my entire fucking school’s expectations on my shoulders. I’m--” you choked on your words as tears begin to roll down your cheeks, and Minho pulled you into a tight hug.
Minho could feel the moment you physically let yourself melt into his embrace, and he was ready for it. He held up your weight easily (far too easily, he noted), and swept you in his arms, taking this as a cue to help you get ready for bed.
In a rather impressive feat, he helped you change out of your sopping clothes, all while making sure that he always was touching you in some way. That was something he’d discovered over the few months of dating you; you loved physical touch, craved it even more than some of his band members. Especially when you couldn’t control your anxiety and your hands would tremble ceaselessly, it was his touch that always calmed him down.
There was nothing sexual about the act as he slipped off your shirt and jeans, replacing them with his oversized t-shirt and your warm sweatpants. He pressed kisses to your lips whenever he could, understanding your rather unusual silence and taking it all in stride. It wasn’t his place to judge, only to shower you with all the love he could give you.
When he was all done, and you were as comfortable as physically possible, he swooped you into his arms, carrying you to bed.
“Minho,” you murmured his name when your head lolled against his chest, startling him as you quietly began to play with his shirt.
“Yes, babe?” He answered, setting you gently down on the bed and beginning to tuck you in the soft blankets, knowing how much you’d benefit from a decent night’s sleep.
Before he could walk away, you grabbed his sleeve, keeping him standing beside your bed as you asked softly, “Why am I never good enough?”
Minho’s eyes widened as he bent down, brushing the stray hairs away from your face, “No. No, no, darling, who told you that? Where did you hear such nonsense from?” He asked sternly, now genuinely having to struggle to hold his anger down as he wiped the falling tears from your cheeks.
“You are good enough. You’re more than enough, Y/N. You’ll always be enough, no matter if you come home with the medal or not. If you slip up on stage one day, you’ll still be enough. If you don’t get the grant that you were working for, you’ll still be enough,” Minho said softly, sitting on the bed as he comforted you in the only way he knew how.
He felt the tension that was constricting his heart start to loosen as you began to respond more to his touch, leaning your cheek into his hand, closing your eyes as you basked in his warmth, “Y/N, please,” he asked, still biting his lip with thinly veiled concern, “who put those thoughts into your head?”
Oh, how he wished it was some outside person. How he wished it was someone he could confront, someone to whom can be forced to deal with the true force of his wrath. But just from the look on your face, he knew it was more complicated than that.
Your smile was bitter as you looked him in the eye, “Myself.”
Minho sighed, having already assumed that was the case, “Baby…” Suddenly, his eyes widened, and the dots clicked in his head as he looked towards you with horror, “is that why--were you...avoiding me?”
“Not exactly,” you said slowly, “I was totally overwhelmed with practice this week, a-and I was afraid of what you might think of me when I’m running on three hours of sleep and one too many energy drinks.
You looked up at him, gently squeezing his hand, “I wasn’t trying to avoid you, but I was afraid to come home sometimes.”
Minho shook his head, feeling his heart shatter at your confession, “You don’t--you don’t have to make yourself look perfect for anyone’s sake, especially mine,” his voice trembled slightly as he leaned forward to he could rest his head on your chest, still clutching your hand tightly before he spoke not louder than a whisper, “Y/N, do you know how much I’ve missed you?”
The words struck your core, and the dam collapsed. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you slowly combed your hand through his hair, watching as Minho’s shoulders shook, and he held onto you as tightly as he could without hurting you. You could feel wetness drip onto your shirt as he cried into your chest, and the two of you held each other, comforting and loving each other with all of your hearts.
When all the lights in the bedroom were turned off save for a dim nightlight on the bedside table, and you were comfortably nestled in Minho’s chest, he murmured softly, his chest rumbling, “Please don’t spend all day at the school anymore. Overpractice won’t make you better.”
You hummed in acknowledgement, your eyes already closed, “I’ll try to come back before sundown every day. Deal?”
Minho huffed, not quite satisfied but knowing it was all he was going to get, “We’re not going to get to anything on my checklist as this point,” he mumbled childishly to himself.
“Checklist?” your ears perked up at that, and you tilted your head to look at him, “What checklist?”
His cheeks grew slightly pink as he explained, albeit very quietly, “I made a checklist of things I wanted to do with you this week.”
If that wasn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever heard, you didn’t know what was. Your lips quirked up into a smile as you let your arm drape around his waist as you looking up at him, “Oh? Care to tell me a few items on your list? Maybe we can knock some of them out quickly.”
Minho was silent for a moment, obviously weighing the consequences and the rewards of spilling his closely held secret. Finally, he said stubbornly, “I want to kiss you every night before going to bed.”
The request was so utterly simple, and yet it made your dulled heart flutter in a way that you didn’t know it could. Feeling warmth, Minho’s warmth and affection, slowly trickle back into your worn out body, you scooted up so your lips were just inches away from his.
“If you want, we can start that today,” you whispered, gazing into his eyes.
Never one to deny you of anything, Minho gave you a soft smile before cupping your cheek with his hand and leaning down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. Even in the softest of kisses, Minho had the ability to take your breath away, to make you feel more special than you ever believed you could. His lips caressed yours, gently nibbling and nipping at them until he was finally satisfied.
“I’ve missed you,” he breathed out before nuzzling his nose against your soft cheek.
“I’ve missed you, too,” you repeated the sentiment, leaning into his touch and basking in the love that he always showered you with, especially in the intimacy of the bedroom.
Eventually, he settled himself back on the bed as he pulled you back into his chest, always loving the weight of your head resting on him. It was as physically close as the two of you could be, and he could always wrap a protective arm around your waist like this.
You mindlessly drew circles over his torso as you asked, “What else is on your checklist, darling?”
Minho’s smirk went unnoticed, and he answered your question smugly, “Well, there were a few positions that I wanted to try--”
“Goodnight, Minho.”
“Hey!”
#inkidz#stayhavennet#districtninewriters#stray kids scenarios#stray kids drabbles#stray kids reactions#stray kids imagines#skz oneshots#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz drabbles#skz x reader#lee minho imagines#lee minho scenarios#lee know scenarios#skz x y/n#stray kids x reader#stray kids x y/n
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2 PM Suffering
Click here for Part 2 (there’s also a link at the bottom of the post)
warnings: consumption of alcohol and medication(aspirin), anxiety, stress, insomnia. I do not condone mixing alcohol with medication, it can be very harmful to the body. This story is purely for entertainment only. It’s not super angsty but I do want to warn you in case any of the aforementioned warnings can be triggering to you.
era: April 2021
❀ While the rest of NCT 127 is gone to shoot a schedule JiHo suffers alone in her dorm room, but Xiaojun comes to her rescue
It had been a few weeks since JiHo got withheld from NCT schedules until they could handle all the contractual issues. The initial meeting with the higher-ups in SM had really taken a toll on her mental health. The thought of maybe not being able to return to NCT and maybe even being dropped by SM was something she didn’t want to think about.
JiHo had been in so many meetings with SM, she couldn’t talk about it with the boys, all she could do was watch them continue on as NCT while she was hidden away from the public.
All that stress had caused her to have severe headaches almost daily at this point. She was awake until early in the morning, not being able to sleep, and then falling asleep due to pure exhaustion. And when she woke up only 2 hours after she had fallen asleep the cycle continued. Meeting, individual practise, meeting, yet another meeting, again individual practise, going home, sleep (or at least trying to).
It was currently 2 in the afternoon. She was home alone as all the boys were shooting some kind of top model series for the NCT 127 YouTube channel. Even though today was a day free of meetings for JiHo, she couldn’t help but still feel stressed and anxious. She hadn’t slept for at least 32 hours and the fact that she still couldn’t sleep was stressing her out even more.
She was sat on the floor of her room, relocated after her spot in her bed had became insufferably hot. She reached for the bottle of juice situated on her nightstand. She had bought it 2 days ago at the convenience store on her way back home. At the time she didn’t realise it was alcoholic, but after she had 2 glasses and she felt a comforting buzz in her chest, she knew it wasn’t just regular juice.
When she finished said second glass about an hour ago, she realised how it for some reason calmed her anxiety the tiniest bit. But the tiniest bit felt like such a relief. The lingering headache was the only thing - that’s what she made herself belief at least - that was keeping her from falling asleep.
Unfocused eyes watched how the small white container rolled in her hand. JiHo didn’t belief in medication. Pain relievers, cough syrups, even to anti-depressants, they only worked if you believed they would work. That was her opinion on that, yet at this point she had become so desperate having not slept for such a long period of time. “Just one won’t be that bad right? If they don’t work, then they don’t work.” She tried to convinced herself.
Three whole pills later and another glass of her ‘juice’ and JiHo had grown only more desperate. The headache had subsided for only a few minutes, so when it came back thrice as bad her anxiety had gone through the roof. She threw her head back in agony as her body shook violently.
“JiHo?” A shout came from the front door after it opened. “Taeyong hyung asked Kun ge to come check on you, but he couldn’t so I’m here with food and-” As soon as Xiaojun opened the door of JiHo’s room and saw the state the girl was in, he dropped the food he was holding and rushed over to JiHo. “What’s wrong? JiHo? Talk to me, what happened?”
JiHo’s face was flushed completely red, he hands balled up in fists tangled with her hair and her body was noticeably shaking. Thankfully he hadn’t come in 10 minutes earlier when she was a lot worse, JiHo thought.
Not receiving an answer Xiaojun’s eyes desperately searched the room for JiHo’s phone. Maybe he could reach one of the members, since his phone died just a few minutes before he had gotten to her dorm - he was relieved that he had memorised the passcode to the dorm’s door before it died, what would have happened if he couldn’t go in?
But as Xiaojun’s eyes looked around, his gaze fell on the juice bottle. He had recognised it as something Winwin once brought home to try it with the boys. “Isn’t that alcohol? But you don’t drink...” He could vividly remember JiHo say she didn’t like the taste of most alcohol, but more than that she just chose not to drink as it was something she didn’t feel like doing.
Xiaojun didn’t expect an answer so when it didn’t come he wasn’t surprised. “You drank a lot.” He picked up the bottle to see there was only enough left for half a glass. “JiHo-” “I bought it by mistake. But it’s helping my anxiety.” Xiaojun sighed at the words. He knew vaguely what was going on, but he never knew she was suffering from anxiety because of it. More so, he was sure none of the boys knew, because they wouldn’t have left JiHo alone like this if that was the case. He was aware of how overprotective the boys could be. Doyoung would’ve sent her to stay with WayV or Dream if he knew about this. So clearly he didn’t know.
“You shouldn’t drink like this though-” “What else am I supposed to do. I can barely sleep these days.” It was like she was straining her vocal cords just to speak. It sounded painful and the cough which followed only made it worse. “And these don’t help either.” JiHo mustered up all her strength to lift the almost weightless bottle of aspirin. Xiaojun’s eyes widened and his ja dropped at the sight. “You’ve been drinking and taking medication? You know you shouldn’t be mixing-” “I know. I’ve stopped taking them now, they only make my headache worse.”
The words couldn’t leave his mouth as the words dawned on him. She had stopped taking them. So she had taken more than one? And she had been drinking alcohol. “We might need to go to the hospital-” “No!” JiHo’s sudden grip on Xiaojun’s wrist startled him greatly. Her grip only getting tighter as she leaned in and that’s when Xiaojun finally took in her appearance.
He cheeks were flushed as well as her ears. Her lips were a bit swollen and her eyes bloodshot. The other hand that wasn’t stopping blood circulation towards Xiaojun’s hand was trembling in her lap. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.” She carefully enunciated every word, the look in her eyes almost terrifying the boy. “But let’s at least call Doyoung hyung-” There was no need for JiHo to interject with words to stop him from talking. Her shaking her head aggressively already did the job. “Okay, we won’t call anyone.” He whispered.
Xiaojun watched JiHo as she retracted her hand and brought her knees to her chest, face now hidden behind her hands.
Useless was the best way to describe how Xiaojun was feeling right now. He could only watch as someone, he had learned to care about over the past year and a half, suffer alone. He wished he could take away her pain, that he could make her fall asleep, that he could take away the thoughts that were keeping her awake and were stressing her out. But he couldn’t do anything.
“I brought food.” “I don’t think I can eat. I’ll throw up.”
“Do you want me to bring you some water?” “I already have some on my nightstand.”
“Should I bring you some tea?” “No thank you.”
“What can I do to help?” “Nothing.”
“Should I sing you a song?” “...”
Xiaojun fully expected to get his question shot down again. All his tries in the past 20 minutes were all unsuccessful. But when there was silence from the girl, a little spark of hope filled his heart. There was no “no” coming from her lips. And though he had loved an actual answer, the silence was the best response he had gotten so far.
It stayed quiet for another minute before Xiaojun stood up. He squatted down again to hook one of his arms under JiHo’s legs, and the other supported her back. He lifted the smaller girl up effortlessly and than eased her down onto her bed. He tucked her in with one of her thinner, but not the thinnest, blankets knowing she said she was feeling hot before and then settled down next to her bed.
His head was close to hers. JiHo’s eyes staring directly into his, which almost had him flustered but the situation helped keep his cool. He brought a hand to her hair and tucked it behind her ear as he kept stroking her head. “Close your eyes hmm?” She did as she was told and in a matter of seconds the soft voice of Xiaojun reached her ears.
The song he was singing wasn’t one she was familiar with, but JiHo didn’t care. Xiaojun’s angelic voice seemed to calm down her racing thoughts. Her body visibly relaxed which made the boy smile. His hand continued to stroke the side of JiHo’s head, the sight of her features softening, making his heart melt. Once he finished the song JiHo’s eyes fluttered opened slowly.
It was somewhat disappointing that his singing hadn’t succeeded in making her fall asleep. “Can you stay here for a while?” Xiaojun nodded his head without a second thought causing JiHo to give him a small smile and thank him.
Getting ready to sing another song, Xiaojun halted when JiHo shifted in her bed. She moved away from him before patting the spot next to her. It was an invitation for him to lay next to her. He hesitated for a second, not sure if it was actually okay for him to lay down in the same bed as her. Maybe it was the alcohol lingering in JiHo’s system, but when JiHo patted the spot again he climbed in anyway.
Eyes fixed on the ceiling as the words to ‘For Life’ by EXO left Xiaojun’s lips. He didn’t see, but could sense the girl next to him drifting to sleep. Her breath calmed significantly until she was breathing in a slow steady rhythm. The boy smiled, happy that he ended up being able to help her in some way. But he made a mental note to let Taeyong or Doyoung know about what happened earlier, along with telling them she was suffering from anxiety and insomnia, hoping that maybe the members closer to her were able to keep an eye on her and help her out.
---
Part 2
Side note: Again, I just want to put out there that you should NEVER mix alcohol with medication, please please don’t do it. I don’t condone such a thing, this story is purely fictional, I’m not a doctor so I don’t know in which doses alcohol and aspirin can be harmful to the body, but in general DO NOT mix alcohol with medication. Medication should only be taken as prescribed or as instructed by doctors or the manual (?) that comes with the medication.
#jiho.writings#nct 24th member#nct addition#nct scenarios#nct imagines#wayv imagines#wayv scenarios#nct angst#wayv angst#xiaojun imagines#xiaojun scenarios#xiaojun angst#xiaojun fluff#nct female member#nct extra member#nct additional member#kpop!addition#kpop!oc
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Hey there! I thought I’d answer this ooc because Gilbert would never give a straight answer to these questions and after last night’s post I’m really down to talk more in depth about the doc’s mental health.
But before I dive into that, I just wanted to say thank you? I’m really glad to know that you think I do a good job at handling the portrayal of his mental health struggles, that really means a lot and is one of the best compliments I’ve been given ;v; I try to be as realistic and sensitive as I can and I’m glad to know that it pays off!
Alright, onto some headcanon rambling. Fair warning, this post is long and I go off into several tangents sdjjkds
Trigger warnings for the content below: depression, anxiety, suicide, childhood neglect / abuse, self-harm, and bad coping habits.
There’s at least 6 points in Gil’s life wherein his mental health was at its worst: the death of his father, the majority of his duchy years, frederick’s death, the napoleonic era, the entire stretch of the gdr era, and those years between the fall of the wall and him leaving to go to university in Zurich. I can write an entire post about each of those times, but for the sake of answering these asks, I’ll be focusing mainly on the first point and his crusader years.
To answer the first question, I think Gilbert’s first major depressive episode happened when he was a child after his adoptive father, Otmar Beilschmidt, died. He was a constant, comforting presence in the boy’s early life; someone he knew he can depend on and turn to if things ever got too scary or overwhelming. Even after he got ‘turned’ into a representative and the heads of the Order formally took him in, little Gisil still kept being stuck to his father’s hip. And Otmar, as unsettled as he was to find out that his son was suddenly some kind of miracle child, did his best to come to terms with it and help his son cope with his new nature too.
(Slightly off topic side note but I always had the idea that Otmar never really got over reacting with shock whenever he witnessed anything that confirmed that his son wasn’t fully human anymore, like watching a small scratch stitch itself back together. Gisil, being a perceptive and sensitive child, would catch on to that quick and I’m 100% sure he’s asked his father if he was afraid of him before. To which I’m sure Otmar told a half-truth and said that no, he wasn’t afraid of him --- After all, how could he be afraid of someone that God created to bring some good into the world?)
Either way, the sudden loss of that steady, dependable figure in his life really knocked Gisil’s world out of balance and triggered his first major depressive episode. He wouldn’t eat much at mealtimes and found it hard to sleep at night which would then translate into the kid being far more irritable and restless than usual during the day; prone to tantrums and crying if something didn’t go his way. But instead of someone sitting down and trying to understand why he was acting out, he was chastised for acting the way he did; told that he was allowed to grieve his father, but he had to be more mature about it and behave better. Not wanting to disappoint the adults who would be looking after him now, Gisil taught himself how to swallow back the hurt and put a lid on it. It didn’t make him hurt any less, in fact it may have started to translate into physical symptoms like a mildly upset stomach or a headache, but it didn’t bother anyone and his new parental figures seemed to approve so he just came to accept that it must be the right thing to do.
While he eventually got over the worst of the pain relating to his father’s death (or at least learned how to stuff it far enough in the back of his mind that he could pay it no mind) those symptoms continued to quietly haunt him. Mikael was prone to having trouble sleeping in the night (and he often passes the time by practising his writing, or sometimes he’ll get up and sneak out of the sleeping quarters to just sit in the chapel. sometimes praying, sometimes just sitting quietly and hoping that the silence and the coolness coming from the stone walls would somehow lull him to sleep) and to having days where he acts more hot-headed and impulsive than usual.
The disconnect between desperately wanting to be the ‘good’ person he believes he was created to be and some of the awful things the Order has done to do ‘good’ in the name of God also feeds into that depression and anxiety, especially when he keeps bottling it up because he really has no one to talk to about these things and because that’s what he’s used to doing. This internal conflict will eventually bubble over in his Duchy years, a period of time where Gilbert’s whole mental and emotional well-being was incredibly fragile. (If you wanna read more about what happened during that time, I have an old post about it here. Trigger and content warnings are at the very beginning!)
As for the second question, I think it’s safe to say Gilbert was messed up by essentially being a child soldier. Physical damage doesn’t stay long but the mental/emotional damage was extensive.
Even if his first depressive episode was triggered by his father’s death, the things he saw and experienced during his time as the representative of the Teutonic Order, definitely helped to make things worse. All the bad habits and symptoms he experienced in his youth continue to haunt him until adulthood. Gilbert would still rather brush someone’s concern off with an ‘I’m fine’ coupled with a reassuring smile than risk bothering them with whatever he’s dealing with. Since staying with Konrad and Reiner (who have their own struggles that deserve its own post) he’s learned to open up a little more with enough prompting, but he’d still much rather keep his problems to himself. He still regularly struggles with insomnia that gets worse when he finds himself in a slump, which then translates to frustration, irritability, and a tendency to neglect self care like forgetting to eat. He’s struggled with suicidal thoughts before and has made an attempt on two occasions: once in his Duchy years, the other right after the Napoleonic Era came to a close.
I think another thing that really added fuel to the fire is just the nature of Gil’s existence? Like most nations in his generation have had the chance to just roam around being children in their childhood, some might have even been cared for by the ancients, but he’s never had any of that? He had 10 years of it as a regular human child and then another 8 years after he was ‘turned’ of simply tending to sick and injured pilgrims. He had only 18 years of relative normalcy before he was thrown into a life of constant war, made out to be some holy figurehead, while I feel like most others had much longer. His ability to compartmentalize, to separate the self from the nation, was lacking compared to others in his cohort because he was just so young, physically and in nation years, when he was thrown into the mess. He’s a child nation who’s still young enough to remember his life as a human, to remember what it’s like to think and feel and to fear like a human and I think that messed with his ability to cope. Templar and Hospitaller might be the only ones who can understand what that was like since I think they were thrown into the fire relatively quickly after they were turned as young kids, but Ezekiel is far away and Sanson... Well, we all know what happened to poor Sanson.
The good news is, in the modern day, he is doing so much better since he started regularly meeting with a therapist and getting on the right medication regimen. It took him a while to really accept the fact that he needs help, even if logically he knew this was the right thing to do. There are still bad days but the genuinely good days far outnumber them now and that’s worth the uphill climb that is trying to sort out his issues.
#answered#[ headcanon ]#aph prussia#hws prussia#gilbert beilschmidt#depression tw //#anxiety tw //#suicide tw //#self harm tw //#childhood neglect tw //#gilbert looks put together on the outside but#he's really that image of the china cabinet with all the dishes pressed against the door#and if you open it everything's just gonna come crashing down#but he tries to do better#and tries his goddamn best not to repeat the bad parts of his upbringing#when it comes to raising his boy#in fact he tried so hard that he messed it up BUT#thats a conversation for another day
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