#you could have been GREAT HARRY I WAS IN FOR THE LONG HAUL AND LOOK WHAT YOUVE DOBE

[yandere-to-express]

The wrong cranium

Gender neutral

Part 4

"He won't eat pickles," the harried mother said, one hand carrying a baby and the other feeding french fries to the bigger child, one by one, the grease coating all five fingers, bringing a dull, worn shine to the wrinkling skin, the blood-red lacquered nails. Her claws embedded into the crispy yellow sticks, she carried the great haul en-mass into the maw of the child, which opened languorously to accept the filial offering.

You could not avert your gaze from the repulsive sight. Your hands, which are holding a palm-sized notepad and a cheap dollar store pen, had gone stiff, shaking, holding back violent urges you had never felt before.

"I understand," you murmur robotically, letting yourself cling to the walls of your skin. Your hand writes down something. "I will bring a replacement."

"Wonderful," the mother praises. "What a good employee. Did you hear that, Tom? Don't cry anymore."

The child's eyes are hazy, his face slack except for the mouth. Tear tracks are lining his cheeks, but they have already gone dry and salty. You note, with a shiver going through you, that there is mucus leaking out of his nostrils, which means there will be used napkins left on the table. Please, put it in the plate. Put it in the plate. Put it in the plate, with the other messes.

"Sure thing," you talk aloud, not addressing anyone.

Absentminded, you make your way back to the kitchen. The line cook, Hannah, takes one look at you and grabs your notepad, skimming the orders and doing her work without a word of complaint or a whisper of friendliness. The notepad is stuffed back in your hands, and you're left to stand alone on the door threshold. The skin all over you has pebbled in aggression, the feeling astringent against your psyche.

You un-tense your shoulders, swallowing it down. How long has it been? All day, all you could do was watch the outside wistfully, tracking the shades of blue behind clouds drifting in and out. Darker and deeper it went, but never dark enough, never changing hue to the lovely orange that awaited the end of day. Your uniform has grown damp and saggy around your figure too. As a sweat drop drips down your temple, you notice the rigid curve of your spine, vertebrae packed tightly together.

No wonder. You feel smaller. The work has worn you down in more ways than one. You look down at your hands— and see your wrist bones, jutting out. Your veins are swollen under your skin, and when you turn them over, you can watch the visible proof of your pulse, desperate with each pump, blue and green intertwined.

Thump.

You trace it down your inner arm, dipping into your elbow. It jumps inside your bicep, like the whimper of a wound.

Thump.

Inside your neck, it climbs to your skull. You tilt your head back, unblinking, staring at the tiled ceiling and the sharp fluorescent light overhead, staring back at you. Dark flowers bloom in your vision.

…Thump.

Your neck cracks, bringing relief. You inhale, but the process is chopped. It clings to your throat before surrendering, disappearing into your lungs; you feel its function distinctly with every motion. Your chest rises almost exaggeratedly, and caves in with equal fanfare through every breath. Mechanical. A step in the algorithm.

It's a slow coming realization, impeded by exhaustion: there's no instinct to your body. It moves, it acts, but it doesn't know. It obeys you. But it doesn't obey as it has done for the past decades you've had it. It obeys because it's yours, because you know it should do certain processes in the background of your daily life. It's pure, unknowing, a blank slate of renewal and reduction both.

"It's not empty," you whisper. "I'm not empty. I'm okay."

A clatter draws your attention away. In the other room, TK is helping Hannah prepare orders, which reminds you of the hours and hours left of your shift. You hurry over to help them and deliver the dishes to their respective buyers, taking payments and receiving new orders. Cleaning abandoned tables.

In one, you stop in your tracks.

The slimy napkin you dreaded to death is sitting alone in the middle of the table. You can feel the disgusting paws of the sullen child all over it, soaked into the very air it is surrounded by.

Utilizing a second napkin, you pick it up. Drop it in the plate. Done, you tell yourself, wishing away the trembling. It's over.

You go back to the kitchen. You carry perhaps a dozen plates in one weak hand, though it doesn't quiver— it doesn't have the energy to. They're put beside the sink, just like every other dish that's passed into your hands. Without hesitation (but with a certain resignation) you start washing. Rinse, soap up, scrub, rinse. Metal wool, sometimes. Extra soap for grease. Twist furiously inside the mouths of cups, then let the frothing tap water outpour down the rims, bathing your hands dull beige.

As the water keeps running, you look at the vortex above the drain and exhale.

Chest caves in, rises back up.

It's dark inside. You can see the hint of dark, murky green, laden with moss or something worse that you cannot imagine, but you don't look away.

It's so… unending. You visualize a round, wide-open mouth in its place, and think of the amount gulped down its gullet. You cannot calculate it (too tired, too uninterested) but it makes you freeze and stare a little more intently. How parched, how hungry would you need to be, to consume so wholeheartedly?

You move the cup aside to see it more clearly. The drain keeps working, and the water keeps going, and the smell of wet metal wafts over to you. The vortex, over time, loses its color, then its lines…

Then its sound.

The drain is dark and quiet. There's no telling what lies inside it, but you know. You don't need to see to know, bu̟t̰ ̫y͙o͍̼u̻̪ ̠g̤a͎z̡e into its dept̶h̸s̶,̷ ̴d̸o̶w̵n̷,̴ ̵d̶o̷w̴n̶ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̷p̶i̵p̴e̴,̸ ̶a̶n̸d̸ ̷s̵q̴u̸i̷s̴h̶̢͍e̶͚ḑ̸ ̷̳i̸̭̱n̴̦͍s̸̫̞i̵͚̠d̶̢ę̷ͅ ̴̣t̵̗̰h̶͔ę̸ ̸̩ț̷̘i̷̩g̷̪͉h̷͎t̵͎ ̶̖t̶͚̣u̴̢n̶̻ͅn̴͓e̵͖l̷̠̬s̷̢ ̶͜a̶̟ṋ̸̪d̴̘͓ ̷̖l̶̖̼a̴̺b̴͈̖y̷̥͙r̷̮̙i̶̙̼n̵̬̦t̵͉h̶̻̞i̶̫ṇ̴̱e̴̫ ̵͎̻n̶̮ḛ̸t̷̗̣w̸̠o̴͓r̷͓k̷͇ ̷̼̩o̵̢ͅf̴͇͜ ̸̡n̶͉o̴̡̞t̶̢̖h̵̥̝i̵̗n̸͍g̵̣̹n̸̫e̸͈͇s̴̯s̶̟̲,̴̼ ̶̲y̶̥o̴͉̫u̷̖̼ ̸͚f̶̖̩e̴ͅe̵̠̜l̷̤̹ ̴̰i̵̯t̵̮ ̴̧͎p̵̱u̴͉l̵͎̥s̴̨͍̖͉̤i̸̞̞ͅn̵̞̤g̸̖̘,̴̪̱̭̝ ̴͖c̶̮͔͕͜o̴̘̰̳̖n̸͔s̵̺̳t̷̗̩r̷̲̭̖͜i̵̩̜̯c̴̡̡̣̪ͅt̴̡͍͇ͅį̵̹͓̙n̶͇̼͎g̴̤̥̠̬.̸͚̘͎̤̼ ̸͖̦͔̗D̵̨̡̼̳r̷͕̗̣͖̜a̵̜̼g̶͙͍̫̤g̴̠̣̲ͅi̶̤̯̝̭͜n̵̨̬̠g̷̨̢͈͔̭ ̵̹̬̩̤̮d̵̡͍̺ͅͅȩ̷̳̣e̷̡̞̩p̴̝̲̳̪e̸̡̳r̴̖̯ͅ,̵̫̘̤̩ ̴̙̞͖̣̝f̶̢̡̼̼͇e̵̙͕̝̤e̷̗͈͕͍ḑ̶̜̭̝̮i̷̼͉̜̪ṉ̵͚ģ̶͍̼ ̴̱̟͙o̴̫n̵͚͉ ̸̡̦͉y̷̯o̶̢͕̣̲u̶̟͓—̷̢

01101000 01110101 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110011

||SAVE//:01100110 01100101 01100001 01110010||

You stumble back with a desperate, raspy inhale, your chest rising and stuttering in motion. Curled inward, you watch the running sink, the shards of a broken cup crunching beneath your feet.

Some animals eat their prey whole, don't they?

You shudder, sinking to your knees, uncaring for the shattered ceramic. The sharpness sinks into your skin, but doesn't break. Like how play-dough cannot be hurt, because it's not meant to be. You repeatedly and rapidly attempt to restart your breathing process, but something is not responding. The respiratory structures and organs below your neck aren't working.

There's no air. Why are you so calm?

You try to wheeze for a breath. It doesn't work. If anything, it's complicating your work. You try harder. It resists harder. You cannot breathe, you cannot breathe— you drag your hands along the floor where you're lying on your knees, thinking you could crawl away to safety.

"Hey."

You hear a voice, saying your name. It puts a new knot in your throat.

"Are you there? I heard—"

The door opens to let in TK, their eyes searching and worried. When they spot you, they are quick to run to your side.

"Oh my God," they whisper, horrified. Their hands hover for a moment, snapping left and right like they can't decide what to do, and then settle behind you, clutching your shoulder and rubbing your back. "Hey—" Your name, spilling so easily out of their lips. "Come on, calm down, it's okay. You're okay. I— Follow my breathing, okay?"

You stare at them with dead eyes, and unwilling flesh. Nevertheless, they narrow their eyes determination, and begin making their chest move. It rises, rib cage flaring, diaphragm flattening, blood rushing, and you try to follow the rhythm.

A wheeze of air passes through.

"That's it," TK encourages, voice alike a sob, as if mirroring your utter anguish. "The muscles tighten, air comes in… And they soften, air goes out."

Their chest falls back, pulse calming down. You can hear it moving inside them, the friction of bone and ligaments, and the relief of air, blooming into blood.

Your lungs let go. Air passes through, out, and when you breathe next, it goes in as it's supposed to, without error or stubbornness.

TK relaxes. "Yeah. Just like that. You're a natural, aren't you? Passed with flying colors." There's a placid, but worn lull in the atmosphere. "Are you okay?"

Are you ever? You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice— to not crackle or to not burst into wails, no idea which. You've never felt such a wild, discomfiting mix of emotions before; things that have no right lingering close had suddenly tangled together, all without your consciousness noticing.

You imagined that this is how a newborn baby, just out of the womb, would feel. Overwhelmed. Frightened. Lonely, yet not. Out of control, but simultaneously in control for the first time of its existence.

You settled on 'overwhelmed.'

"Good," TK replied, rubbing your back a bit more. "Wait, let me get you some water—"

They stood up to get it, carefully side-stepping the ceramic shards. You should probably ask them not to, but you couldn't even muster the strength to lift your head, so you couldn't protest when TK held the cup tilted for you, matching the flow to the speed of your gulps.

"Dehydration worsens everything," they said. "I remember my mom nagging me about it. She never let me leave the house without drinking a tall glass of water, and the habit stuck. Once I got into college and had my first taste of freedom, I decided I'd cut myself some slack and relax on routine."

"Didn't work?"

TK snorted. "Nope."

They took the cup and washed it at the sink. You remembered that your job won't wait for you, and the customers won't either, so you attempt to stand up… only to flinch away at the sound of clattering shards, falling from your limbs.

TK turns to look at you, but you can only stare at the debris and your unscathed arms. The fragments aren't safe— their edges are sharp, glinting like chef's knives spread out before stove fire, but despite this, as you turn your forearms over and back, you can only see unmarred flesh, without any scarring visible.

What the fuck happened to me, you think.

You were fine this morning. There was no complicated existence to panic about. While you sat beside Peter and talked about nothing, everything felt as pleasant as can be. And here you were now, frozen in fear. Unable to finish even one waiter shift because you were too busy stressing about a defective body.

"Hey," TK calls out to you, "I think you should clock out now."

"Huh?" You can't. The shift's not over yet. And in the game, wasn't today exceptionally busy? You couldn't leave TK to handle it alone— well, technically you could, but you'd feel guilty. You don't want to get used to someone picking up the slack for you, because there was a very real chance that you'd snowball down that rabbit hole.

"Thanks, TK, but I don't wanna push my luck today," you said, kneeling down, and started to collect the shards by the handful. If they didn't hurt you, why not use it to your advantage?

"Jesus— don't just scoop them up! Use a broom at least, what if you get hurt?"

"It's fine, they aren't sharp."

TK didn't seem convinced, but let you clean the mess anyway, taking over dish washing duty instead. You were grateful for that. You didn't know what looking at the drain again would do, and you intended to avoid that fate for as long as you could. Collecting all the fragments on your apron, you dropped them into the trash bin and swept the remaining dust off, rushing out to collect orders and clean tables.

 

 

All day, you slaved away in the restaurant; cleaning, serving, dealing with idiots. While you worked, you did your best to hold yourself together, to keep your pieces in one place until the time when you could fall apart, a shattered body all over the couch.

Your lifeline, as it were, was the promise of a nice night out. As you mopped the floor tiles, tidied tables, and topped up coffees along the counter row, your mind went out to the fantasy of a quiet, chilly night, the smell of earth and grass under an empty space. Maybe after the date, Peter could take you to the park? You resolved to ask him about it… once he came back.

You checked the hour: four thirty. Fifteen minutes left until your shift ends. When was he going to arrive? At the very end? That would be incredibly suspicious, and for his sake, you prayed to a higher power that he'd refrain. You didn't mind, per se, but you were the type to just blurt things out without care for propriety, and the more obvious Peter got, the more effort required to keep your fucking mouth shut and not give it away.

Sighing, you threw away an abandoned receipt into the trashcan below the register, and wondered whether it was worth it to keep quiet. He'd catch on eventually, and you'd have to talk.

That's what's scaring you, isn't it?

"Alright," came TK's voice, "out with it. What's up?"

"What's up… with me?"

"Yeah." Obviously, was what followed naturally, but you had learnt that TK had a modicum of tact, so of course they would leave it out. "You've been working here for weeks now, but never have I ever seen you sigh in all our time together— not even when the boss threatened to sack us without severance pay."

Okay, scary. Original Y/N was double scary. Props to whoever they were. "It's… kinda complicated, and I don't think I can explain it without sounding like a maniac."

They grinned. "A dash of intrigue? No prob. Just know that you can tell me any time, any day, alright?"

You seriously didn't deserve this person's kindness. You just didn't. This was such a fact that it didn't even make your heart twinge. When it all crashed down and your life was in shambles, you would have to send them some sort of consolation gift, to thank them for their care.

"Thanks, TK. I wish I could tell you."

"Glad to hear that. By the way, could you check in with Hannah? I think she needs a line chef in the kitchen— I'll handle the customers."

They glance out the window panes, squinting behind their glasses. "Oh, geez. Guess who's knocking on our door? The evening rush."

You turn to look, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar silhouette, barely visible behind the reflection. Same height, same shirt, same gangly limbs, and when you shifted for a better view, you were able to glimpse the face under the hood: a pair of wide-open, bright blue eyes, and a smile curving horrifically.

Yup. That's him.

"Is it me, or… is that guy looking in?" TK asked, discomfited.

"Lookin' in, sorry. That's, uh, my boyfriend."

"Your—" Their head span around in a perfect hundred-eighty degree to goggle at you. "Your— what? This guy? Your—"

They looked back, as though checking whether or not they were hallucinating the creep factor, but no, TK, you thought, that's one-hundred percent natural. All bio creep. No preservatives or artificial coloring added, honest-to-god, bona-fide creep. I'm so fucking sorry to subject you to this.

"Your boyfriend," they said.

"Yeah."

"Just so we're clear, it's not the eighty-year-old man leaning on the cane, but the two-meter tree branch with fangs, right?"

"You're absolutely correct."

TK stared at you speechlessly, mouth moving without words, and you let your vision zoom out into distant lands, resolutely watching the yellow leak stain on the ceiling. Please, end the conversation. Right now.

"You know what," TK said at last. "This is not my problem… If he turns out to be a serial killer, let me know and I'll call the police for you."

"TK, please stop talking. I'm dying."

"You will once he drags you into an alleyway."

You know what they say: first impressions last forever. In Peter's case, it seems he's ardently devoted to push this rule to its worst potential, constantly disturbing the peace in hopes on garnering even the slightest bit of distrust. Why was he watching you creepily at the diner when he could just hang out by your apartment window? That was perfectly private! This is public!

You caught his gaze through the glass, and waved at him. Despite his eerie appearance, Peter broke into an angelic smile, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and waved back. Seeing as you were paying attention, he began mouthing words: Hello. Something that looked like 'darling'. I'm here, followed by a pointed finger at his feet. Then, lifting his wrist and putting his index finger on it, miming a wristwatch. Okay?

Ah, was he trying to hurry you up? Was that a guilt-trip thing, or just an innocent 'Is your shift over?' You'll never know because you'll never ask, and even if you asked, he'd obviously answer with the latter just to gain brownie points. This wasn't the right time to be honest yet. For neither of you.

Before you could get tangled up in unnecessary thoughts, you sent him a thumbs-up and went back into the kitchens. Hannah did need help— there were simply too many orders at once, and Stephan just wasn't good enough of a multi-tasker to handle the extra load. You helped until the workload went back to normal, then clocked out, waving bye to TK as you went back to the entrance.

While you were gone, the sky had darkened, rain clouds gathering above to drizzle drop by drop. When you stepped a foot outside, you were immediately caught in a pair of arms, warmth swallowing you up.

"I missed you all day," your stalker whined, covering the top of your head with his chin. "How was it? Did you get fired?"

You relaxed into the heat, the embrace, releasing a frigid breath. Your head was silent for the first time since this morning, unburdened by worries or distractions. No clutter to push out… Nothing to sigh about.

Just Peter's scent, and his hug, and his excited, pleasant voice.

"Darling?" he asked concernedly. "Was it bad?"

You wrapped your arms around him in return. Mustering the energy to speak was impossible, so you sank further into the comfort, not even feeling the rain soaking your jacket.

"Heh, not that I'm not enjoying this… but are you okay? Do you need— Do we have to reschedule? I don't mind. We definitely can. Anything you want, okay? Just, will you please talk to me?" He sounded a bit shaky. "It's… ha ha, just, it's weird to not hear you when I chatter. You know?"

You force yourself to speak. "It was—"

s̨̺͇̝o̺̱̣ą̡̪͇͇p̨̥̹͎̹̳ ̨͓͕͜u͙̣̫p̥͍̻͙̠,͎ ̢̨̤̙̹͓s̝̼̝̲͜c̡͎̭̭͚r̡͎̗̞͙̥u̺b̧̢͙̬̠͜ ̪͚E̻̞͈̫̦͇X̙̦͓̱͙T̙͓̮R̙Ạ̭ ̧͓̩S̲̗̟͎͎Ǫ͇̲̲͖A̦͕͕͇P̗͇͜ ̘̝͖͇̞f̧͚̥̹o̖͔͈r̙͉̤̪ ͍G̟̺͖R̨͉̤̠̫͓E̲͚E̲̥E̟̯̹E͕̻͙̼̟ḚA̰̮̘͉͈̼S͙̞̳E̬̻ ̢̬͚̼̗̱01101111 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110111 01110011r͎̬̭ͅo̼̘̩̯ͅụn̗̱̹̝͈d̩,̨̪̦̭̝͕ ̧̤̜̱ͅw̡͈͖̬̙͕i̱͇d̨̠̯̙͍e̙-̰̳ọ̺̩͍͕̝p̦̦̘̙ȩ͍̹̳n̩͎ ̤͓͍m̢̡͚̣̫͍o̫̰u͙͚̞t̢̜͎̮ḩ̡̜ ͓̝̥̲F̙̘͇̠E̥̪̳͕E̤̲̫̗̯D̫͜ ͍̣M͔̩E̹͕̭ ̳T͍̗̜Ḥ͓͕̭ͅȨ̗̠ ͙W̻͈O̧R̨̙̱̥L̢̨̨̯͜D̥̲ ̞̤̖D̡̗͈̻ ̧̢͓̘D̹̗ ͍̫̙̮̝̬D̫̗͉͚͉ ͉̯̣̠̙T̨̪̮̙H̡̢͇̭͖̦E̘̲͖̜ ̦T͖̗̮H̺E̩̪̳ ̲̻͇̳͖̣T̲͖̞̺͈ͅH̦̠E̗̳ ̩͔̫̞͜I̯̙͓I͙͖̤̬I̧̬̲̱͕͕I̜I̧͕̭͚̭̳I̥I̬̝I͙̦̭̫̝͎I̡̘I̞̺͎̦̬I͎̻̻I̢̢̱̲̹I̡͎̘̰I̤̥I̻̺̞̖̖

d̷̢̢̟̏̂a̶̛̬̘͊͒̾ŗ̵̣̯͇̽͐͊̑k̷̤͎͙͙̎͑̑̌ ̶̻̞̞̻̏͊͑̏d̷̳͉̱̯̽́̆ạ̸̥͙̔͂̊̾r̷͇̿́k̶̥̼̲̐́̈̏ ̵̗̪̯̪̎͆d̴͍̤̞̓a̷̰̟͚͛̊͐r̶͇̋̈́͒k̸̺̻̰͎͆̿̄͠ ̸̡̹̊̀̾͗a̴͈͉̱̻̎̀d̵̝͈̄́̓ã̵̲̩͖r̵̪̞̗̓k̵̗̊͗̀̍ ̷̛̪̖͔̗͒̌ď̵͓̊̅̈́ǟ̴̡̜̈k̶̨̘͚̈̀́ȓ̴͓̽͑k̶̳̺̙̈́̐͛k̶̖͐ ̵̡̪̄͒́̄d̴͍̥́́ȃ̷̺ȓ̶̗k̶͎͊ ̴̯͕̀͑͠k̸͈̝̗̎̑̏f̷̠̳̭͉̍̒̀k̷̛͔̓̾k̵̞̃͋͝k̸̞̎̋k̸̝̀͛̓̕ ̶̟͚̩̈̀̇̀ḍ̸̙̫̣̋̕a̴̲̦͓͒r̵͙͑̂͗k̶̨̻̽̃ ̷̓͜d̶̢͍̳̔͌ã̴̧̬̠͖̉̈k̸̖̞̾͊̇͝r̵̲͔̼͝ ̷̘͚̀̒̿̕k̴̰͈͠d̴̜̭͇̙̐̂͋ã̵̤͔ṙ̷̯̭͂k̶͍̇̑̅̒ ̶̠̥̮̓͘d̵͈̖̃́̏̄á̷̳͔̲̏̈́̚r̶̦̋k̴̨͛ ̴͍͉̄̓d̴̯̓a̵̯̓͋̿ͅr̸̦̻̟̖̄̅̈́̄k̷̲̓̆ ̴̤̤̅d̴̢̖̀̀ͅã̷̡ͅk̷̢̢̥̬̒̿̆̽r̸̥̘͌̀͑͜ ̷̻̔͝W̴͙̱̬̮͒͋̏͝W̷̘͎͠W̸̖̺̃͌̇Ẅ̶̪͙͉́̈́́W̷̔́͋̀̀̈́̔͂̔̂̄̚͝͝͝W̵̍̓͛̂̒͘͠W̸͑̽̃̐̓̒̈́W̷͊̋͑̽̌̈̈́̀͗͊̈́̇́͘͠W̶̆̎̐̊̎́̈́̌̋̀̕̚W̵͌͆̃́̅̇͐̎̑͐͘Ŵ̸̛̀̈̈́͆̈́̎̆̒̀W̶̊̏̒̋̏̐̌̈́́̚W̸̉̋̅͑͆̍͘Ẁ̴͛̂͗̓͆̐͑͌͐͒̕W̶͝  and at the bottom of the drain, you stood, awaiting y̤̏̓̐̕̚͠o̘͆͝ú̢̞͚̲͈̟̲̅̾̄̓r͍̟̝̐̾̃ͅs̢͍̤͂́͝ḙ̰̆̓̿̾̕͝l̛̟͕̬̯̬̲͇̩f̩̻͚̫̽ in your own stomach /// when will you S̸̛̥T̵͖̚O̴̯͌P̸̪̅ ̸̫̀S̸͈͗T̵̲͆Ȯ̴̜P̶̪̑ ̷̲̐S̸̠͊T̷̖̊Õ̷̬P̷̤̉?̴͎͋ ̵̱̉?̸̳̎?̴̖́ fear consumes you, pushes you down its gullet, and you stand here wondering when did you die? M̸E̵E̴E̷E̶E̶ 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011 E̵E̴E̸E̷E̶E̸E̶E̸E̸E̶E̵E̶E̶—

"—fine," you answer. You were stopped from lingering on it. You recognize it now. "I missed you too. All day."

"You did?" Peter asked. "Really? Missed me? When, how did that happen?"

"Do you want me to describe it like, a case report? Like an interrogation tape? 'Where were you last night, what was your purpose' style?"

"Why not?"

Well, there was it: why not? Maybe it'd make him happy.

"The first time," you started, burying your face into his shoulder. "I was taking orders, and this middle-aged lady came in and tried to ask for a second order on the house because she dropped the first one on the pavement. But in a really polite, aggravating way. You know how some rude people act well-mannered? I wanted to punt her into the curb."

"And then you thought about me?"

"Yeah. I wished you were there so I could get you a second order on my paycheck."

"…You mean, you weren't thinking of me because you wanted someone more reasonable, but because… actually, I don't know. Why did you think that?"

"Well," you murmured, "obviously, because I like you."

Suddenly craving contact, you removed your tired arms from around his waist and put them over his shoulders, around his neck. You had to stand on your tip-toes for that, but somehow, the position wasn't as taxing as it was in your before-life.

Luckily, Peter was there to support you. He crouched a little to reach your legs, then hauled you up under your thighs, carrying you on one bicep with no visible strain. 

...Woah.

You were abruptly eye to eye with him— and better, you were privy to the tender little flush on his face, close enough to savor the sight without shame.

"So you'd— put up with me being an asshole just cause you… like me."

You averted your eyes. This closeness seemed to be a two-way street, unfortunately. "Not exactly 'put up with'. I imagined you there and thought, even if you were being a jerk, I'd give you a meal cause you'd look cute eating it."

Was that weird? Double standards existed for everyone--- people would have different thresholds for different people, right? You weren't abnormal in that regard. Were it anyone else, you'd be insulted, exasperated, impatient— with him, your priorities lay somewhere else. You'd have rather died than compensate that customer, but somehow, the image of him stuffing his face full warmed you head to toe. 

Your mind flashed back to your dinner date last night. The glow of Peter's round cheeks, the happy sigh of relieved hunger, his languorous, steady heartbeat as it pulsed under your touch. A healthy, full heart. Flowing blood.

Uh, you thought, embarrassed for no reason. Let's not linger.

"You know what," you said. "This is mortifying. Let's talk about something else."

He made a cute little snort, then laughed with bared teeth, molars glinting in the street light. You could barely suppress the urge to smash your mouths together. How dare he smile like that? How dare he make you so happy, with only the movement of his face? You released the want through your breath, let it dissipate.

"Let's go to the van," Peter suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he started carrying you across the crosswalk, one hand gently braced on your hip.

"Peter? Peter! Oh God, I can walk, I can walk I can walk I can walk— let me down, people are gonna look!!"

He paid no heed to your desperate wails, merrily making his way down the road. What an asshole, what a bastard. Your heart was so warm, so squished, so warm.

#your boyfriend game #peter dunbar #yandere #yb #yb peter #your boyfriend #ybf #tw: yandere #yb fandom #yandere games #your boyfriend peter #ybgpeter #yb game #yb fanfic #your boyfriend fanfic #peter yb #peter king

[jfleamont]

what kind of careers do you imagine James and lily having if the war was over and the weren't in the order and they also live lol rip

I can't imagine either of them wanting to rest on the potter fortune, they'd be waaaaay too bored

would love to know your thoughts!

You're absolutely right! We're talking about two people in their early twenties, full of hope and with big dreams, and even with a young kid to look after they'd still have lots of energy.

I think for Lily the answer is quite easy: she becomes a potioneer... But what kind of potioneer? Is she more into research (working on the development and improvement of the Wolfsbane potion) or does she prefer to help people more directly, perhaps working at St. Mungo's? In my opinion, after the war Lily starts working in the hospital because when she was in the Order it never felt like she was winning any of those fights, every mission was the same: she would barely escape death and she would see no real progress. So working at St. Mungo's after the war is her way of feeling useful, and seeing her patients get better before her very eyes is an immense satisfaction. I also think she longs to be around people: during the war, I doubt she went out and socialised much, what with her being a Muggleborn, and I think people in the Order were also advised to keep a low profile... And this is before they went into hiding! I think doing research would be more alienating in that sense. Furthermore, going from a state of 'constant vigilance' to finally being able to rest is quite difficult for her. All of the people in the Order who survived have some sort of PTSD: there's a sense of urgency, as if danger is always near and it keeps them on edge. I think the constant stream of patients that arrive at the hospital feeds into her restlessness. Working in research would make her feel like she's wasting time, and I think she feels like she's running out of it; she has a hard time adjusting to this new life. I think in the long haul this is dangerous, but I see her eventually realising that research is her future.

As for James, I believe he's a lot like Lily if not more restless after the war: I think this whole experience was quite a shock and he feels a lot of uncertainty and guilt. Unlike many of his peers, he had a choice, he could have turned a blind eye and lived an easy life. The fact that he didn't ignore the attacks and actually fought in the war didn't matter: he felt guilty for the privilege that choice provided him. I think James has no idea what to do after the war: he's a great Chaser, but that lifestyle isn't appealing to him anymore. So at first he stays home with Harry while Lily works at the hospital... But we're talking about James, he's easily bored. So I think that at one point he decides to volunteer (he doesn't need money, he doesn't want it) for different organisations, both Muggle and Magic: he likes helping people, he likes leading them and learning from them and there's this whole world he wasn't privy to and it's wonderful! He's been told how hard it is to be Muggleborn, but seeing how rich and complex and different this universe is (and how similar it is to the Wizarding World, too) is an eye-opening experience. So this is what he does for a while: he sees how corrupt the Muggle government is and he becomes interested in politics - this is right when Margaret Thatcher becomes prime minister - and he tries to help in any way he can (he participates in fundraising events, protests, strikes) and he does the same for Wizarding politics. He protests against the treatment of werewolves and other creatures in the magic community, he writes articles that get published in the Daily Prophet - he calls out Rita Skeeter in some of them, she fires back, he sues her, it's a whole thing - and he's channelling his energy in all these different endeavours but he's still hungry for something else. And yes, this is how he's always been, never satisfied, always looking for the next dopamine hit, but now he feels a bit lost, so Lily suggests he does something more mundane and grounded. The idea comes to him when he's looking at his son - now a toddler - and realises that he doesn't want Harry to grow up like he did. Don't get him wrong, James had a wonderful childhood, but he was a kid with no friends his age, elderly parents and an endless amount of energy. So James realises that kids in the Wizarding World generally grow up very sheltered since they're homeschooled until they're ten and he wants to do something about it. He thinks about what he liked to do as a kid and all he can think about is Quidditch, but now he knows all about all these different muggle sports and wouldn't it be incredible to introduce kids to them? In a couple of weeks he has it all figured out: he's now the founding member of this club, where he gets kids involved in sports, muggle culture (books, movies and music) and even trips to aquariums, museums, cinemas and plays! At first it's just Harry, a couple of Weasley kids and Neville, but with the help of his friends he gets other kids to join, and he soon realises he needs some help managing all these little monsters, so he hires Remus - he's reluctant at first, but he knows that James is too ambitious for his own good and he cannot possibly organise all these activities on his own, bless his heart, so Remus needs to intervene - and McGonagall helps him find other employees. His parents' manor is empty and he can't think of a better way to honour their memory than to use their house as a kindergarten of sorts, so after a bit of cleaning and refurbishing, the house is ready. He loves this: it gives him purpose and hope, and it's like being Quidditch Captain and Head Boy only way harder, but also way more fun. And who knows, he might do this for the rest of his life or he might not, but it doesn't matter, because he has a whole life ahead of him and he can reinvent himself as many times as he wants.

So that's all, I guess lol I thought my answer was gonna be short - she's a potioneer and he's a quidditch player - but as always I got carried away :) do you agree? Feel free to tell me your headcanons!

#jily #jple #jfleamont rambles #asks #james potter #lily evans #jily headcanons #edit October 2023: I put it under the cut because I realised it was too long lol

[mrmrswales]

Exclusive: the ‘profoundly powerful’ moments that shaped Duchess of Cambridge’s children’s charity work by Camilla Tominey

It all started with secret visits the public never got to see. Newly married, and with the world’s press chronicling her every move – down to the details of her designer dresses – the Duchess of Cambridge resolved to go "below radar".

Acting as Prince William’s "plus one", rather than a fully fledged solo royal in those early days, the newest addition to the Royal family knew that she wanted to find a cause she could champion as impactfully as Diana, the Princess of Wales’s landmine campaign; it was simply a question of where to find it.

Having already announced her first patronage of Action on Addiction, a charity working with people with drug and alcohol problems, Hope House, a women-only rehabilitation centre in Clapham, south London, seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was October 2011 when the then 29-year-old Duchess paid the first of several, incognito visits in a bid to find out what had sent its clients on a downward spiral of self-destruction.

According to Rebecca Priestley, who accompanied the Duchess on the visit and would go on to spend five years as her private secretary, it played a pivotal role in her decision to put childhood at the heart of her philanthropic endeavours.

Speaking on the record for the first time, Mrs Priestley, who is now an executive coach, recalled:  "I remember going up to Anglesey, where they were living after the wedding, to have a conversation with the Duchess about her royal life."

At that point, she had the philanthropic world at her feet. She could have done anything she wanted in the charitable arena. Typically, she had put a lot of thought into it already. Addiction was an issue she was instinctively thinking about – but she was also genuinely interested in understanding what support was there and what role that played in the bigger picture of mainstream societal issues."

With the Duke having flown to the Falklands for a six–week tour of duty with his RAF search and rescue squadron, Mrs Priestley put a programme together to support the Duchess’s desire to "listen and learn"."A lot of it was behind the scenes, just talking to people and hearing where it was that they needed more help.  The one thing that united all of the women at Hope House was that the derailing had started so early on. They could trace the problems in their adult lives back to childhood."

A subsequent private visit in February 2012 to Clouds House, a treatment centre in East Knoyle in Wiltshire, served as further confirmation that the early years should be a key area of focus. But it was during a later meeting with female inmates at a detox unit at Send Prison in Woking when the penny well and truly dropped.

"It was a profoundly powerful moment,” recalled Mrs Priestley. "You go in there with this preconceived idea that these women have done things wrong, that it was their fault. Then one woman started speaking to the Duchess about her earliest memories of seeing needles on the floor of her home."

She had always thought addiction was a misunderstood issue, but after this, she became concerned that there was a pre-destiny about those affected – an inevitability about it. These women were born into it and there was very little chance of escape."

The experience set in train a sequence of events that will next week culminate in the Duchess, 39, stepping up her ambition in driving awareness and action on the impact that early childhood can have on society at large.

She will launch a new initiative through the couple’s Royal Foundation to further explore the science around early childhood, raise awareness of the issue and foster collaboration and partnerships across relevant groups.

According to Lord Hague, who became chairman of the Royal Foundation last September, the "ambitious" new project will be equal in stature to William’s £50 million Earthshot Prize, launched last year with Sir David Attenborough to find workable solutions to climate change and environmental problems.

"The Duchess truly believes this is one of the great issues of our time," said the former Tory leader. "This is the central plank of her work in the way conservation issues are for the Duke. It’s a hugely significant moment."

While politicians are often in a rush to make a difference during the comparatively short time they have in office, royals are there for life, which perhaps explains why Kate has taken 10 years to get to this point.Having been instrumental in launching the Heads Together campaign with William and Prince Harry in 2016, designed at tackling the stigma and changing the conversation on mental health, it was not until 2018 that she convened a steering group of experts to look at how cross-sector collaboration could bring about lasting change.

In January, she delivered a landmark speech after her Five Big Questions on the Under Fives survey garnered over 500,000 responses.

"People often ask why I care so passionately about the early years," the mother-of-three said.

"Many mistakenly believe that my interest stems from having children of my own. While of course I care hugely about their start in life, this ultimately sells the issue short. If we only expect people to take an interest in the early years when they have children, we are not only too late for them, we are underestimating the huge role others can play in shaping our most formative years, too."

Pointing out that the social cost of late intervention has been estimated to be over £17 billion a year, she added: "The early years are therefore not simply just about how we raise our children. They are in fact about how we raise the next generation of adults. They are about the society we will become."

According to Eamon McCrory, Professor of Developmental Neuroscience and Psychopathology at University College London, the Duchess "has a vision of how she can help transform how we as a society view and invest in the early years for the benefit of society".

Describing her interest in "the role the brain shapes our early experiences and how that sets us on a path to adult life", he explained: "When you look at very young babies and infants, on the surface they don’t appear to be engaging in complex emotions so there's a tendency to underestimate the millions of synapses that are being formed every minute. But science is telling us we have to look under the bonnet.

"There’s no question that for the Duchess, this is a lifetime piece of work. The last five years laid the foundations, now we are entering a more proactive phase.” Described by one source as “thoughtful, professional and determined to do a good job,” there is a sense that Kate has never been in it for the early wins, but the long haul.

As one well-placed insider put it: "She took the job very seriously right from the very beginning. She continues to want to get it right and do her very best - for the institution, for William and the importance of the work she’s doing.

"She doesn't just want to rock up for a picture opportunity, which is why she used to get quite frustrated with all the early focus on what she was wearing. She really cares about this stuff."

Another source said she was "much more fun" than people give her credit for, pointing out how she has grown in confidence having found a cause that she is not only passionate about - but also well informed.

As Lord Hague put it: "She’s been reading the books and had trustees reading the books. People assume her interest in the early years is because she has children – actually it comes from all the adults she’s met." The other key influence has been Kate’s own idyllic childhood.

Brought up in leafy Bucklebury in West Berkshire by her entrepreneur parents Michael and Carole Middleton, pictured below with the royal family, the Duchess has never made any secret of how fortunate she has been to be brought up in a loving and supportive family.

"She always recognised that she benefited from such a great start in life," added Mrs Priestley.

"That’s why sport and the outdoors has always been a key theme for her. She was always asking how those sorts of experiences could be made accessible to others."

For Dame Benny Refson, president of the children’s mental health charity Place2Be, where the Duchess has been patron since 2013, Kate’s grounded upbringing has proved an asset.

“The Duchess listens and people feel heard and valued. It’s nothing to do with privilege. The groups she meets in challenging areas in London don't look at what she's wearing. What makes a difference is that an important person has shown a genuine interest in them. She can relate without passing judgement, which is so important."

Having started out as a reticent public speaker, the Duchess has finally found her voice – and next week she will have a lot more to say.

#duchess of cambridge

[muffindaddystyles]

KISMETS.

Harry Styles x fem!reader.

Slow burn, platonic love and jealousy clićhes.

Fluff! Fluff! Fluff!

Frenemies and dad!harry.

Author's Note: The concept's kinda weird but if you've watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Phoebe Buffay carrying child for someone. You've got it my pal!

MASTERLIST LETS TALK! PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

"Can ya stop breathing like, THAT!?" She whisper yells twisting to give him a sharp glare full of spleen elbow poking at his side abs, "Like what!?" He half squeaks peering down at her with doe eyes palms flat at sides to convey his surprise.

"Like a train engine whistling -- it's annoying." She mutters rolling her eyes and turning back to listen to instructor.

"Now, I can't even breath without ye' comin' fo' me throat?" He grits with a kink of brows and when she confirms with a no --- He gasps dramatically. It's gonna be a long journey of Hell for them. Harry hates her hormones. Little bitches.

Or

Y/N is carrying a baby for Harry and his girlfriend ---  but something went downhill.

//

Twinkling droplets of crystal rain pelts against the bricked road subsiding harsh noises of surrounding but a nettled groan caught everyone's attention ‐‐‐ stares turning in direction. Have you ever wanted to just disappear under a warm invisible cloak and enjoy the drollery aspects of life without worrying? Because this is what Y/N wants at the moment as she stands under the bus stop shelter with few people beside her and the british showers starts pouring mocking at her for not carrying an umbrella with her.

Everyone leaves when the bus didn't arrive — who remains behind's Y/N huffing and pouting wishing for rain to stop. When it didn't she muttered a 'fuck it' before risking catching a cold and stepping under the pitter patter with her books atop her head for less damage.

Trying to punch in the passcode of society's gate with shivery fingers perhaps it opens before that startling her wet-y self. Similar car drives near her and a head pops in from inside with his big goofy smile and crinkles by his charming eyes, "Ni!" She exclaims pushing away the drippy hair sticking to her lips with her pinky.

"Pet you're gonna catch a cold. Want me to drop ya?" Niall kinda yells over the rain's loudness. She sighs fog whirling infront of her. Shoves her hand in her trench coat's pocket to seek for heat instead it's all icky and drenching.

"No it's just a tiny walk away. I'll manage — call me will tell ya how my class went." She waves him looking at him from her shoulder while rushing away towards the most elegant house in the block. Niall gives her a thumbs up from before getting out of sight and she tries to hop over the puddles of water to make it to doorsteps.

The water she brings from outside pooling at the dark timber floor - it trails behind her past the pink door as she rushes jumpy-ly where the most hot's in the house and apparently it's more than she expected, "ouch. ouch my eyes!!" She screams covering them at the sight of Harry butt naked pinning his girlfriend against the wall near fire place. Her face turning into a tomato at the horrendous raid but she seems pissed and well . . displeased that Y/N ruined a mind boggling orgasm for her.

Before, they could disattach from eachother to unravel their humiliation Y/N jogged up to attic into the guest room slamming her forehead against the door to knock away the embarrassment. She always barges in Harry's house without announcing but sometimes she forgets he isn't alone everytime his girlfriend comes to live by every two weeks (it's his fault too that he never locks the main door as anytime anyone's coming at his place). Changes into clothes she forgets at her visits, tries to dry her hair with a towel that no-more smells like Harry but expensive fabric softeners and has a pep talk for a minute to show herself down infront of them.

Instinctive voices coming from the Kitchen and she pads towards it. They act like nothing happened. Like Harry wasn't dick deep into Chessie moments ago. Harry ushers her to barstool and hands her a cuppa tea moving on with a kiss to her head. It still gives her butterflies even though how many sense awakening scoldings she gave to herself at 3 ams.

"'M sorry." She squeaks with a wavering smile wrapping her palms around the mug. Harry cackles softly brushing the underbelly of his nose as Chessie cordinated the cutlery drawer, "'s okay moppet. we finished our business when ye' left." Y/N almost choked on her hot beverage gulping it down when Chessie shocked gasp throwing little socksies that were laying ontop of the counter at Harry. Are those of toddler? Adam's out of town so there's no way it could be his daughter's socks. Maybe Chessies's one of friend's?

"Should've called me t' pick y'up. Niall was loafin' around too —- wear it you're turnin' blue, pet." He comes back with a swarmy chunky knitted sweater Anne gifted him at his birthday handing it to Y/N and sitting opposite of her pulling Chessie with her wrist into his lap clearing his throat to bring Y/N's attention back from eyeing the socks on the floor. Her eyes flicker between them chest tightening at the love and glow that radiates from Harry when he looks at her.

No. She's not jealous. Mightyyyy bit yeah –- cause she could never be this lucky to have someone as Harry. He's the most caring towards her since ten years been her compass to the home she wanted, her anchor saving her from sinking and the sixth sense of a blind to her. In fact she thinks he's her soulmate and not every soulmates needs to be romantically involved some could watch them growing beautiful in love. Y/N's doing it. Admiring the maturity of his life with the person that truly makes him enough---or she thinks so.

"How was ye'r meditation class?" Harry asks (she took a semester off as she was unable to haul the burden'; Harry convinced her how her health should be her first priority) breaking a cookie in two giving half of it to Chessie who thanks him with a kiss in return, "Was good been feelin' great!" She chirps pulling the sleeves of the sweater that's drenched in cinnamon vanilla-y smell with lingers of what comes of as Chessie's scent. She assumes they cuddled shit loads.

To subside the gnaw in her brain down she finally asks the question pointing at the sock that nobody gave a heed to pick up, they stop chewing looking at eachother to come up with something. Chessie's face distressed knowing Harry wouldn't hide it from Y/N. He tells her everything and sometimes it could be too personal to share.

"Erm. . I bought 'em — 'cos. . " Harry stammers and Y/N smacks her hand atop her mouth avoiding from giving a shocked reaction, "Oh my goodness ye' guys are pregnant!?" It was enough to make Chessie flinch and hike down Harry's lap.

"No! 'S not what ye'r thinkin'." He shakes his head making Y/N confused. "Then you bought it fo' your fingers? Cause that's the only body part it could fit." She teases him to break through the insight tension around and he chuckles shaking his head grabbing Chessie's hand rubbing her knuckles how he used to when Y/N's anxious and over the edge.

"We want to have a family." His words low as he looks at Chessie but she shrugs in return as 'in it is what it is'. Y/N stomach twisted at that. The thought that one day He's gonna have a family of his own and the little bubble that Y/N would be privy to made her throat dry. Because she has no-one despite Harry and he deserves the whole world not just baby keeping Y/N everytime.

"So . .? What's the problem?" She raises her brows looking between them noticing Harry's fingers fiddle with the flower tea mats, "There are complications from Chessie's side." Chessie sighs in disappointment and Y/N ponders over the idea, clocks working and spindling wildly in her mind.

"I could do that for you guys — since I took a semester off --–" She puts the offer nervously and both of their jaws went slack Harry with an adoring grin while Chessie in hitting shock. "--Erm we could go through a traditional surrogacy."

"Are you sure?" Chessie asks squeezing her shoulder and Y/N nodded taking both of their hands, "Anything for ye' guys!" Harry's eyes glossing over and he leaves his spot sprawling his arms calling for her, "Gimme a hug pet. Life saver ye're - we're gonna take care of ye." They group hug tightly and excitedly.

Sometimes actions could speak much more than words because the lies that words hold could ruin the great bondages.

. . .

They went through the medical procedure two days after Her, Harry and Chessie being guided by their acquired doc. She was nervous and sweaty but Harry's presence beside her soothed out any negativity that was building inside her brain. By womb the babies would be Harry's and Y/N but legally Chessie's and Harry. She's just wishing that everything goes alright cause that happiness of them is million worthy to her.

People might call her stupid and brainless for going through sickness, crankiness, back pains and the pain during labour just to give those babies to someone else (she's too afraid to call them her's cause she knows her emotional attachments could be very destructive) but she loves Harry and love makes you do those thingies.

At the moment she's on the toilet seat eyes bolted shut counting threes with the pregnancy test in her wavering fingers. "Please it better work." A squeal of surprise leaves her lungs when her eyes fell over the two positive lines quickly dragging her panties over she tumbled outside where everyone's waiting for her.

"You guys are pregnant!!" Sounds dumb right? She announces loudly. Harry's and Chessie's heads perked up while everyone cheered beers spilling from the rims. She flashed grins to each one of them splitting her gaze away from Harry giving Chessie a celebratory kiss.

"Thank you. Oh my god, love! Can't belive it." Harry held her from shoulders giving her a toothy smile and it puts her off that Chessie didn't say anything just a nod along Harry. "Me too." She breathes out as he leads her to sofa sitting her cautiously. "We'll visit the doctor tommorrow." He reassures popping his head from Sarah's neck as she hugged him tight.

"We're gonna have a little Y/N and Harry running and pooping it's nappies soon." Everyone went silent. A grimace on Y/N and Chessie's face. Niall doesn't know when to shut up does he? Y/N's gonna strangle him alive. Harry laughed out aloud not caring about the thick tension in room, "I'll rip ye'r hair if you'll turn me baby into a golf freak Niall." His baby.

Niall raises his hands in defence, "No guarantees Harold."

. . .

They had a check-up and Y/N indeed's pregnant. Harry's over the moon. Kissing her forehead. Thanking her for millionth time – to the point she told him to let her watch telly in peace and shut up. Chessie bringing her organic vegan dishes that Y/N isn't a fan of but eats nevertheless under Harry's stern gaze. "'S not about them only I want ye' to be healthy too, pet. Can't be selfish now can I?" He'd insist.

When she'd be sick he'd be at her side giving her back rubs while Chessie stood at the doorframe of washroom. Y/N thinks since she's pregnant her womanly instincts has gotten more sharp as she sensed something's off between the pair.

He'd be at her flat early morning waking her up to have a morning walk with him not giving in her grunts and whines. Who'd want to leave their crispy warm bed to just be out in the cold? A fool like Harry only. Making her brekkie afterwards as a reward giggling and massaging her shoulders when she'd gobble down food like a greedy squirrel, "Easy there love. 'S all yours."

Chessie's back at LA. They had a small argument because Harry wants her to be participating in all of this as much as he's. But, her priorities are not set for this. They never were.

Y/N was at Harry's place nibbling onto chocolate cupcakes Anne sent specifically for her with a note ("my grandchild shouldn't be privy to their Nana's bakin' skills all my love to Y/N." along a winky smiley) when she spilled cold milk all over her nooked tee-shirt. Harry gave her his clothes to change into and baby wipes but she warded him with a scoff that water exists. She has become more feisty with each passing day.

Was discarding the tee when her gaze fell over the sveltest of bump in the mirror taking her breath away. It makes her realize it's all real. She never touches her belly in fear if she'd she will never stop. Now, when the pads of her fingers skim alongs the skin it strips shivers down her spine. She always wanted this. Not in this scenario though. Shaking her head of the thoughts she slips Harry's hoodie over it climbing down the stairs and it causes Harry to snap his head in alert. He stops chopping the carrots spinning to see Y/N standing feet away from him.

"My baby bump's showing." Her voice almost a whisper and it widens Harry's pupils as his hands fell in air midway between them hesitant to reach her, "Can I see?" She bobs her head shyly cheeks blazing red while revealing the bump for Harry to see. It's not like he hasn't seen her before. He has. But, this's more intimate than all of that. It made him fall on his knees. He's a sensitive person in general. Pure from heart but during this period it seems like he's pregnant not Y/N which's quite amusing too.

"She's beautiful." His gaze full of adoration. "She?" Y/N furrows her brow with a smile. He bobbed his head with a grin, "Think so our baby's gonna be she." Now that's the problem cause Y/N doesn't know which ours he's talking about.

"My pregnancy instincts says it's he." He scoffs, "Bet!?" She rolls her eyes forwarding her fist to do the hand shake they do while betting, "If you loose your pink macbook gonna be mine." They solid the deal with their traditional shake.

"Can I touch it?" Harry's asks politely. When she gives him permission he spreads his warm palms flat against her tummy tongue tied with the affection boozing in his veins for the baby that's not out in the world yet. Y/N eyes flutters and her fingers twitches by her sides from carding them into his hair. This's wrong she scolds herself. Her hormones all over the place.

"You wanna send a picture to Chessie?" At this his lips thinned and he gave her a curt nod standing up to fetch his phone, "Sure. But she might be busy..." on the verge of spitting his words in vile.

. . .

Y/N was reading a crime mystery book. Stroking the side of her baby bump carelessly. Cosy in her blanket hoodie telly murmuring in the distance. "Your dad's taste in books is shit, innit?" She peers down with a smile. It's the first time she's talking to them. "We'll read loads of good books together so that when you'll grow up – I could know what to gift you on Christmas." She tries to grab more popcorns from the bowl but it's empty. "Wanna be best aunt out there!!"

"Will you miss me? As much as I'll when we'll be separated?" Tears well up at her waterline. She huffs through her nose running her hand down her belly several times. It's coming; the breakdown she was toiling for days. "I know it sucks I cant be your mommy." Her cravings kicking in and all she want's a strawberry oreo icecream.

"Oh no. Seriously? I'm sad and ye' lil bean want an ice? Let's call your daddy and see what he got." She rings him and he picks up on the third one. Voice groggy from the sleep. She wants to feel bad but she isn't when all her taste buds could think of is strawberry flavour.

"'M cravin' strawberry ice-cream bad. . . Is it possible for ya to bring one?" He's already throwing duvets off his body reaching for his phone and wallet, "No worries pet I'll be there in tick."

"What the fuck Harry? It's three in the mornin'." Chessie groaned from beside him throwing pillow at her face. "We already stored her fridge with alot of food — " She squints about to change the side.

"She's carrying a baby for us Chess. Ye should know better since ya didn't wanted to." She sits up like bullet folding her arms against her chest.

"Thank you for throwing it at my face, H." He doesn't even spare her a glance walking outside and Chessie wants to scream at the top of her lungs. Why did she even agreed to this?

. . .

When he bought her ice-cream she throws herself in his arms kissing his cheek and he giggled in return feeling good when her bump pressed against him. They ate ice-cream with a bantering mess discussing names of the babies, the one that Chessie and Harry decided, him telling her about the little onesies they bought hearing that Y/N stood up taking out a little bag from the chests of drawers.

"I hope you wouldn't mind." She mutters showing him the lil knitted gloves and Harry slid his palm above her's wrapping them snugly, "I don't want ye' to think ya can't love on 'em 'cos after all it's ye'r womb they belong too." Her lip wobbles at his words and she stuffs her face against his chest fisting the hem. It fred away butterflies inside Harry. He sucka his lip. He shouldn't be acting like this. He has a girlfriend that he's gonna have a baby with. They're happy or atleast he thinks so.

They've been bestfriend for years and those feelings never drowned him. Is it because now she's having his babies? Maybe? Harry tries to convince himself.

When he looks down Y/N's drooling onto his shirt deep into slumber. He pecks her hair slipping his arms under her to hold her firmly against his chest. Laying her on the bed tucking her under blankets.

. . .

It sounds like multiple thuds as doctor hovered the ultrasound device over her gelled cover belly. Her belly growing way faster than it should. Her gaze glued at the ceiling fingers crossed. Harry and Chessie holding hands tight gazes fixed at the screen both of them confused at the disoriented image. They all were on the edge of their seats waiting for their turns. Y/N wished that someone could give her a huge warm hug to soothe her nerves down. But, in the first place she shouldn't be worried about the gender as it's none of concern but theirs. It's getting hard day by day.

"It's twins!" Doctor announces chirply getting a wave of silence in return. But, soon the room filled with happy giggles and gasps of Harry as he went to hug Chessie who's expressionless from shock. Y/N pouts wishing it was her. Smiling at doctor when she squeezed her hand in consolation. She's frightened though. How could she deliver two babies? To deal with the roughness that comes along them? Gonna be pretty hectic.

"We hit a jackpot, innit?" He grins down at her kissing Chessie's cheek last time before leaning down to hug her. "Gonna be super carin' with ye' now." Y/N gives a pat to his back in return awkwardly eyeing as Chessie left the room hastily.

. . .

It rakes against the wood harshly as Chessie glided keys of Harry's house towards him without a word. He puts the baby guide book aside arching his brow, "I can't do this anymore. I want an out." Dread. Seeping down Harry's bones.

Guarding himself down he grits, "What do ya mean you want an out? We agreed with full consent of yours Chessie." She shakes her head furiously.

"I didn't sign up for two of 'em Harry I could barely be there for one!!" He puts his elbows on his knees head lowering, "But you wanted to have a family with me didn't ye'?" His eyes tearing and she throws her head back in annoyance finding it difficult to make him understand.

"No. No – No. You wanted a family! Because of your continuous protests I gave in. Told you I wasn't ready for all of this bullshit now we are here." She emphasises. Harry stands up from his seat towering her pointing a finger at her.

He's rageous. Could burn this house down. How could she be so mean? Cowarding back at the last moment.

"Don't call it bullshit." He spits full of venom for the woman he mighty love and she snaps her head other way, "Congrats she finally ruined us and couldn't be more happy – now that she's having your mother fuckin' babies." He stumbles back knocking the coffee table lungs congesting.

"Don't drag her in all of this she's innocent." She laughs ironically looking him square in eyes yelling like a maniac, "Gave her your sperms now you can't hold back from fucking her. I knew it. You were fucking her behind my back weren't you?" She thinks of him like that? A cheater? He loved her and she always thought he was cheating her.

"Don't yell. I don't want to see ye'r cruel face when I come back home." He tries not to croak mustering strength to walk away from her. Exposing himslef to freezing weather locking himself in his car and crying his heart out. Sky crying along him. He punches the steering wheel brutally shouting "why's?" Head falling atlast as he thought of all his dreams shattering at his feet.

She caged him instead of giving him shelter. Replaced the butterflies he used to get from her with a burning hell in his pit, should've been mother of his children now she's just an ex.

The excruciating part is how he's gonna tell Y/N about this? She'll be crushed.

. . .

"Oh my god . . ." It was the roar of thunder that startled her but something else took her attention away. That tinsy kick protruding the taught skin of her belly, ". . . which one of you?" She was extra happy today. It's swimming in her head. It's just a thought but sharing it with Harry wouldn't kill someone. She wanna ask him if she could've one of the babies. It's just she's too much into the moment that she forgot she still have a degree to complete. A career to pursue and a life she always wanted.

When there's a knock at door she tries to stand up with the support of armrest a hand on her back. A gasp falling from her mouth at the sight of Harry's clothes soaked and another when he looks up with bloodshot eyes. Tears dried cheeks and heaving chest seeming utterly devastated.

"Pet what happened!?" She grabs him from elbow pulling him inside and he falls onto his knees smashing his cheeks against her showing tummy -- a sob recking through him, "Harry you're scarin' me. Tell me what happened is everything okay?"

"Chessie don't want these babies - sh-she didn't wanna ruin her career but atlast agreed . . . n-n now she doesn't want 'em 'n wants an out." He stutters. White noise deafening Y/N's ears and she steps back with expressions as if she's scared. Horrified of the future.

"It means she never had complications? She just didn't wanted her body to go through all of this." When Harry didn't fill in to her inquiry she flopped onto sofa from the shock shoving her face into her palms giving out a cry of hurt at her stupidity.

"God. I'm such an idiot!" He shakes his head crawling towards her with sad eyes and lil hiccups, "No please don'tcha say that. We'll figure it out yeah? Never wanted this t'happen." God. How bad he wants her to assure him that it'll be alright.

"You'll figure out what, huh!? Leaving them just like she did!?" Swear Harry felt a dagger jabbing it's way into his heart more upsetting tears spilling down his throat. "I hate you guys. They're none of your babies from now on. . ."

"Leave." She orders him wiping her tears roughly with the sleeve of her jumper. Running out of breath with each sniffle. Raises her hand stopping him to step forward and protest, "I said leave before I make you!!" He nods inhaling breath of remorse looking at the ceiling for a second then to her.

"Before, that want ya t'know. I still want 'em. They're mine. How could I not? love 'em. Hope ya'll forgive me." Then it's just sobs of Y/N taking over the buzz of telly as the door ticks. He didn't leave though. He's too afraid to. His back sliding against her door knees closing against his chest letting it all dawn upon him. His green luscious orbs hooding with sadness and the fluff of his curls.

Dunno if Y/N would be able to forgive him.

. . .

He woke up to a boot nudging to his thigh squinting up to find Niall stating down at him with consoling eyes. Poor Harry slept in the hallway. His neck sore and limbs stoned.

"Heard it 'lad. Was suspicious with Chessie long way." He helps Harry stand up patting his shoulders, "Y/N called ye'?" He grogs rubbing his eye with knuckles. When Niall confirms he quips with pleading eyes in a low whisper knowing he'll get his hair ripped if that furious little mama bunny will find him outside.

"Ye' think she'll forgive meh?" Niall chuckles to light up the situation, "'course H. Do ya think our pet's that ruthel—" He bites his tongue. Harry's gaze following the snap of his neck when the door opened revealing Y/N in a lilac chunky sweater. Puffy eyes and swollen lips. Harry feeling like a dickhead at her condition. It's all his fault. Then their eyes fall at the piping hot cuppa of tea in her hand.

With a stoic face she hands it to Harry and pulls Niall inside slamming the door at curly boy's face. So, she knew he was there sharing a door with her the whole night.

. . .

"Isn't it a good thing thou, love?" Niall smiles. He's chill in all of this. Watching it unwrap. They were meant for eachother Niall thinks so, "You wanted one of 'em and ended up havin' a whole bean can." She groans throwing her peach plushie at his chest. A smile swirming up her lips at his silly statement now that she's more stable less sad.

"You're the absolute worst, Ni!" He holds her cold hands tugging her close to make her look, "Want ya to forgive H. He did nothin' wrong, pet." When she pouts ruffling the silk strands of her rug with her feet he grabs her chin.

"Remember how happy he was? Don't go mad on him yeah?" She bobs her head not meeting his gaze. Meanwhile, there's knock at the door and Niall takes it laughing to himself softly at the box of doughnuts with a note.

"What is it?" He's already flopping beside her hooking his nimble finger around the white doughnut with rainbow sprinkles, "If I'd have known pregnant ladies gets treated this way. Would be havin' one baby every year." She smacks him in belly and unlatches the note reading it with a sucked lip.

Ye'r antenatal class's tommorrow. Don't forget to take ye vitamins :)

How gentle, calm and optimistic Harry could be needles her some.

. . .

Harry's waiting for her in the car fiddling with the radio. He isn't gonna lie. He's been going through a heartbreak. To cope with it he wants to accompany Y/N in her parent craft classes. When she waddles towards his car cosied up in a yellow baggy sweater and a cardigan Harry remembers she stole from him ages ago he mighty scrunched his nose in adoration at her cuteness.

Her nose pink and cheeks flushing as she slips into her seat, "Can you stop bringin' me stuff. I know how to take care of myself." She nips at him when he forwards her a kale smoothie. He doesn't seem to mind. Both, of them knows very well she's trying to avoid drinking it. She finds it yucky!

"Wanna take care of ya'll is all." He mumbles putting it in her side's cup holder. Ya'll .She regrets it instantly. Damn his puppy eyes!

. . .

"Mr. Styles and . . . Miss Y/N." The instructor calls them and they both raises their hand awkwardly as if in elementary school. "You're the parents of twin right?" She asks. Y/N wanted to say that their supposed to be parent ran off from the fear. But, she couldn't. Could never. It'll be like rubbing salt to his wounds. Bestfriends don't do that shit even in their most anger.

"Yes." She confirms. When Harry didn't. Scared if he might say something wrong. "Ok then! Lay your mats n' have a seat." Harry guides her with the little of his hand on her back. Her shoulder nudging his taut chest, and goosebumps pimples at her skin when his fingers brushes the side of her belly as he helps her sit down.

She takes an all rounder of the room and none of the parents looks like they're here to prepare for war unlike them. She shyly waves at the two mothers beside her and Harry twinges his lip equally flustered as her.

They start with relaxation and breathing exercises. Telling Y/N to let herself loose in Harry's arms. She fumbles with the hem of her sweater when his fingers gingerly winked at her sides and the lull of his breath hit her earlobe.

"Can ya stop breathing like, THAT!?" She whisper yells twisting to give him a sharp glare full of spleen elbow poking at his side abs, "Like what!?" He half squeaks peering down at her with doe eyes palms flat at sides to convey his surprise.

"Like a train engine whistling -- it's annoying." She mutters rolling her eyes and turning back to listen to instructor. "Now, I can't even breath without ye' comin' fo' me throat?" He grits with a kink of brows and when she confirms with a no --- He gasps dramatically. He hates her hormones little bitches.

It's gonna be a long journey of Hell for them.

. . .

"Are you hungry?" He asks turning the heat on knowing how cold her feet could get in the span of seconds. She huffs trying to buckle her belt and it squirms a fond smile out of him at her cute effort to be put in place due to her bump. If he'd coo. She'd rip him into tiny bits. It's better if he gazes away.

"Does it mean emptying your pocket?" She arches her brow sinking into her seat. "Bitso. . " He chuckles softly drumming at the steering wheel.

"Then I'd love to." She adds with a smirk. Clasping her hands atop her heart outta excitement. It makes him shake his poof of hickorey curls at her silliness.

They end up taking a takeout of onion loaded cheese burgers. Greasy fries. An iced-tea and a box of cookies from Babara's shop a block away from Harry's house.

"Wanna choose fo' ye'rself?" He asked her before going inside and she denied with a worried expression. Not knowing how she'll explain all of this to Babara who's her one of the good friends from UNI. Harry respects that. If she isn't ready to talk about it he isn't gonna pressurize her. They've been dodging the serious talk since she let him take to parental classes. Knows one day or another they've to decide how it's all gonna work.

. . .

Good food can make you more high than actual drugs. Licking their fingers off now they feel all sleepy and lazy sitting on the comfortable sofa watching telly with hooded eyes.

Harry's cheek smushed adorably against her baby bump ears tuned into what his babies are talking about.

"You know what? 'S not about winners or loosers. Bu' I won." She bubble hiccups slumping deeper with sugar rush hitting her. "Huh? Harry mumbles eyes drooping. The cotton balls of snowflakes glittering outside, collecting at the window and foging them up.

"I get to have babies of my bestfriend and this nice foodddd — 'n what did Chessie got? No babies and no happy feeling of being their mother." Harry shots up from his snooze blinking up at her and she quickly takes it back regret eating her alive, "'m sorry it slipped."

"No!!" He almost shouts cupping her cheeks making her look at him. His dimples deeps that someone could scoop them like an ice-cream. He gives her an eskimo kiss that makes her veins run with glittery blood.

"I wan' ye' to be the mother of me babies." No hesitation. No dithering. Just him asking for the tinsy bit of her heart. For her forgiveness. For the love they've kept blind eye for years. "We'll figure this out, yeah?" He murmurs their lips brushing and breaths kissing. Pulling back with a forehead kiss.

She lives for forehead kisses makes her shallow tin heart explode with glittery firecrackers.

She nods to give him the affirmation that she wants what he wants.

.

#Harry Styles Fanfiction #dad!harry #dadthon harry #cute harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles blurb #hsh #fluff #harry smut #harry angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry #naughty harry #solo harry #HET WRITING #BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG GIVE IT SUM LOVE #NEXT CHAP WITH DADDY HARRY SMUTTTTT HMMMMM #I LIKE THE THOUGHT OF IT

[wickedscribbles]

Hide Your Face (Among a Crowd of Stars) Chapter Three: Rumors

Masterlist, Taglist

Important Gang Info Alphas: Abigail, Arthur, Bill, Charles, Dutch, John, Sadie Betas: Hosea, Javier, Josiah, Karen, Lenny, Leopold, Mr. Pearson, Rev. Swanson, Sean, Susan, Uncle Omegas: Kieran, Mary-Beth, Molly, Tilly No Designation/Too Young: Jack

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Emma Griffiths (Original Female Character, Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: hospital setting, (very brief) vomiting mention, more Omega dynamics, questionably trustworthy main character, flashbacks, anxiety, traumatic past, experimental medicine, trust issues 

Word Count: 11K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Names.

There are dozens of names to learn and faces attached to them, coming and going, with their scents and their eyes and their expressions. Ruth. Helen. Rose. Lillian. Robert. Harry. Marie. Hair in half a dozen shades and textures, folks from all walks of life. Embroidered skirts in golds and blues, or skirts so frayed and dirty they look like rags. Occasionally, a man, rare in Omegas but in need just as the women are.

Some stay for only a few hours – others have been here for weeks. The names stick in the back of your mind, attached to a bit of kindness or someone being particularly unruly in the midst of their suffering.

Most of all Omegas, Omegas, Omegas. Layered on top of one another like a cake cooked too sweet. There are Betas too, of course, kind people who offer the rations and sweep the floors and nurse the sick. Popping up, voices quiet, with an extra blanket or water. Trying to do what they can to keep the hurt to its minimum. There’s even the rare Omega among the staff, though they keep away from the heat wards, you assume.

You never meant to get quite this familiar with it all, but your body has other plans.

Not long after you’re settled amongst their numbers, trying your best to sleep in the little corner cot, you lurch up and vomit a great arch of water over the side of the canvas. Warmth settles under your skin like an extra layer you can’t take off, a coat you never asked for, uncomfortable and thick. A shout of protest comes from the other side of the privacy curtain, and you croak out your sorry.

Things don’t improve. A dull pain settles in the back of your skull, a nice addition to the stifling heat you thought you’d ditched with the injection. Every toss and turn against your makeshift bed earns you a high squeak that seems to drive right between your ears, adding to the nausea and the discomfort. All you can do is lie there, hands clasped tight over your ears, bedpan at your side in case the worst happens again.

Even with your eyes shut it feels like the whole room is spinning, like you can see every Omega in there with you though they’re all shut behind those plain blue curtains. The inside of Arthur’s coat sticks to your skin with sweat, and you bury your face there, desperate for some comfort. It’ll smell all wrong by the time you leave here, but for now, the strong scent of him still clings to the insides.

The very right scent of the gang and campfire and Arthur himself – not sending you climbing a dizzying high of lust and need as it had only hours before, but grounding you instead. He’d proven to be someone you could trust, on that crazy night. Most Alphas make you wary, make you rigid with distaste and apprehension. Yet Arthur had proved himself entirely human about everything that had taken place.

A hand lands on the curve of your back, surprising you into stiffness. “You alright, miss?”

Rolling over seems monumental, but you never should’ve let someone creep up on you like that in the first place. Never mind that this is a place of sanctuary – it’d be foolish to drop your guard entirely. You open your eyes to the blinding light of morning, the low murmur of folks around you, and haul yourself up on one elbow. Agitated scents, soft crying. Not the nightmare you’d conjured in your head upon arrival, but you can still sense the unease.

“Can’t say that I am,” you mumble, dragging a mass of sweaty hair off of your forehead to see who’s speaking. Surely the vomit she’d had to step over to get in here was enough of a hint.

It’s one of the women from before, the younger. Unarmed now and looking far more like a nurse than someone fit to chasing outlaws off the front porch, she places her hand to your forehead, frowning at your temperature. You try not to flinch, letting her do her job, trying hard not to look as pathetic as you feel.

“Seems as if you are not having a good run of things,” she says under her breath. “Hmm.”

You don’t know what to say to that. She already thinks that Arthur beat you, and surely she’s noticed the injection mark on your inner elbow. Will she ask about it? Does she think you’re some sort of addict? You’re not exactly in any shape to be running from the law, and you can’t imagine Arthur’s had a chance to get back to camp by now to tell the gang that you’re here. If anything goes sideways, you’re stranded. An open target.

Thankfully, she seems to have made up her mind about your sorry condition, come to some sort of conclusion on her own. She straightens, with one last look around your little cubicle. “Can you stand?”

Good question.

“I’m going to go with no,” you say, swinging into a sitting position. The entire room takes half a second to catch up, vertigo playing its cruel tricks on your senses. Sweet Christ. This feeling of unwellness seems like it’s been going on for weeks, not days. The nurse – or whatever she is – watches you, letting you gather your breath before offering a hand.

“Well, we’ll take you someplace a little quieter, get you looked at.”

You let her help you up off of the cot, shrugging Arthur’s coat on. Its sleeves dangle well past your fingertips, the hem brushing the ground. It takes you one hand to hold the thing closed around your shoulders, to keep it from slipping off, but you’re not going to leave it. He’d trusted you with it, and – well. You owe it to him to bring it back, is all. After what you’d gotten him into.

“I’m Rose, by the way,” she says as the pair of you shrug out from behind the curtain. “Figured I might as well tell you my name, since I know yours.”

It suits her. She’s a fair-haired, delicate woman, with eyes so blue you feel like you could see through them if she stared at you long enough. Not quite beautiful, but kind enough to make up for it. Her hands are long and spidery, cool to the touch – though their temperature might be normal, given how warm you feel. Her smock is rumpled, but clean, and her short heels scuffed at the toes. You notice the shoes have been mended, several times over.

Rose guides you down the maze-like halls of drawn curtains, sometimes stopping to peer in and say a word or two. She doesn’t linger, and you’re grateful for that. Both the promise of somewhere less crowded and the effort of standing are great incentives to keep moving. Every once in a while, a curtain is left open. You’re forced to put your eyes to the floor, unprepared to look upon someone suffering.

“That was just the intake area,” she explains as you leave the last of it all behind, stepping through a pair of open double doors. A glance back over your shoulder tells you how big the room of closed-off cots really is. The ceiling seems to stretch on forever, packing in as many Omegas as it needs to. Now you’re shuffling forward with her, past the entrance, down a smaller hallway with peeling yellow wallpaper. “Most folks don’t stay long enough to go further. Ride out their heats. Safe place to stay. You know.”

Of course you know. An Omega your age would have to be beyond privileged to have never set foot in one before now. Married or marked early, or well-tended by a rich family. The thought of any of that being an option for you now is laughable.

Her heels click on the floorboards, marking time against the thicker step of your boots. “But we also run a clinic for those who need a bit more scrupulous care. We offer domestic violence services as well. Omegas and Betas both.” You don’t miss her quick glance to your arms, still purpling in a variety of shades under the sleeves of the coat. The scar on your cheek, long healed. Wish she wouldn’t, you think, avoiding her eyes. “Mostly through the mayor’s funding. You’re lucky you made it here.”

“I suppose so,” you murmur.

“Clinic’s up ahead. I’ll get you in a room, get you a once-over.”

She knocks on a door only a few paces down, passing a small desk and a receptionist who nods at you. Finding the room empty, Rose leads you inside. The whole thing is about the size of your little curtained-off area in the intake room. Painted the soft color of a seashell and containing only a sink, cabinet, and two chairs, the room doesn’t leave much space to move. Thankful to be at a stop, you hoist yourself onto the plain white examination chair.

The door closes behind Rose with a bright click, leaving you alone for a moment. You shrug Arthur’s coat to your waist, letting it pool there. With everything happening so fast, there hasn’t been time to stop and worry about what’s going on with you, but now it sinks into your gut like an anchor. There’s no explanation for going right back into fever and misery only hours after taking the immunizer – none that you know of, at least. It’s never happened before, isn’t supposed to happen.

Worst of all, everyone in this safehouse still knows you for what you are; an Omega. Are the effects of your injection just delayed, because of the sudden heat? Will the injection not work at all? You don’t have the answers. The one man who does is across town, out of reach for you still. It’s best to get to Dr. Thompson as soon as you can, but you don’t know how long they’ll want to keep you here, if you can sneak out. If you’ll even be capable of doing it, in the shape you’re in.

A light tap on the door, a pause too short to matter before it’s swinging open. In steps a man in a crisp white coat and the cleanest shave you’ve ever seen – or maybe you’re just used to staring at bushy-faced outlaws. He holds a cigarette in one hand and a stethoscope in the other, the device dangling in a loop before he goes to put it round his neck. Rose is behind him, closing the door. The smell of his cigarette crowds the room, and you wrinkle your nose at it, stomach roiling.

“Mornin’,” he says jovially. “Emma, is it?”

“It is,” you answer. He looks way too happy to be here.

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” The man holds out his hand, and you give him yours in return, flabbergasted, for a brief shake. “Name’s Dr. Benjamin Carter, and I’ll be lookin’ after you today. Just need to ask you some questions, give you a once-over. Nothin’ too damaging.”

“That’s good to hear.”

You give him a tentative look, not sure you can trust all the enthusiasm. Over his shoulder, you catch Rose’s eye, and she only shrugs, as if to say, He’s always like this. You suppose you’ve met worse men in your time. Being odd isn’t a crime – some of the strangest folks often turn up harmless, you’ve found.

Letting some of the tension fall from your shoulders, you allow Dr. Carter to go through his examination. He listens to your heart, your breathing. You’re used to being touched in this distant sort of way. Dr. Thompson’s hands don’t linger on you, either, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help waiting for it to be over. You’re not sure whether it’s better or worse, that this is the only way someone’s touched you in years.

He hums, setting the stethoscope back in its place. “Well, you’re not dyin’.” The doctor cuts you a smirk, and you can only hope you return some sort of similar expression. Good for him, to be so casual with other folk’s lives. Feels a little different when it’s your own, when you’re the one stuck to the leather of the chair with sweat. You don’t return the look, and he clears his throat. “You ever been heat-sick?”

Goddamn it. “I – well, no, sir. Can’t say that I have.” You straighten, widen your eyes.

That placates him, makes him feel useful again. Young Dr. Carter launches into his explanation of the affliction, while you exclaim that you had no idea that such a thing could happen to a person. You’re recently widowed, you tell him, and life without your husband has been so hard on you, in so many ways. That pulls sympathy from Rose, too.

It’s not hurting them, you tell yourself. You’ll leave here soon and never see them again, and the web you’ve spun won't go unwoven. Never has. The white lie is for their benefit, as well as yours. People like things to go as planned, loathe a problem, and you need to keep your nose clean. This lets you keep both trains on track.

Dr. Carter diagnoses you with a mild case, and welcomes you to stay for a few days longer. “You’ll need plenty of fluids and rest,” he says, “but you’ll be alright as long as you take it easy. Should feel fine on your own before the week’s through.”

If going heat-sick is what’s got you so miserable, you’re going to be annoyed. The refusal to take a partner should be your choice, but no – go a year or more without coupling and your immune system suffers for it. A punishment for not bowing to a biological urge. By all rights, you should be out there mating and presenting for every Alpha who asks, right? Christ. This damn injection better kick in soon.

You think that’s the end of the conversation. He’s stubbed out the cigarette, thank God. The smell is making your head swim. Doesn’t seem productive – smoking in a room with a sick patient. Then again, you know some folks who’ll smoke like a chimney and don’t give a damn who’s around or where they are. You suppose that a doctor isn’t an exception. Dr. Carter turns to the door before looking back, mouth set like he’s uncomfortable about what he wants to say.

Spit it out, Benjamin.

“‘Fore we cut you loose,” he starts, and his easy drawl makes you want to sock him. “Are you in any danger at home, Emma? Anything that you worry about?”

Both he and Rose zero in on your bruise-riddled arms, and you sigh. Well, they’re commendable at their jobs, you’ll give them that. You open your mouth, close it again. Neither seems content to let you leave this foul-smelling, pink little room until they get some sort of answer. Taking the chance of hopping off the chair and shouldering past them – and barfing all over your shoes – is starting to look appealing. Anything to escape the scrutiny.

“I got mugged,” you say finally. “Coming home with the groceries. Fella made sure I was alright and brought me here.” The blunt edges of your fingernails become interesting. “I’m – safe. At home.” The camp feels safe. The gang. The horses and the fire and the dirty jokes and the songs. Something tugs at your chest as you wonder what they’re doing right now. If they’ve noticed you’re gone.

Rose's eyebrows go up, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She wouldn't be so bold as to ask what your relationship is to him, you don't think, but you're glad that she knows that Arthur isn't the one who tossed you around like a wet rag. That's one untruth you don't want hanging around. It's one thing for your own reputation to be painted false, but another thing entirely to ruin someone else's.

"Well, we're glad you're not in any danger. Saint Denis can be a grand place, but it has its troubles, like any other town. Rose, if you would –?"

Dr. Carter opens the door, and she blinks back into herself. Rose opens the door at his behest. That’s your cue to squirm down from the examination chair, misjudging how high up you are and landing heavier than you meant to. Elegant as always. You shake your head at her offered arm this time, grit your teeth. Even if you wobble, you’re tired of relying on someone else to stand. Rose lets you be, and you’re grateful for it.

Together, you bid farewell to the young doctor, already fumbling in his pockets for another smoke.

A different corridor passes under your blurry eyes and heavy steps. The ward she leads you to now is smaller, a series of rooms instead of one massive collection of curtains like the intake area. And, as Rose had promised, it’s quieter. Scents are fewer here, less clotted in the air, and you have a feeling it’ll do wonders for the headache pounding away at the base of your skull.

Your room this time is a proper room, small though it may be. There are two beds in here – large enough for only one person apiece and a little threadbare, but you couldn’t care less about that. The second lies behind yet another inevitable privacy curtain – they do love the damn things, don’t they? Though you suppose it’s better than staring at strangers. As Rose ushers you in, you watch a pair of feet shuffle behind it, hear the creak of the mattress as the person behind it realizes someone’s coming in.

“Just me, Lillian,” says Rose. “Bringing you a neighbor.”

“Didn’t ask for one,” Lillian replies testily.

Rose screws up her mouth in the corner, like she’s fighting not to say something snarky in response. “It’s only for a few days. I trust you can behave?”

There’s no answer.

“Anyway…” Rose sighs, turning to you with a forced smile. “Please, get comfortable.” Or as comfortable as you can, her tone seems to say. “It’ll be time for lunch here shortly. The lavatory’s right down the hall, should you need it.”

Lavatory, you think to yourself with amusement. “Alright. Well – thank you.”

Hesitant, you sit on the end of the bed, and Rose gives you a real smile. You’re left alone – or as alone as you can be, with Lillian looming faceless behind the curtain. Looking up, you decide to pull your own shut as well. You’re still very aware that she’s there, but at least there’s one more layer between you and her. She probably prefers it this way, too. The snick-snick-snick of the curtain dragging around its track sounds loud in the room. You’re relieved when it falls in place around you, leaving only the interior of the cloth to stare at.

You kick off your boots and slide into a slow recline until you’re flat on the bed, dragging Arthur’s jacket over your shoulder. At least the inside still smells nice. Pressing the collar to your face, where the scent’s the strongest, you curl up on your side. Little by little, breath by breath, your eyelids grow heavy. In that last, small moment you drop into sleep, the fabric at your side twitches, and you think you catch a curious face peering in.

Or you could already be dreaming.

—---------------

There is no decency here, no clean white sheets or hardwood floors. The walls leak in the corners with some sort of putrid mold, wet and shiny-looking, adding to the frenzy of smell and stink. A massive hole in the roof lets the moonlight in. This place can hardly be called a building, let alone a safehouse. On your right side, you’re touching the knee of the woman next to you no matter how small you try to make your body. On your left, another woman’s thigh brushes your own. You push your palms into your eyes, shaking, willing away the seconds until your body stops burning with overt need.

This is your only choice. Lately, you’ve found yourself left with a lot of last options and dead ends. Alone in this world, except for the gun on your hip and the stallion outside. More alone than you’ve ever been. And hell, you hate to admit it – even to yourself – but you’re terrified. It feels like karma’s breathing down your neck every time you turn your back. Like every night you spend alone is another opportunity to get killed. Invisible eyes lurk in every forest, in every town, no matter how calm Rev is when you’re out riding.

You can hear him. I’m still watching you. I’ll still find you.

Calm down. Get it together. The last thing you need is to go spiraling into a panic attack in the midst of all these strangers. Trailing one hand down to center on your heartbeat, you cast your eyes around the room, anything to keep your mind off of how bad you feel. There’s a star carved into the wall across the room. That girl has ringlets in her hair. My fingernails are dirty. A man in the corner is drinking by himself. Someone’s walking around, offering water.

That helps. Getting out of your own head offers a respite, some breathing room. Doesn’t make you feel any better about the shithole you’re stuck in, but there’s not much you can do about that.

The voices around you sharpen back into clarity. Not everyone is as stressed as you are; some are simply chatting, idle, waiting for nights or hours to pass before they can go on about their lives. Snippets of conversation punctuate the air. Mothers talking about children. Widows talking about long-gone lovers. Friends gossiping.

“Margaret was right to –”

“I really don’t know how she –”

“And they say it takes your heats away, like –”

You snap your head in the direction of that last one. What? The words tumble over again in your mind, the way they’d been spoken – quick and excited. In all the crowded fuss, it’s hard to tell exactly who had said them. Your brow furrows, straining to tell where the conversation is happening.

There. In the nearby corner huddle three women who have to be close to your age, paying rapt attention to the fourth, the speaker. From this distance, you can’t make out every word, but the snippets come to you in waves and stammers.

“Injection –”

“You sure it’s real?”

“That’s what he told me –”

At this point, your curiosity overwhelms the desire to keep yourself small. With difficulty, you press both hands back against the wall, getting to your feet and feeling every stretch of your complaining limbs. Making your way over with muttered sorrys and pardons, all four sets of eyes look up when you come to the foot of their gathering.

“Hi,” you start, feeling the blush flood your face. “Uh. I’m sorry. I – I overheard you talking. About the injection? The heats – the doctor?”

“Don’t remember calling you over,” says the girl in the middle, her brown eyes as hard as flint. “Can’t folks have a conversation without someone else nosin’ in?”

You stare at one another for a hard moment. It was a risk coming over here, interrupting, but you’re going to dig in your heels if it comes to it. Never mind that the woman in front of you is covered in sweat, looking every bit as miserable as you feel. Like she might bite your head off if you try and push your luck any further. The silence swells, seeming to bubble out – you against her cluster of friends, all who try to catch your scent on the air.

Is this going to be a fight? Firing a shot in this room would be like kicking a hornet’s nest. Resorting to your fists wouldn’t be a great idea, four against one. Hell, you probably wouldn’t win in an honest fight. Then there’s the matter of your unfamiliarity; you’re just passing through, while these four, no doubt, know the place. Others would take their side, not yours, and stand by as you were beaten bloody or killed.

Someone else breaks the tension. “Oh, leave her alone,” one of her listeners insists. “You run your mouth so damn loud it’s a wonder half the place ain’t over here gawpin’.” She looks up to you with a smile. “C’mere. Come get a load of what Miss Miracle has to say.” Her hand pats the hard-packed ground, and mystified, you sit.

The speaker rolls her eyes, but allows it. “Alice, I swear, you are soft as hell. Like I was saying –” She fusses with her hair, wipes her forehead, and you catch the scent of spiced tea and ginger. Strong, but inviting. Perhaps she’s not all as tough as she seems. “Heard about it when I was down in Saint Denis. There’s a new doctor set up shop.”

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you settle in. A ribbon of excitement settles in your chest as the questions get passed back and forth, as you speak up to ask your own. They say he runs a regular clinic, but he’s got an experimental practice on the side. All very hush-hush. An injection to make your heats just – disappear. All very new, of course, but imagine if it worked.

It sounds like bullshit. It sounds like magic. Those among you seem to have their opinions divided similarly. Half believe that it sounds too good to be real, while the others want to think that modern medicine is capable. The discussion's something to ruminate on, at least. Something to pass the time as you all ache and cramp and yearn in this sweaty, foul-smelling safehouse.

Most don’t take it too seriously. What other tall tales come from the depths of the city, that sparkling place tucked away in the bayou? It could be nonsense, a fable passed from one ear to the other in the name of boredom. One by one, the other women turn away, distracted by other conversations. The story had been a pretty thing, something to cling to, but in the end, that’s all it is to them. Glamor and fairytale. Only the truly desperate would go chasing it down.

Unfortunately, desperate is just what you are.

—-----------

“Easy, boy. Easy.”

Revenant is having none of this city business. He snorts and tosses his head, pulling at the knot you’ve tied in his reins to hitch him on the roadside, and you’re half-worried he’ll bust loose and run off. The traffic behind him likely doesn’t help. Carriages and wagons and other horses trot up in a steady stream at his back, and he shows you the whites of his eye as one rolls by a little too close.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay, okay, we’ll move.”

The last thing you need is to lose him, too. Clicking your tongue, you lead Rev down an alley, where he’s far less likely to run into anyone. You pause there for a moment yourself, glad for the shelter from the noise and the crowd. Saint Denis is…a lot. A lot of sounds and smells, all at once. More crowded than you’d ever want to be, if you had a choice. You run your hand up and down Rev’s neck, soothing both of you, listening to him breathe. He swishes his tail, still fussing, and you lean into his side.

“You’re okay, you big baby. Mama’s boy.”

Acting like he’s the only one terrified boosts your confidence a little. Right around the corner, with its big glass windows and ornate gold paint, is the office. Just as described to you so many months ago, a part of the gossip made true. The doctor, at least, exists. Now to find out how much of the rest of the story can hold water.

“I’ll be right back. You be good, alright?”

With one last pat, you leave Rev alone. In a few short steps, you find yourself on the stoop of Dr. Thompson’s office, staring back at your reflection in the noonday light. You look…about like you feel. Small. Tired. Angry. Dirty. A thousand miles away from anyone’s idea of a lady. That thought, at least, satisfies you.

No one answers when you knock. Not for a long time. You shift from foot to foot, check your pocket watch and then the sign, worried that you’d somehow come at the wrong hour. Maybe this isn’t even a doctor’s office at all – just some front for something shady going on deeper inside. It wouldn’t be unheard of in Saint Denis.

Leaning up on your toes, you squint in. Everything looks normal. Brightly polished wooden floors, a clean receptionist’s desk and calendar, a few chairs, and –

Shit. Someone’s coming around the corner from inside, and he definitely saw you squinting in like a burglar. You reel back from the door so fast that you lose your balance on the step. The familiar sense of dropping through air catches in the pit of your stomach as your foot searches for something that isn’t there, and you bust your ass on the cobblestones.

A bright sting of pain lances up your arm where you’d tried to catch yourself, and – lucky you – the man in the window bears witness to that, as well. He does a double take, fumbling to unlock the door, and you scramble to your feet. There’s mud all over your hand and side, but that doesn’t matter. Your instincts are telling you to get out of here, before he calls for the police. The arm hurts, but it won’t stop you from riding. He jostles the door open right as you dart around the corner, relieved to see Rev still standing where you’d left him.

“Miss!” A voice calls out. “Hey – just a moment –”

Shit shit shit shit shit. You press yourself flat against the wall that forms one side of the alley, heart pounding. Don’t come over here. Don’t. The only thing separating him from you is Rev’s big white backside, and you have nowhere to run. It’s a dead end. Of all the shit you’ve gotten yourself into, you don’t plan to make it into jail over peering in a window. You can’t shoot him; the sound of gunfire will draw the lawmen to you like flies. The only option is to try and hoist up in the saddle and careen out of this alley.

Rev regards you with one clear blue eye, holding his body stiff with tension. He can sense your fear as clearly as any human, and he shuffles, waiting for your command. You have one foot in the stirrup, stretching as much as you can to get over Rev’s broad frame, when you’re caught. Sunlight warps and blurs around the silhouette of a man, disheveled and tall, and you freeze in the saddle. The only way to get past him would be to barrel him right over. You stare at one another for a moment.

Taking a deep breath in, you form your excuse. “I – I was only looking in – I didn’t mean –”

The reins squeak under your hands at how tight you grip them, exasperated with yourself. Smooth, Emma, so smooth. He won’t think you’re a criminal at all. Bracing for his reaction, you tense, ready for the worst. If you have to run him down and make it look like an accident, you will. Damn that stranger with her stupid rumor – and damn you for chasing it all the way here. Brought you nothing but trouble.

The man wrings his hands together, brows furrowed behind narrow spectacles. “Ain’t no harm in lookin’, ma’am. Do you need help? Are you hurt? You took a fall, there.”

That catches you off guard. His deep Southern drawl doesn’t go with his nice blazer and vest, as rumpled as they are. The unexpected talk of kindness, of help, is the last thing you expected. It’s enough to put a damper on your fight-or-flight. You linger, confused, and the man takes the opportunity to expand on his statement.

“I c’n clean that out for you, the very least. Don’t need dirt gettin’ in the wound. Lead to an infection, if you’re not careful.”

Your eyes dart down past the sleeve of your blouse, where the angry red glisten of blood drips onto your saddle horn from the scrape on your palm. Then back to the man, whose own hands are raised in a gesture of peace, like you’re a wild animal. Slowly, you lower yourself back down to the ground, shushing Rev as he sidesteps.

The relief coming from him is palpable as you sidle forward, comforted by the weight of your pistol in its holster. “I’m Harvey Thompson,” he says. “If you’d follow me?”

Harvey Thompson – Dr. Harvey Thompson – offers you tea while you wait in the back of his dim office, watching him bustle to and fro for supplies. You decline it, shrinking in on yourself as drawers rattle and cabinets close. There’s an untouched sort of feeling to this office, layers of dust and a smell to the air like no one but him has been here for some time. Only his tidy Beta scent lingers in the rooms you’d passed, and something about that feels off.

“Alright, hold that arm out straight for me.”

He’s back with his supplies – a bowl of water, some sharp-smelling cleaning solution, and strips of cloth to wrap your wrist in. Tentative, you do as he says, letting him make the dirt and mud cloud the water. Dr. Thompson is very gentle, applying only the most necessary pressure, coming only as close to you as he needs. Something about that comforts you, though the air is thick with silence.

“So…” he begins. “Was there some other reason you were lookin’ in? Somethin’ else you needed?”

There goes your feeling of solace. “Well, my mother and I just moved down here from Van Horn, and I was looking into finding her a regular doctor. She’s older, you know.” You turn your eyes wistful and round, hiding the lie behind a somber expression. “Says her bones ache. We moved to get her away from the damp.”

Dr. Thompson nods, a bitter sort of smile on his face. “Well, you’ll want Dr. Barnes for that, I’m afraid.” He sets the dirty rag down, pushes the bowl aside. Your skin is an angry red underneath it all, but clean, and he starts wrapping your wrist in quick motions. “Technically I shouldn’t even be treating you now, miss.”

“Emma. It’s Emma.”

“Well, Miss Emma. It’s lucky you caught me here collectin’ my things. If you’d fallen regardless, it’d have been quite a limp to Dr. Barnes’ practice.” He sighs, pausing for a moment mid-wrap as if in thought. “My medical license has been suspended until further notice in the state of Lemoyne.”

That explains the air of stillness about the place. “Suspended?”

He hums, like it’s not something he cares to elaborate on. “Mmm. Yes ma’am. At a rather unfortunate time in my career, too, I c’n say that much for certain. Just painted the damn place.” The wrap is done, and you flex your fingers, thanking him.

You shouldn’t poke your nose in any further. You should offer him some money and get out of here, count yourself fortunate that he’d only wanted to help. If you irritate him, he could change his mind, run you out. But what if? A voice in the back of your mind speaks up. He won’t say what it was for. Ask. Just ask. These crumbs of information might be a coincidence, or they might not. It all seems to line up a little too closely with what you heard back in that safehouse for you to think it was the stuff of rumors anymore.

“May I ask why? Doctor?” You add, tensing a little when his eyes slide to your face. “You’ve been very kind to me. I can’t imagine why someone would rob you of your practice.”

That’s laying it on thick, but it gets the job done. Dr. Thompson only sighs again as he goes to dump the bowl he’d used to clean your arm, returning looking even older than before. “Well. Reckon it can’t hurt. Whole city already knows, or thinks they do.”

He sits heavily in the chair opposite you, knees kicked out, looking weary. Less like a doctor and more like a man hung out to dry, greying at the temples. His sense of professionalism put aside to tell a story he’d rather not repeat because its consequences haunt him. You cross your legs at the ankles, leaning in, as he confirms every single piece of the rumor whispered to you so many nights ago – then some more.

Dr. Thompson – who insists you call him Harvey after all that soul-bearing confession – thinks you’re insane.

Because who in their right minds offers themselves up for a continuation of his trials after they hear that it killed a girl? At least, that’s the hearsay. You’re not sure if you can believe it, even though Dr. Thompson himself seems wracked with guilt. He tells you that you weren’t there – you didn’t see how she suffered through it.

The story goes like this. At the tender age of sixteen, the mayor’s daughter presents as an Omega, instantly bombarded with suitors and wracked with her heats. The political and social pressure to pair with someone acceptable are almost as bad as how she was changing physically, he says. Young Ophelia herself came to him begging for an answer. She said that the maids had talked of him, heard the gossip, and she showed up on his doorstep just as you had.

He was an idiot. He had no idea who she was. Knew, of course, that she was of fine stock and proper breeding, but the mayor’s daughter – he couldn’t have guessed. She’d kept that from him, and her age, too, a lie. Dr. Thompson started her on the trials. Two months later, she was dead. A young girl with her entire life still to live, snuffed out. He shuffles to the far cabinet and pours himself a finger of whiskey, saying nothing for a long time after that. You soak in the silence with him.

“Let me be your next volunteer,” you say firmly, once he’s trailing the last few drops around his glass.

“Did – did you not hear a thing I said?” He puts his spectacles on the table, leans in with his fingers laced on one knee. “No. Hell no. I ain’t in the business of doin’ what I know will kill folk.”

“But it was one time!” You blurt the words before you can stop yourself. Heat rises to your face at the shocked look that crosses his features. “I mean – how were the trials going before Ophelia? Did she have any pre-existing conditions? Were you tracking her symptoms?” Each question gets ticked off on a finger as you feel your heart race along in time. “Do you know that the injection killed her?”

“She was a sickly child, they told me,” he murmurs. “But everythin' points to the injection being the cause.” Dr. Thompson straightens now, regarding you with an air of caution, like you’re something to be wary of. “And after word of her death got out, I lost contact with all my previous volunteers. Had no way to compare the data.”

“Then re-launch the project,” you urge. “Get new volunteers.”

“How? Who in their right mind would risk their neck for somethin’ with a black mark like that?”

“People who don’t have anything else to lose! Outlaws, criminals, degenerates – I don’t know!” You never meant to shout, but it’s what you’re doing, up and out of your seat to pace around the room in a tight circle. “People who need it!” Shut up, Emma, shut up.

Dr. Thompson’s eyes follow you as he drains his glass, saying nothing. For a moment you stand there, letting your hands fall to your sides, wondering if you’ve finally crossed a line. He’s shown extraordinary patience, letting you ask so many questions and push so far into this personal part of his failed medical tale. It occurs to you that you’ve spoken more to this man than you’ve spoken to any other human being in over a year. You feel sorry for him, feel a sort of kinship with him in this mutual sorrow, and a large part of you doesn’t want him to be angry.

At last, he speaks. “Are you an outlaw, Miss Emma?”

You look him in the eye. They’re warm and brown, and far too kind. “I never wanted to be.”

“And I never wanted to be a killer.” His voice cracks on the word. “I suppose life never fails to surprise.”

The two of you reach an agreement, as afternoon drags into evening. You will take up the mantle, and he'll administer a monthly injection. Your responsibility is to religiously record any symptoms. He will monitor you for a while after he gives the dose; blood pressure, heart rate, respirations. Once you’re stable, he’ll let you out into the world, until the next is due.

“They’re to be taken at the same time every month, approximately,” he says, voice going stern. “Do you think you can manage gettin’ back here like that? I’m talkin’ clockwork. Punctual.” Dr. Thompson blinks several times, and you wonder if the whiskey’s loosened him up a little.

“I can. I’ll find a way.”

You swallow as he unlatches a small, wooden box, revealing its contents in the dimming light. A single vial, needle, and syringe, all packed in velvet casing. Some more parts you don’t recognize. The needle looks long and dangerous, sitting there, a single talon or fang. How much will it hurt? You wonder as he assembles it all, drawing the liquid up from the little glass bottle. Will it work? Will it kill me? No use thinking like that.

“Are you squeamish?” His voice, softer now, seems to come from nowhere as he touches the inside of your elbow, a finger trailing over the blue vein there. “Veins are nice.”

Thanks?

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “Never done this before.”

“It’ll be fine,” Dr. Thompson assures you. “Just a little pinch.”

Doctors, as you find out, are also excellent liars. That needle going in hurts like a regular old bitch, and he has the nerve to laugh at the language you color the air with as he sticks you. Only a little chuckle, but you still take offense. The discomfort doesn’t stop there. Your arm tingles and burns as the injection settles in your blood, making you squirm in your chair.

The prospect of what you’ve agreed to do sinks in. This is entirely experimental – no guarantees that it will help you more than it harms you. All you can do is hope.

“Alright, Miss Emma,” he says, jotting something down in the notebook open on his knee. “You’re free to go.”

“What do I owe you?”

Dr. Thompson waves a hand, dismissive. “Get it next time. I know you didn’t expect to come here payin’ for somethin’ like this.” He tells you the price he charges for one dose, and you somehow manage to keep a straight face. Good thing he didn’t make you pay, because you’re not carrying that kind of cash. You’re going to have to work a little harder at robbing if you plan to follow through with this, because only making enough to live off of won’t be enough anymore.

For a long time, you’ve been listless, only drifting. No purpose or direction or plan. But this? This is an opportunity to start over. A real second – well, third or fourth – chance. You thought you’d run out of options a long time ago, yet fate's decided to give you one more try. Bidding farewell to Dr. Thompson, you walk back out into the city, unaware of how your life will change.

—------------

The damn thing actually works. After a few weeks, no one counts you among the Omegas in the room. Your cycle never comes. By the time you get back to the city, extra cash in hand, you’re elated to report that folks are treating you like a Beta now. More like a person. Alphas barely pause to look at you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. All your life, you’ve just wanted to be Emma, not some Alpha’s conquest – now you finally get that wish granted. Who would’ve thought you’d have to go to such lengths to obtain it?

You receive the second injection. The only symptoms, then, are sweating at night and dizziness in the morning, which you brush off. They were things you could live with if it meant you got to live the rest of your life in freedom. Dr. Thompson is glad for you, too – and probably happy to be paying his rent. You leave his office with your arm a little sore, walking on air, ready to get back out there and tackle whatever you needed to to keep earning.

The next month brings a change. Though the injection still does its job of keeping you hidden, your body revolts against what you want it to do. Your hands shake. Doing the most minute tasks, like tying laces or buttoning your blouse, takes an age where before you could do it in an instant. You can't aim to shoot. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, even when you’re standing still. Exhaustion coats everything you do, sticking like sap.

Fearing that he’ll make you stop the trial, you downplay the new symptoms to Dr. Thompson. This, you tell yourself, is not a lie so much as an omission of the severity. Surely that won’t affect his data. And every time you return to his office, he seems so hopeful. There’s cheer returning to the place, in small measures; desks and tables are dusted, the whiskey gone from its place in the glass cabinet. His clothes are no longer untucked, but well-pressed. The man’s getting back on his feet.

You should’ve known that there would be a consequence, that this sort of elation wouldn’t come without a price. The biggest irony is how much harder this complication has made it to earn the money. You sure as hell can’t rob like this, can’t pick off stagecoaches on lonesome roads and loot them. Some days it’s hard to do more than the bare basics of taking care of yourself, and of Rev. Many times you go back and forth on whether it’s all still worth it, only to think of the ghost at your back. There’s always the chance that the past will catch up to you.

Much as you hate to come to terms with it, you can’t travel alone anymore. You’re not the one-woman force you used to be, and sacrificing your independence for safety is a necessary trade. The only questions are how, and who, you’ll fall in with. You have no friends left living. No idea how to make friends, for that matter. Social is one thing you are not. For as long as you can remember, your method of finding folks to ride with has always consisted of them adopting you, of finding a more outgoing person to cling to.

Grace wouldn’t have this sort of problem, you think, letting the pang of grief eat away at your chest. Then again, she wouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation in the first place.

—-------------

“Can’t you see she’s doin’ her best?”

Karen’s sharp words come from your side, as you drop the sewing needle again. She and Miss Grimshaw stare each other down. Karen hovers near your shoulder, and Miss Grimshaw burns a hole through you as you duck to make yourself small. Collecting the needle as quick as you can, you start again on the tear in John’s shirt, cursing the blush on your face. Your hands shake violently.

“All I’m sayin’ is that it shouldn’t take ten minutes to mend a rip that size,” Miss Grimshaw sniffs, giving you a pointed look before turning away. “Now, get on it, girl. Need you to start on the washin’ here shortly.”

You both watch as she takes her leave, Karen still tense beside you. “Don’t mind her,” she grumbles, taking the torn shirt from your hand. “Here, let me.”

Dumbfounded, you hand over the sewing needle, watching her loop the thread over and through in short, confident motions. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “You – you didn’t have to.”

It’s been a little over a month with the Van der Linde gang, and the folks still continue to surprise you. Not only the small kindnesses of its members, but the sheer size of the gang itself. There are so many Alphas here that it makes you dizzy. Twice the number of Betas, and a handful of Omegas. God, you don’t think you’ll ever learn everyone’s names. For the first week or so, whenever you don’t have chores to tend to, you spend all your time out with the horses. Close to the gang, but still separate.

Someone – Karen or Mary-Beth or Sean or Tilly – will always find you eventually, asking if you want to come back over to the fire. It makes you feel like a wild animal. Still, you never refuse. If you’re to gain their trust, you have to mingle. Even the Alphas are courteous – mostly. The one named Bill treats you like a bad smell, but you give him just as much distance. There’s a mated pair of Alphas, something you’ve never seen in person, John and Abigail and their little son. Then there's Sadie, who walks tall and wears pants and makes you jealous of the way she handles a gun.

There’s Dutch, the leader of them all, always well-dressed and eloquent. Two other Alphas, as well, Charles and Arthur. One of them stays closer to camp and doesn’t say much, though his scent is as low and soothing as his voice. You saw him fashioning arrows the other day.

The other is broad and tall, towering over you, leaving on his dappled mare at all hours. Every once in a while, both of you are out in the pasture with the horses at the same time, though you’re not sure if he ever knows you’re there. He talks to his mount in a voice too quiet to hear as he brushes her down, shushing her and praising her. Speaking to her like a person, like a friend.

“Emma? Hey, you listenin’?”

Karen’s voice draws you back out of your daydreaming. “Sorry – what were you saying? I had my head in the clouds.”

She only snorts, holding the mended shirt out for your inspection. “Yeah, I could see that. Here. Give this to Her Majesty and see how she likes it.” John’s shirt changes hands again, the tear barely noticeable under Karen’s fine needlework. She moves to leave, like doing you such a big favor is that easy, and you call for her to wait.

“I’m grateful, Karen. Really.” You shuffle, feeling less and less useful as you try and think of what you could do for her in return. With every injection you ride into the city to get, you only become weaker. Dr. Thompson wasn’t happy when he saw your blood pressure last time, and you had to fumble for an excuse about not eating as much as you should’ve been. You know he didn’t buy it.

As relieved as you are to have fallen in with these folks, you can’t shake the feeling that they pity you. They’ve only ever known you as the woman who trembles, the person who has to catch her breath after crossing a field, and that drives you crazy. What could you possibly have to offer her that she couldn’t do for herself in half the time? You feel useless. Half the woman you grew to be, like taking steps back in time.

“Don’t mention it,” she says. “We look out for our own. And besides, she’s always been meaner with the Betas. Don’t know why. Don’t care to. Just know I’ve got your back, if you’ve got mine.”

You break out in your first real smile in months, clutching the shirt tight. “Yeah. I can do that.”

—------------

“I just want you to know,” says Lillian from the other side of the curtain, “that you are nasty and I detest you.”

You raise your head from the bedpan, stomach tight from all the dry heaving. “Right back at you, oh Lillian darling.” Mean bitch.

“Ugh.”

Making any sort of comeback only irritates her more, and it’s your pleasure to keep her annoyed. You can’t help being sick to your stomach, would rather be doing anything else. Her every biting comment that comes through the wall of cloth only makes you want to charge through and pummel her. At least the world’s stopped spinning, the headache faded into nothing.

There’s only the nausea and heat to contend with now, and Rose stops by every few hours to force water on you like you’re a horse and not a small woman. You feel almost well enough to be bored, and that’s the worst of it all. Though the door to your shared room stays cracked, you can hear everything going on outside, catch glimpses of faces and snippets of conversation. In the span of the full day you’ve been here, it seems like dozens pass through.

They’re escorted by Rose, or another nurse, or walking alone. Sometimes they’re crying, or staring at the ground in shock. You become numb to it, after a few hours. Their lives are not your own, and all you can do is try to focus on your recovery. Still, it’s jarring to see how young some of the faces are, to hear their voices trembling out. Something about it stirs pity in you, restlessness.

After a while, you shove your hands in the pockets of Arthur’s coat, simply to have something to do with them. You’re surprised when your fingertips touch paper, a crumpled scrap, and a stub of a pencil. Curious, you withdraw them. The piece of paper looks like it’s been torn from something, a notebook, folded in half and blank on the outside. You withdraw the pencil, blunt at the tip, no longer than a few inches. Squeezing it tight in your left hand, you unfold the paper with your right, curious as to what Arthur Morgan could be carrying around in his pocket.

“What’re you doing?” says Lillian, and you roll your eyes to the heavens.

“None of your business,” you bite back, and she heaves a dramatic sigh.

On the torn paper is an extraordinary drawing of a bumblebee, no bigger than your thumb. Every minute detail is perfect, captured with care; the patterns in its wings, the stripes, the shine in its big eyes. Even the dust of pollen clinging to its back is indicated, though there’s no way to portray color with only a pencil. It’s gliding through the air, on the way to a flower half-drawn on the edge of the paper. That, too, is faultless.

For a few seconds, all you can do is stare. Had he meant to abandon this little artwork in his coat pocket, lost and forgotten like loose change? Is this a hobby of his? All these things you’re learning about the man. Shifting to lie on your back, you hold the paper up with both hands, straightening it out and memorizing the details of the half-there flower. A tulip, you think.

The tip of the pencil brushes paper from where it sits wedged between your fingers, giving you an idea.

Dear Arthur.

Found this in your pocket. That’s a really nice drawing. Do you sketch often? I don’t know a damn thing about you. Sorry your coat reeks like cigarettes now. Saw a doctor and he insisted on smoking all over me – it was nasty. Thanks for letting me borrow it, though. Hope the stink comes out.

–Emilia

You’re sure to write in the far corner, away from the bumblebee, neglected as the paper is. Folding the thing in half once more, you return it to its pocket, wondering when he’ll find it again. Half of you wants to scratch it all out, not sure why you’d gone rambling on about the coat and apologizing for the smell. Will he even notice if the drawing’s gone entirely? If you take it? Sighing, you decide to leave it there. He already thinks you’re a fool. At least now, you’re trying to say you’re sorry for it. After you return the coat to him, it’s likely you won’t have to interact with him much, anyway. Small blessings.

Now to get a grip on the nausea. You’re sure Dr. Thompson is wondering what’s happened to that dose of immunizer by now.

—-------------

The next morning, your toast stays in your stomach where it belongs. To be certain, you wait a while, suspicious after the rough time you’ve had. But no – your body grants you this small mercy. The last of your sickness is fading, as the doctor here had claimed it would, and you feel somewhat normal again. Well, the normal you’re used to.

With Arthur’s coat on your shoulders, you step into your boots and out of the little room. Rose sits behind the desk halfway down the hall, reading, and looks up when she sees you. Closing her book, she gives you a slight smile.

“Are you leaving us, Miss Emma?”

“Believe so,” you reply, trying to smile back. She’s been kind, her voice the one thread among dozens you’ve heard most often in these past few days. There are other nurses – other areas in this sprawling safehouse – but none seem to put in as much effort as she. Even when her patients aren’t polite, like Lillian, she carries on her duty. The bags under her eyes attest to how weary the task keeps her.

“Well, we’ll miss you around here.”

“No we won’t,” says Lillian at your back.

That’s something you’re anxious to get away from. Ignoring her, you wander a little close to Rose at the desk. “How much for the stay?”

She blinks. “Oh, honey, we don’t charge. It’s a nonprofit. Out of the mayor’s pocket, remember?”

You do, though it’s hard to believe that one person could have enough money to fund all this. Why does he do it? For the public image? To ensure that he continues to be elected, in the coming years? In remembrance of the daughter he couldn’t save? The thought of that hits deep. Perhaps he sees her, young and fragile, in the faces that pass through these halls.

“In that case…” you fidget, drawing your coat around your shoulders. “It was nice meeting you, Rose.”

“And you, Emma. Be well.”

“I’ll try.”

With the goodbyes exchanged, you point yourself in the direction of the exit, having memorized the turns. Only a short while until your freedom. You can get to Dr. Thompson and get to the bottom of this mess with his immunizer, maybe accept a cup of that strong tea he loves to offer you. Once you’re out of this place, you can find somewhere nearby to wait until someone from the gang comes. Surely there’s a place you can hole up, out of sight.

Taking the first step down the hall, you hesitate. From under the desk where Rose sits, you can see her feet, still in the same busted and worn heels she’d had on the first time you’d met her. The material is so worn in places that you can hardly tell what color they were supposed to be at the start, and the leather is cracked through in spots. Her feet must hurt like hell, heels aside.

Biting your lip, you reach down into the top of your own boot, withdrawing a roll of cash. “Hey, Rose,” you start again. Before you can change your mind, you cross the distance and place the bills on the sturdy wooden desk. Rose looks down from her reading to stare like she’s never seen money before. “Here. You…you really need some new shoes.”

She refuses it four times before giving in, and says thank you about five more. Once both of you are equally chagrined, you take your leave. New shoes won’t make up for the shit she has to put up with, but it’ll help, a little. You can feel her eyes following you long after you pass her desk, until at last you round a corner. Finally, the double doors are in sight, and you push them open with your shoulder.

The stench of the city has never been such a relief.

—----------

“So that was you,” Dr. Thompson says smoothly, setting your teacup on its saucer with a little more force than necessary. You flinch as the amber liquid sloshes over the side, steaming. “The next time you see fit to rob me, dear, could you give a man some warnin’?”

“How many times do I need to say sorry?” You attempt to pick up the tea for something to do and hiss in discomfort at how hot the cup is, dropping your hand fast. “Wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t an emergency. And here – I have the money.” Or most of it, you think. “I have some money. I can get you the rest soon.”

He nods, settling into his familiar leather armchair. One of his slender, careful hands comes up to massage his temples, and you feel a pang of guilt to have left him worrying over this. “Sure, Emma. Sure. Long as it’s you who took it and not…not someone else.”

“Of course not,” you answer, frowning. “I wouldn’t – do that.”

You know why he asks. Even if you were the one breaking in to take the immunizer, if you’d given it to someone else without him there to monitor their initial reaction, he’d worry about the severity of their symptoms. It could be Ophelia all over again. The two of us make a strange pair, you muse. He’s so terrified to harm a patient, and you’ve got more blood on your hands than you’d care to say. But he doesn’t ask, and you don’t tell.

“Why so early, then?” He sips his own tea, not seeming to mind that it’s scalding. “It disappeared a few days ago, and you’ve still got a few days left before you’re due.”

“That’s the problem. Something, I don’t know, happened.”

“What do you mean?”

You clench your fists atop your knees, wondering how much detail is too much. “My heat came out of nowhere, Harvey. Out of the damn blue. I – got someone to ride me here, to get the injection, and it seemed to help, but then I was sick for a few days. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on.” Your words come fast, rambling, lined with an edge of fear you didn’t intend to put there.

A small, childish part of you wants him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay – that your out-of-control feeling is irrational. In this office, there’s only ever been solutions. You’ve grown to trust him, somehow, to have faith that he can fix your problems. If you happen to come to him for your injection scraped up from a robbery gone sideways or a fall from Rev, he’ll tend to it without a word. He’s a good man, a comfort, almost like a father. He can fix this. Right?

Dr. Thompson goes still, staring into his cup for a moment. “Well, that…” he says slowly. “That is a problem.”

From the journal of Arthur Morgan

Three days after departing Saint Denis

The saddle. The goddamned saddle. Could still smell her everywhere and couldn’t figure why and it’s her, all over the saddle, God help me. Took it off of Brandy and scrubbed it in the river but it barely mattered. Washed and washed it until my fingers were numb from the cold water but hell if I couldn’t still smell her in the leather.

What’s wrong with me? Part of me is angry to have left her there, where she knows no one. That bastard in the city tried to jump her after only a minute of me being gone, and now here I am, miles and miles away. What if someone else is waiting, just around the corner? I know she’s not a child. I left her somewhere safe. Someone’s coming to bring her home.

I know all of that, and yet. Rutting makes a man selfish, stupid. When all this is over, I doubt I’ll even be able to look at the poor woman, for fear that a glance might give away every terrible thing I’ve thought. Maybe it’s good that we weren’t close to begin with. Things can go back to the way they were. Or as close as I can get them, knowing what I know now.

(On the opposite page, a sketch of Brandy with her head lowered to a stream, drinking deep. She’s bareback, with her saddle on the ground beside her, its contents scattered on the grass.)

-------------------------

A/N: So I was on the fence about how to portray heats in this fic. I finally settled on them being mild to annoying for some and agonizing for others, like a period would be different from person to person. But the same remains true in all Omegas – a heat is very easy to scent for an Alpha. There are, of course, terrible people out there who would take advantage of someone’s heat and go looking for an Omega who seemed vulnerable. Hence the need for safehouses, where Betas work to protect them from outside harm. If an Omega is kept away from Alphas during their heat, they can typically do fine on their own, unless they’ve gone without coupling for a long time – then the biological need for one gets more intense. 

Users Tagged: @bandersnatchmywigho​, @amorgansgal​, @bamiwijf​,  @farbenfux​, @mrsarthurmorgan7​, @6-gallons-of-sparkles​

#hide your face (among a crowd of stars) ao3 #wickedscribbles #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x ofc #arthur morgan x emma griffiths #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #abo

[silverose365]

More then a friend: Sirius Black x Y/n

Y/n POV:

I smile as I sit on my best friends bed holding my acceptance letter “it’s an odd feeling...” I feel the bed dip as Sirius joins me “what the fact that you share a bed with your best friend who’s an older man, or that said older man can double as your four legged companion” he ends with a chuckle. I let out a laugh as I smack his arm softly “no holding my last acceptance letter for Hogwarts where did 7 years go” he wraps his arm around me “well the past 2 years have been meeting the amazing Sirius Black and befriending him” I snort as he grins at me kissing my cheek. After laying in his embrace for a while I tapped his shoulder “does my four legged companion want a break from this hell hole wanna go for a walk I gotta get my books” kissing my cheek again he hauled himself up “that sounds great y/n but last time I fell for that you told everyone that would listen that my name was fluffy and that I loved bubble bathes so I think I’ll pass this time” I snicker as I head out the door. Standing in line I quickly payed for the best looking used books I could feeling ashamed, not ashamed because I had to buy used books but because I didn’t want people to pity me due to my parents cutting me off. I was determined to be just fine on my own. Nobody knew I had been disowned because of my siding with the order and no body needed to know either. It was easy to cover it up I stayed with Sirius so I could keep my best friend company before school started. I didn’t mind being friends with Sirius actually I loved him and it had been pointed out rather quickly how close we grew in such little time but I couldn’t tell him that he would take it as just using it to have a place to be especially after being disowned, no I kept my feeling all to myself. I didn’t let people know I shed a few tears after he had fallen asleep the night before I left.

Leaving for Hogwarts that year had left me in a sad state I missed sleeping with Sirius it’s hard to sleep alone after sleeping with someone for so long but I had no doubt he was just fine with out me. It hurt to see mail come in for everyone but me my parents would only write to request I leave them alone and make sure I didn’t drop out there was only one other person who would write me and he couldn’t because he would get caught. The tri wizard tournament made life even worse I already had problems being open with people and it just added more people to make me stay away from. Christmas break was pushed to take place after the Yule Ball during which I stayed in my room not having a date and not having money for a dress. Break was finally coming up but I couldn’t get myself to be happy for it I felt really guilty when the Weasley twins had pointed out that even going back to my parents had to be better then being stuck alone, I forced myself to agree even though I knew deep down I was ultimately staying at school for it. Two days before break I got the letter asking me not to come home I didn’t care I knew it would come the day of break came I played it cool pretended I was going home rode the train and send my goodbyes as I ‘headed to my parents’ fooling all except Molly I was unaware Molly was informed by Dumboldor that I was not welcome ‘home’ this year but she must have thought I was coming with them because nobody noticed as I slipped away to floo myself back to school. Settling in my dorm for the week sounded fair enough compared to intruding on a family who wasn’t expecting me. However the longer I sat there alone the more I felt sad as no one had stayed in my year all having homes or friends to go to.

Sirius POV:

Waiting for everyone to get back had me restless I wanted to hug Harry and to see he was ok, I wanted to see the table filled with the family I had. After hearing the news of y/n’s parents disowning her I wanted to hold her make sure she knew I cared. As soon as my front door opened I was over joyed at having company holding Harry knowing he was ok but I was caught off guard not having y/n walk in the door with the others Molly was sure she was coming. I turn to the kids gathered around “where’s y/n?” They all gave me similar looks of confusion “she went to her parents” Harry finally said. Molly’s mouth quickly frowned “well that’s not possible she was asked not to go there and she was with us when we headed here from the train station” the kids seemed shocked to learn of her parents actions even saddened that she had lied to them. Unfortunately I had gone through it and I knew her too well she didn’t want them to be saddened she didn’t want to burden anyone with her problems. Remus had sent an owl to her asking her to join us but she simply sent back how she didn’t want to intrude on a family. Before anyone could stop me I fond myself sneaking my way to Hogwarts then to her dorm. To my surprise I found her sitting by her window reading a book in a shirt that looked rather familiar not noticing my presence. I clear my throat softly “ya know it was hard enough sneaking up here when I went to school here it didn’t get any easier” shocked she laughed before realizing who I was as she ran to me as I gladly pulled her closer “Sirius what are you doing here” I sat her down as I grabbed her duffle bag “collecting something my holiday was missing” she smiled at that before her eyes changed as I readied myself for her argument “I can’t come with you I’m unexpected I can’t just pop up at a family gathering that I’m not welc-“ covering her mouth with my hand I looked in her eyes “now you listen close I get your going through stuff and you think you need to do it alone but I want you to know it’s ok to not be ok, it’s ok to need help, y/n it’s ok to need and want love. Also I didn’t think I needed to say this but you have proven me wrong and I turkey am shocked but in case you needed to hear you of all people are always welcome in my home. Now get you stuff packed so we can go home and cuddle together I miss my girlfriend” with that she quickly packs shyly hiding in her hair. All through the dinner she sat by my side for moral support as Molly scolded her for being so daft as I kept her hands in mine giving her encouraging squeezes as needed. Later as we lay in bed together she looks up at me “you know you made a mistake earlier?” I pull her to straddle my lap “and what would that be love” shyly she looks away from me “you said you wanted to cuddle your girlfriend not best friend” pulling her to look at me I smile softly “no love your both, you are my everything” pulling her into a kiss I smile as she nuzzles into my chest “by the way is that my shirt?” I grin at the giggling that bubbles up from y/n’s throat as she nods happily “good it looks better on you”.

#older sirius black fluff #older sirius black x reader #sirius fluff #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fluff #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n

[fandomscombine]

Baseless Jealousy

Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous!Fred Weasley

WC:2307

BG: Fred and y/n’s relationship is currently 3 years long strong. After a summer apart, it seems to be a 3rd party had become closer to y/n. Is it something that Fred has to worry about or is it just baseless jealousy?

a/n: The pairing the won for this fic is Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous! Fred Weasley, Thanks so much for voting!

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

--

You and Fred started dating 3 years ago. Fred would like to believe that the relationship is strong, other people believes it so too. However ever since the start of 5th year, something started to get on his nerves, or should he say someone.

See, Fred had noticed you getting closer to his Quidditch captain, Oliver wood. He didn’t want to blame it on the summer you two spent apart but he could quite help himself. You had spent the entire apart, no letters whatsoever. At first, he tried to be understanding, it was after all a summer you and your family spent in Italy while attending your aunt’s wedding, you had told him that this was the first time in 8 years that the whole side of your mother’s family was present as they were all scattered into various parts of the world. He understood the importance of family so he had let it slide that you and he hadn’t communicated in the past 2 months- besides, it must be really exhausting to overwork the owls to post cross country.

Which was why he was so excited to finally see you in person at Platform 9 ¾ on the first of September, to his dismay, you had arrived with Oliver Wood. Back then he had pushed his jealousy aside and concluded as a coincidence that you had turned up together at the barrier. You and Oliver are just friends, he told himself, and that was completely fine.

Fred had sneaked a hug behind you and whispered into your ear. ‘Had a great summer?’

You had jumped at the touch but once you realised who is was from you relaxed. ‘Ohh Freddie!’ You turned and hit his chest. ‘Don’t scare me like that!’ Earning a laugh from him. ‘I did, I had such great times catching up with my cousins! You wouldn’t believe how much trouble we almost got into. But of course.’ Your fingers played with the back of his head. ‘I missed having my love around.’

~

‘Hey love I’m off to Quidditch practice now.’ Fred informed, kissing your cheek. ‘Will you be there?’ Ever since you and Fred got together 3 years ago, you would go cheer him on during Quidditch practices whenever you can.

This year however, more are at stake.

During the semi-finals, Quidditch matches are dotted with professional quidditch team mangers in hopes to scout for potential recruits to join their team upon graduation.

It is rumoured that the manager for Puddlemere United would be attending the next match, Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor. Puddlemere United being Oliver’s favourite and dream team, he had been pushing the team with more frequent trainings then ever, hoping to perform the best game they would ever play, to further increase his chances to chosen to be part of the team.

You looked up from the letter you were writing. ‘Yep, just gotta make a quick stop to the owlery. I’ll soon you soon okay?’

~

Arriving at the owlery, a large parcel instantly caught your eye. ‘Oh mum..’ Examining for any potential damage, which thankfully weren’t any.

The barn owl nearest it hooted. ‘Alright! Alright! I was looking if there were damages.’ The owl flapped its wings in annoyance. ‘Here,’ offering your owl some treats. ‘You’ll need to store up some energy on the way back.’ Another hoot sounded, this time from a grey owl, that you recognised belonged too your mother. ‘There’s some for you too.’ After the 2 owls finished their food, you attached your letter your owl’s leg. ‘This is for mother, a thank you note on behalf of Ollie. I’ll write another when we see his reaction to this-I can’t wait.’ You bid the 2 birds goodbye, watching until they disappear unto the horizon.

Now you turn to face your major problem. You had thought that your mother would have had it placed in a box, rather what you got was a large parcel that is clearly wrapped with parchment, with no subtlety in hiding what it truly is.

~

You had finally manged to sneak the parcel into the Gryffindor boys’ locker room, though it had taken a lot more effort than you thought.

You were just leaving when you had bumped into someone.

‘oopf! Sorr-‘

‘y/n love! What are you doing here?’  Fred wondered, looking over your shoulder, trying to figure out what you were up to. ‘You missed the whole practice.’

‘ohh it’s nothing really----Ayyeee! Not so fast!’ You grabbed Harry’s shoulder, preventing him in enter any further. In all honestly, you hadn’t hidden Oliver’s surprise well, there aren’t a lot of hiding places in the changing room. Determined to not ruin the surprise, you need, you must get Oliver to see it first. ‘Had any of you seen Oli-‘

Right then you heard his unmistakably Scottish accent. ‘I’m just saying George, with this new and improve game plan, we are for sure going win the House Cup!’

‘Oliver!’ You shouted, pushing your boyfriend and Harry aside to reach him. ‘Come quick, I’ve got something to show you!’ With all your strength you hauled him to move faster.

‘What is it now y/n? Can’t you see I’m……..’ Oliver had come to a stop. Based on his sudden lack of complaining, you knew he spotted it.

‘It’s a gift from mum and dad. We thought it would future help your chances to be in the professional league.’ You noted. ‘I wasn’t sure which one of these was your locker, so I decided to just hide it behind the benches.’

Oliver hurriedly torn away the wrappings. ‘Oh my…. y/n! A FIREBOLT!’ He turned towards his teammates with eyes watery. ‘A FIREBOLT, A 1993 EBONY WOOD WITH BIRCH TWIGS FIREBOLT!’ He declared with glee.

Too caught up in your cousin’s precious reaction to your gift, you however had failed to noticed Fred displeasure.

‘I think I’m gonna be sick. So much for a girlfriend.’ He grumbled to George. ‘Excuse me.’ Shoving his broom to Harry, Fred walked out of the locker room.

The next thing you knew, you were spinning through the air. Oliver had lifted you in celebration, ‘Thank you y/n thank you so much!’ He mumbled into your hair. ‘Pass on my gratitude to Aunty and Uncle.’  

‘Wait? Did you just say Aunty and Uncle?’ voiced a very confused Harry.

‘Yea.’ Confirmed Oliver. ‘Y/n is my cousin.’

George’s bafflement turned into a startle. ‘You’re joking right?’

‘No, why would be joking George?’ You frowned. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Nope’ He replied, popping the “p”. ‘Now it clears everything up. Freddie is going to be--.’

‘Speaking of, where is Freddie?’ You scanned around, wondering where he might have gone to. Which was when you spotted Harry holding up not one but two brooms. ‘Harry…’

‘y/n listen…..Freddie is uhh ’ George was trying to come up how to break it to you gently.

When Harry blurted out. ‘He left.’

‘He whot?’ demanded Oliver.

‘He left, said something about being sick of his girlfriend.’ Commented Harry frankly. ‘owhh!’

Even though it would have been too late to stop Harry from spitting out more wrongfully worded sentences- the damaged has been done- It still made George happy to put some sense into him. Praying that a smack on the head would have made Harry shut up, George took control of the situation, hoping it could still salvage the weakening remain of his twin’s and y/n relationship.

‘Listen y/n. Regarding my idiot brother, you got to know that he, like everyone else in the room, had thought that you and Oliver were flirting with each other.’

‘eww!’ You couldn’t control your reflex.

‘yeah, his emotions got to the best of him when he witnessed everything that got down here and stormed out because of jealousy.’

‘Oh gosh.’ You head towards the door, you could see a red figure walking towards the castle, kicking at fallen leaves every now and then. ‘I’ve got to get to him.’

You felt someone grab your arm ‘No let me handle this y/n.’ voiced Oliver. ‘I’m part of this… complication after all, besides I bet Fred’s fuming right now and as your older cousin, I am willing to take the heat and make him see reason until he has finally calmed down to talk to you with a clear head.’ He explained reassuringly.

‘But---

‘No buts.’ Oliver kissed your forehead. ‘Stay here and send for him back so all this misunderstanding could be sorted out. Now…’ he addressed Harry to get his new firebolt. ‘I’ve got a relationship to fix.’ Oliver hopped on the broom and sped away.

~

‘Fred! Fred!’ Screamed Oliver.

Fred choose to ignore him, picking up his pace.

Leaving Oliver with no choice but to cut him off.

‘WEASLEY!’ Oliver jumped off his broom.

‘Get Out of My Way Wood!’ Fred raised his hand to shove the other boy away but met with resistance. ‘I SAID GET OUT!’ Fred tried to free his fist from Oliver’s grasp, but the older boy was much stronger.

‘Not until you calm down and listen to what I have to say.’

‘Fine.’ Oliver let go of him, he raised his arms high in surrender. ‘y/n sent you, didn’t she?’

‘No. I came here on my own will. I told her to stay behind to protect her.’ Oliver confessed.

‘To protect her?’ scoffed Fred. ‘From what? From me?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

‘Oh of course, it’s HER who needs protecting and not me. Not me, after I see you both shamelessly act so close to one another, closer, might I tell you then her own boyfriend! If was as if I wasn’t there’

‘Fred,’

Fred brushed his hand away, ignoring Oliver’s interruption. ‘When did you two get so close anyway? You know at first, I tried to pass it off as friendship but as time when on, I could help but think-‘

‘Y/N IS MY COUSIN!’ blurted Oliver, unable to hear another person thinking that they were other than family. ‘THERE’S NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN US!’

‘what?’  

‘Apparently for some reason most of you lot don’t know. George and Harry were just as surprised too. But yes, y/n is my cousin, on my father’s side. My father and her mother are brothers and sisters. I thought with all these years we’ve known each other that you’d know we’re related. Guess I was wrong.’

‘I….I didn’t know.. I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted but we both know there is someone more deserving of hearing that apology.’ Oliver nodded towards the locker room. ‘She’s there waiting.’

‘Thank you, Oliver.’ He held out his hand. ‘Friends?’

‘Friends’ Oliver shook his hand, the stared straight into his eyes. ‘BUT…’

‘but?’

‘But if you hurt her again Weasley, you have me to answer for, that is of course after she’s done her share.’ Without another word, Oliver flew off, testing out his new gift.

~

Fred ran full speed ahead, praying that he didn’t completely ruin a wondering 3-year relationship with the girl of his dreams. Before entering the room, he conjured up a bouquet of your favourite flowers, hoping that could help out his image.

Testing the waters, he called. ‘y/n? are you in here love?’

‘In here’ you sighed. He hated hearing you so sad. He hated it more that it was him causing you to feel that way.

Cautiously he made his way to you with arms outstretched. You accepted the flowers, to that he let himself relax a bit, bringing them up to you nose, you noted. ‘They smell nice, thank you.’

Fred was grateful that you hadn’t scolded him off on his baseless jealousy, still he knew he had to apologize and win his girl back. Kneeling in front where you sat, Fred took your hands and poured out his heart.

‘Y/n, I am sorry. I made a huge mistake, I… I got jealous of how you had gotten close to Oliver this year.’ He confessed.’ Ever since the start of this year, I thought that Oliver was stealing you away from me. I thought that perhaps you two had something going on behind my back.’

Chuckling to himself he continued. ‘I didn’t even realise that you were cousins until he told me just now. I feel so stupid. 3 years together, 5 years of knowing you. It was so obvious.’ Fred closed his eyes.

‘Still, with my worries, I should have asked, asked what you and Oliver were.’ He stressed. ‘I should have come and talked to you, to sort this out like what a, healthy, trusting and understanding relationship would. But instead I keep all my doubts and insecurities brew, I went deep into my own conclusions that were without evidence, I let my jealousy get the best of me.’

Fred brought your knuckles to his lips. ‘y/n love, I’m sorry. I love you and if you want a space, I understand. But there is no a day in this world where I would not rather be back in your loving arms. I hope that you could forgive me.’

‘Freddie, I forgive you.’ You cup his tear stained cheek. ‘It was just a stupid misunderstanding.’

Gesturing for him to sit beside you ‘I thought it was common knowledge that Oliver and I are cousins. Apparently not. Yes, we weren’t that close before.’ You admitted.  ‘But we really did get to know each other in the summer. 5 weeks either being sounded by adult relatives or small children, we hung out often, being the only 2 cousins similar in age.’

You return back into a more serious tone. ‘Of course, I did wish you had voiced it out, we could have avoided this conflict altogether. So, promise me this. Whatever problems may arise, before we delved into our own assumptions, we would always talk it out. Alright?’

‘I promise.’

~

Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1​

Tagging also all those who voted for the~Oliver Wood Cousin!Reader x Jealous!Fred Weasley~ Thank you! @jenniweaslee​ @ najiler @ im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @ gweaslvy and the lovely anons!

#fred weasley x reader #oliver wood x reader #fred weasley imagine #oliver wood imagine #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #oliver wood imagines #fandomscombine writes

[lazywonderlvnd]

Imagine Harry learning to play the guitar after the war and Draco finds out when they start dating and is obv a slut for it. Anyway what I'm here to beg for is sexy-guitar-player-Harry smut please and thank

first of all nonners I’m so sorry this took me lit rally 59 years to answer!!!! when I saw it in my inbox last week I was abt to answer n be like yes. this. And then realized it needed to be written and got sidetracked w the first himbo harry installment but here it is now and let me just SAY this trope is my new FAVORITE thing in the world oh my goddddd when I tell u the way I’ve been yelling to glows and cielia abt it 👁👄👁

highly recommend listening to wonderwall when it comes up to Complete the Experience. hope u enjoy ❤️

“I’m sorry, he what?”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” said Weasley. He nodded towards the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall; Draco had taken notice of it the first time he’d seen Harry’s flat but never paid it much mind after that, taking it for decoration, or perhaps an unused gift. “He’ll play if you ask him. He doesn’t like showing off.”

“Which is silly,” Granger said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told him, just because he’s good at it doesn’t make it showing off. I wish he’d play for people more often.”

“He has literally never mentioned this to me.” He felt utterly stunned and completely cheated. He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “How long’s he been playing?”

“Picked it up after the war. It was kind of funny, actually  --” Weasley started saying, but Harry came back into the room -- still pulling his shirt on -- and he broke off, giving Draco a significant look that told him to bring it up.

“Harry,” said Draco imperiously, to which he received two raised eyebrows as Harry fell into his favourite armchair and pushed a hand through his still-damp curls. Draco matched his expression and glanced at the guitar. Harry followed his gaze, looking genuinely confused.

“What, what is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you play?”

“What, guitar?”

“Yes, guitar.”

He shrugged and grabbed for one of the beers on the table, wandlessly magicking the cap off. “I dunno. When it came up, I guess.”

“The way your friends tell it you’re quite good.”

Harry gave Weasley and then Granger a sour look; both of them gave it right back to him, which was, admittedly, amusing.

“I can play all right,” he said vaguely, and took a swig of his drink. It did make some sort of sense, now Draco thought about it -- the tips of Harry’s fingers were far, far too calloused to have been just from casual Quidditch and Auror training. 

“You know, Harry, it actually comes off as more pretentious when you act like this,” said Granger. Weasley snorted. Harry glared at her. “Just play for him, won’t you? And us too -- it’s been ages.”

“Yeah, what’s that Muggle song you play sometimes that I like?” said Weasley.

“I dunno, I’ve played a lot of Muggle songs.”

“He means Wonderwall, Harry,” said Granger, grinning. Harry finally smiled too, and although their little Muggle joke was lost on Weasley and himself he was glad to see that it had apparently been the prodding Harry needed to give in. He set his beer back down and went to get the guitar; something about the way he threw the thin and fraying strap over his head, the way his hands went effortlessly to their places, was unexpectedly attractive. The left one curled easily around the neck of the instrument, heavily-roughened fingers finding their odd positions on the strings, something Draco had always thought looked very painful.

He plucked a few chords and then began fiddling with the knobs at the head of the guitar, tuning it in what was clearly the Muggle fashion, which against his will left Draco completely fascinated. Having no musical inclination himself, he could make nothing of the process except that Harry apparently heard the discordant notes in there well enough to be able to fix them, and finally when he brought his thumb down across all six strings it sounded as sweet and clear as if it had been done by magic.

“Course he likes Wonderwall,” Harry said to Granger even as he began playing, fingers shifting and moving and contorting to create the notes while he strummed softly, effortlessly, and the music crawled over Draco’s skin and inside of him. “I remember Dudley listening to it, like, what … summer before sixth year? On the radio constantly.”

“Sounds about right,” said Granger. 

 Draco had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, though. Either because the music itself had something haunting about its melody or because it was Harry playing it, or perhaps a combination of both, Draco felt a pit of emotion form in his chest to round off the edges of his growing arousal.

And then he started singing, and Draco swallowed very hard. Granger dropped a head onto Weasley’s shoulder and watched with a tender expression, Weasley similarly enamored. Harry had his eyes on his hands for the most part, closing them a few times throughout, looking as comfortable now as he did on a broomstick.

Only three months of official dating had not prepared Draco for the flood of emotions he now felt, yet the most pressing matter had become the semi trapped uncomfortably in his trousers. He wanted those talented fingers in his mouth, to feel the callouses on his tongue and taste Harry on them; he wanted to feel them on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and hip bones, to have them buried so deeply in his arse that he forgot where he ended and Harry began. 

Of course, he had to keep this to himself for the next hour, until he was able to get Granger and Weasley out of the flat. And once he did, he didn’t bother dragging Harry to his bedroom -- Draco pushed him up against the front door that had just closed behind his friends and hauled him into a kiss that he felt Harry grinning into.

“I thought you seemed tetchy,” he muttered, hands dropping to Draco’s hips. “Oasis really does it for you, huh?”

“What the hell is oasis?”

“The band who does the song.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s the band who does it for me.” He kissed Harry again, maybe a little too hungrily, and dug a fist into his side when he started laughing. “Shut up, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you played?”

Harry pulled his head back, looking at Draco with an arched brow and an infuriating smirk. 

“What do you mean, ever? We’ve only been together three months, it didn’t come up.”

“God,” Draco muttered, and now he reached down and pressed his palm against Harry’s cock, pleased to feel how hard he was in spite of his ruthless teasing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well if I’d known how randy it would make you I might’ve played for you a long time ago.”

Having had quite enough of Harry’s particularly sarcastic brand of wit, he ignored this last and reached for one of his hands, removing it from his own hip and bringing it to his lips. It was extremely satisfying to watch the smirk disappear from Harry’s face when he sucked one of his fingers into his mouth. 

“Bit fetish-y, isn’t this?” Harry said breathily, eyes wide as he watched, looking half amused and half awed. In retaliation, Draco took another finger into his mouth and slid his tongue between them, tasting soap and salt, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers and letting that sensation grip his insides like an iron fist. “Jesus Christ,” Harry groaned; his free hand went to Draco’s jaw, holding him steady, and with a truly outstanding audacity began fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers.

They dipped bluntly past his uvula, scraping the back of his throat so he gagged around their intrusion. Saliva built with an excessive speed that had it drooling out of the corners of his lips and coating Harry’s knuckles. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen, opening his throat against the relentless assault and curling his hands in Harry’s shirt just to steady himself. 

They were gone too soon and Harry’s mouth replaced them, much gentler but still with a tangible sense of urgency about it.

When he broke away, he said against Draco’s lips, “Like my fingers, do you?”

Draco merely nodded, feeling their wetness against his cheek. 

“Then turn around,” said Harry, “and I’ll fuck you with them.”

Draco let out a soft, embarrassing whimper and let Harry spin them around and press him against the door, cheek-first. He undid his flies himself and Harry tugged them down his legs and off his feet, allowing Draco to spread them slightly. Harry’s fingers were there immediately, sliding slick between his cheeks and over his hole. The memory of Harry’s hands on the guitar was still so fresh, his fingers changing chords effortlessly, sacrificing them to blisters and callouses and roughened skin for the music they created, and Draco closed his eyes against a fresh wave of arousal and another pang of emotion.

“You really are incredible,” said Draco, biting back a moan as two of those dexterous fingers slipped inside of him. Harry fucked him with them slowly, carefully, seeking out his prostate and angling for it each time once he’d found it. Draco turned his face to press his forehead against the door, eyes still closed, nails scraping wood. “And I like that song.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed. His hot breath caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingers pumping, his other hand back at Draco’s waist. “I have a million more I’d love to show you.”

Draco didn’t bother trying to find his voice again: instead he pushed back against Harry’s driving fingers, everything that wasn’t the relentless stabbing against his prostate driven from his mind. His neglected cock slapped against the door with every thrust, the red and irritated head dripping pre-come against the wood. Only half conscious of the decision to do so, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled and squeezed and zeroed in on the bursts of pleasure radiating outwards from inside his body until it all spilled over and he came in great pulses, gasping for breath while Harry kept at it. 

The fingers slowed as he reached his peak and began coming down but they didn’t stop, nor was his prostate given much of a break. Harry reinforced his grip on Draco’s waist and kept pumping, a steadier rhythm that nevertheless rubbed and prodded at that little bundle, making his nerves tingle and fizzle and scream out their overstimulation.

“Harry,” he said weakly, knees buckling. “Please …”

It could have been comical the way Harry followed his movement as he slid down the door to the ground, except it wasn’t. It was infuriating, actually, and felt at once like more than he could possibly handle and exactly what he needed. His forehead and his hands went back to the wood, bracing himself as Harry, kneeling behind him, continued fucking his beautiful, merciless fingers and stimulating Draco’s overworked prostate. 

He pushed a third one in alongside the other two and Draco was shocked to feel a hot tear leak out of the corner of his eye. Harry crooked them expertly, with all the confidence and surety of someone who had done this a million times, could do it in their sleep, as if it was not the guitar strings but Draco’s body he was strumming now, an instrument fine-tuned to his own particular cadence and rhythm, which he and no one else could play quite right.

Lips parted, hot breath echoing off the door and back into his face, Draco allowed himself to be taken apart with the same ferocious intensity he’d seen Harry use on the guitar. Each stroke brought him back to full hardness, each stab against his prostate made his nerves sing a tormented chorus, drowning out the pain of the wooden floor against his bare knees. 

“Shit,” Draco choked out, “I’m gonna come again …”

“Well that’s the idea,” said Harry. His voice was full of that same witty and well-meaning sarcasm Draco liked so much, even when it made him feel like punching him. Snatches of the song came back to him, Harry’s voice when he sang it, the expert shifting of his fingers where they pressed and plucked at the strings like he was making love to them. It was all so very much. 

He came a second time without even bothering to touch his cock, because he just didn’t fucking need it. His body thrummed and vibrated like a snapped rubber band while Harry coaxed him along his high and back down again. When he finally pulled his fingers out he leant forward over Draco’s back and kissed the side of his neck, then the corner of his jaw. 

“You know you make much lovelier sounds than the guitar, just so we’re clear,” he said, and Draco, with what strength he had left, shoved Harry and watched him fall sideways laughing. 

#anna writes #I LOVE THIS TROPE 🗣🗣🗣 #drabble #drarry fic

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

1D Monthly Fic Roundup

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for July 2021! Below you’ll find One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​.

Happy reading!

Game Changer by @neondiamond

[Harry/Louis, 6k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Did the doctor say what was wrong with you?”

“He thought I was pregnant,” Louis scoffs. “Told me to go home and take a test, a pregnancy test, Haz. Can you imagine the nerve it takes for him to even think that?”

Harry looks lost in his thoughts for a few seconds. “Did you? Take a test, I mean?”

“Of course I didn’t.”

OR: A couple months before playing in his first long-awaited World Cup, Louis finds out he’s pregnant. Harry’s there for the ride.

(I Was Broke) You Healed Me by @fallinglikethis

[Harry/Niall, 12k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Niall Horan is an unmated pregnant omega living on his own after his alpha boyfriend leaves him. Far from his family and friends in Ireland, Niall is stuck living in a complex for Alpha/Omega bondmates, terrified every day of being found out by his landlord.As if that isn't enough, he's suffering from touch deprivation. Luckily, Niall's doctor can at least help him with that part: she prescribes Niall some cuddle sessions. It's only a little weird that the person she's prescribing him is her brother. Or maybe that's actually a little bit perfect.

The Only Pain in Pleasure is the Pleasure of the Pain by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

[Liam/Zayn, 10k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Liam had followed InZaynity, an artist's Instagram, for ages. Not only was the artist incredibly talented, his voice poured over Liam like warm honey on a winter's night, and his hands were the stuff Liam's wank dreams were made of. However, having Zayn unexpectedly arrive as the newest artist at his best friend's tattoo shop brought Liam's fantasies and reality a little too close for comfort.

Zayn Malik met his boss' friend on his first day at Fine Line Tattoos, and felt an instant attraction. Unfortunately, given Liam's unwillingness to even hold a conversation with him, Zayn was certain the feelings weren't reciprocal. Or were they?

When Liam's new tattoo design falls outside the scope of Tommo's talent, and he recommends Zayn do it, Liam reluctantly agrees. Surely he could manage to spend hours in Zayn's company without revealing his biggest secret, right? Right?

Blow Me Away by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[Louis/Liam, 6k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

Why Didn't We Make Out the Night We Met? by @berzerkshires

[Louis/Harry, 52k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis and Harry meet in an alley outside the hotel Louis is staying for the weekend. Harry introduces himself as Ed, and Louis is completely clueless. They have a relationship through text messages, phone calls, shared pictures and Facetime calls. Is a cell phone being the only source of communication enough? Will Louis ever learn that he's really talking to an international popstar? And what happens when the world is shutdown due to a wide spread virus?

I Love This Feeling (But I Hate This Part) by @lululawrence

[Harry/Louis, 7k, Not rated, tumblr post]

“Stand up.”

Harry stood up from the couch, not a moment’s delay.

“Oh my god, is that what that’s like?” Harry turned to Louis, surprise on his face. “I really thought they were somehow exaggerating, but it really is an automatic response with absolutely no thought from me behind it whatsoever.”

Louis sighed again. “You really wanna keep doing this? Have me use my alpha voice on you so you can work on resisting it?”

“Yup,” Harry said, clapping his hands and smiling. “How else am I going to be able to have any chance at reducing the power an alpha voice has on me?”

I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right by @lululawrence

[Liam/Nick Grimshaw, 4k, Not rated, tumblr post]

Nick was a bit of a disaster, but she was used to it.

Or so she thought. She had never known how much she could struggle just to function until the new fire lady goddess angel person winked at her.

Oh, Those Summer Nights by cherrylarry / @beelou

[Louis/Harry, 1k, General, tumblr post]

“Are you okay?” He kneels down to inspect where Harry still has his hand pressed against his head.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.”

“My name’s Louis. Can I buy you dinner or something to make up for hitting you in the head?”

Harry crinkles his eyebrows. “Me?”

Louis chuckles. “Yes, you. If you’d like?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.” Harry smiles so that his dimples show. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry, it's a date, then." Louis grins.

An extended scene of the beginning of the movie Grease as a larry au

people fall in love in mysterious ways (maybe just the touch of a hand) by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers, @justalarryblog / Bekita, @bluecolouredlou , @beelou / cherrylarry, @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain, @hershelsue / docklands, @foreverfanficaddict,@idolizingthelight / idolizingthelightt, @inlockets / loveroflou, @perfectdagger, @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 13k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Set in a world where meeting your soulmate causes a literal spark, Louis Tomlinson has no time for fate. He knows all too well the heartbreak that having a soulmate can bring and he'd rather avoid the whole affair. But, when a chance meeting with up-and-coming popstar, Harry Styles, causes the biggest electrical surge the world has ever seen, Louis must confront the truth that sometimes destiny knocks when you least expect it.

Somehow, Someway by @zanniscaramouche

[Louis/Harry, 16k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Louis Tomlinson has everything all figured out for a smooth post-graduation sailing into the perfect career in the music industry. A canceled class, a high school play, and a disarming set of dimples were not part of the plan. (Especially when they belong to a boy wearing someone else’s jacket.)

Featuring: A punk with the worst timed crush in history, that moody art kid that never shares cigarettes, the cutest pastel-pink wearing boy on the planet, and his unfortunately nice bottle-blond jock of a boyfriend.

Forts & Fortunes by @neondiamond

[Louis/Harry, 2k, General, tumblr post]

It’s finals week at uni and Harry is struggling to find a healthy balance between studying and tending to his needs. Lucky for him, Louis is there to help him out with that.

One way to reduce tension by @neondiamond

[Harry/Louis, 1k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry knows of a few ways to help Louis get rid of some pent up stress…

We Got a Call by @greenblueish / bluegreenish

[Louis/Harry, 24k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Fisher from St Peter hospital, hello. Is this Mr Tomlinson?”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow in concern. Why is the hospital calling him? Has someone he knows been in an accident? “Uh, yes?”

“Great. Your results are in. Congratulations, you’re pregnant!”

“Pregnant?” he chokes, the word almost getting caught in his throat.

“Yes, without doubt,” the woman from the hospital confirms, her voice neutral but somehow chirpy. “I recommend promptly booking an appointment with your ob/gyn to discuss how to proceed.”

"I...Yeah, I’ll talk to my … partner.”

or, the one where Louis and Harry Tomlinson are married and Louis accepts a phone call that was definitely meant for his husband.

How Long Will We Fall (Before We Can Climb) by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 860 words, General, tumblr post]

Louis' faith in Harry is unbreakable. When they get caught kissing and he is thrown out of his home forever, he has to learn to have faith in himself.

Rope, Leather and Lipstick by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 552 words, Mature, tumblr post]

Something about ropes around wrists, and tinting skin the colour of strawberry ice cream, tender and kissed by dark lips. Smudging sticky red lipstick across the slight blue shadow of veins, and assuring hands tightening knots.

Lies & Liability by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 34k, Mature, tumblr post]

Harry Styles has only three wishes when he leaves River Dane Manor to go to Town for his first season: that his sister has rented a townhouse that will provide him as many of the comforts of the country life he has grown accustomed to as possible, that he will not trip and fall when he is presented to Her Majesty the Queen, and that he will enter matrimony out of true love, no matter how favourable the match with any which alpha may be.

Sugar at Night by @brightgolden

[Harry/Louis, 33k, Explicit, tumblr post]

With a year left before he completes his degree, a wonderful fiancé, and a baby coming soon, life is going exceptionally well for Harry Styles.

But, the truth always has a way to unravel itself, doesn’t it?

So, what do you do when the person you fell in love with is not the person you thought they were?

I got myself in a mess (and without you I'm in more) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Zayn/Liam, 9k, Mature, tumblr post]

It’s not desire that has his synapses firing. It’s not the urge to jump him that makes him feel jittery.

It’s the fact that everything about this man - a nice, unassuming guy on Tinder, who studied IT and who seemed like a safe choice - screams danger. It’s the fact that Zayn has been absently touching his necklace for what feels like half the night now.

The necklace. Thank God for Lou, honestly. He’d laughed a bit, at first, when Louis had given it to him, when he’d explained all about the app that it was connected to, the emergency contacts that would be notified and sent his exact location “if you just double tap the back of the charm, see” because Louis was that friend, the mom friend, but right now? Right now Zayn will gladly take the gentle ribbing from Louis if it means he won’t have to spend another moment with this guy.

I don't care if the world knows by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Harry is fourteen when she buys her first binder. She’s been doing cosplay videos on Tiktok for a while at that point, and it seems like the logical choice. Not that there’s anything wrong with cosplaying characters of the opposite gender and not wanting to fully look like them, she’s seen plenty of wonderful creators put their own spin on characters in a way that transcends the source material, but when it comes to her own cosplays -

She just likes it to be accurate.

She likes her chest to be flat, not soft and curvy, when she’s wearing her Crowley cosplay, or when she’s transformed herself into Loki.

It’s all about the aesthetics.

∞

Over the course of a few years, Harry explores and comes to terms with gender identity.

It’s Probably Because I’ve Got a Big Lesbian Crush on You by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Harry's never really concerned herself with being part of the popular crowd. But as the new girl in school the second semester of her junior year, she finds herself unwittingly competing for Queen Bee status against high school royalty Louis Tomlinson. Maybe there's more to their rivalry than it seems.

A not-quite-Mean Girls AU

Going Green (so fucking green) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Louis/Harry, 5k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry just really loves being used, and Louis really loves Harry. Who is he to deny him?

Or: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle but make it BDSM

the next bit was spanners to my plan by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[Louis/Nick Grimshaw, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

The first time was an accident. The second time was an accident too.

Or: Louis and Nick end up shagging on the sly, everyone sends far too many emojis and far too few words, and eventually they're going to have to sort themselves out.

Trust Me Tonight by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers

[Louis/Harry, 10k, Explicit, tumblr post]

After Harry’s eighteenth birthday, his father calls him into a meeting to say that he is to be married to Prince Louis of France in just over a week.

Harry is excited, of course. The arrangement is better than any he could’ve hoped for, with such a young, handsome and kind husband.

There is just one issue: Harry doesn’t know what happens on his nuptials, or how to get pregnant to give Louis the heir that he needs.

Can we make it any more obvious? by LouStylesHTommo / @smolhilariousbeans

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

Aka Niall, Zayn, Liam being supportive of Lou&H sexy shenanigans.

darling just dive right in by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Zayn/Louis, 5k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Louis can’t think of a worse place to be than at the Malik estate, attending his ex boyfriend's wedding.

Shining just for you by ThoseFookin_Avacados / @hlhome28

[Harry/Louis, 1k, General, tumblr post]

For a clumsy person, Harry danced with quite the grace- spinning around Louis, billowy light robes brushing against his firm darker ones. Despite his slightly smaller build, Louis was decivingly strong, his grip on Harry's waist tight as they performed their steps in sync. Like two opposite halves of a whole, like ones reflection in the mirror, like the sun and the moon.

Part 2 of the Prompt Generator series

crown me with your heart (your love is king) by @perfectdagger

[Louis/Harry, 41k, General, tumblr post]

The universe must’ve had a field day when it decided to plan Harry’s life. There was no plausible explanation for anything that happened in his life anymore. Try as he may, he would never be able to control his life nor predict what would happen next. What were the odds that the one person he was sure he had fallen in love with but had completely let him slip out of his life, already resigned to the fact nothing could ever evolve between them due to Harry’s future with Eroda, happened to be the same person who had Harry’s future in his hand?

A The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Wedding au in which Harry is the Crown Prince of the small island of Eroda and Louis’ uncle is trying to take the throne from him, with a slight a/b/o twist and some more.

#trackinghappily #1dsource #tracksintheam #trackinghome #28th appreciation #july 2021 #one direction fan fic

[sweetsbfreex]

a perfect mix

hi! I had this idea and decided to write it for @tbslenthusiast ‘s dadathon enjoy!

                                             𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“Look Bub, she’s so pretty” you say sniffling, her tiny hand wrapped around your finger. 

“I know love, the perfect mix of me and you, thankfully more of you,” he said laughing breathily. He stood against the hospital bed, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, and the other–just his finger, though– used to graze her puffy, blotchy cheeks. 

She had just been cleaned, now wrapped in the pink hospital blanket and a cute beanie wrapped around her head. 

“Shut up,” you laugh. “Look!” you whisper. “Her eyes, they're a mix of green and brown”

“See a perfect mix of us” he replied nudging your shoulder, looking at you, and lifting his finger that was on Bub’s cheek to wipe away the happy tears at the corner of your eyes. “I’m so proud of you, you really went through it back there,”

You smiled shyly at his praise, puckering your lips for a kiss which he delivered gleefully. “I'm proud of you too.”

“What’d I do? All I did was throw a few ropes in.”

“H! You can't talk like that,” he laughs at your astonished look. “If you must know, your hand really went through the ringer.”

“Oh that, that was nothing,” he says shrugging his shoulders, his lips pursing in faux confidence.

“Baby...You asked me to go easy on you,” you said laughing as his face dropped. 

“Well ‘m sorry, your grip is so tight, pretty sure I would've lost circulation at some point”

You had tears rolling down your face and neck and sweat piling all over you, as you squeezed the ever daylight of Harry's hand. 

“I hate you so much Harry Styles, look what you did to me” you cried, flinging your head back.

“I know, know I promise you can use this over my head for the rest of our lives” his face cringing at the sound of your tears and screams, while blotting your forehead with a cloth “but you have to keep pushing, love.”

“Okay” you whined. “harry you said ‘ours’” you cried, trying with all your might to get the baby out of you.

“Are you guys ready for the rest of the family to join you?” the nurse asked, extinguishing the duo, of their baby induced trance. 

Harry angled his head a bit to anticipate your answer, you nodded in return. “Yea we’re ready,” he answered, smiling at the nurse, who left the room to rally everyone in. 

He looked down again at his little family, “you ready to meet your family, my sweet little girl,” he cooed, descending his head to set a light kiss to her puffy cheek at the moment she decided to yawn eliciting a laugh from you and Harry.

In that moment you heard the door opening. Anne, your mom, Gemma, your dad, Jeff, and Glenne walked through the door with an array of pink balloons and flowers. 

“Hi!” you greeted cheerfully at everyone. 

Harry walked away to hug whoever he could, rotating with whoever came to the bed to gently hug you. 

“I'm so proud of the two of you, look how cute she is,” your mom said sniffling bringing her finger up to the tip of her nose, pulling your head into her chest gently and placing a kiss to your forehead. 

“congratulations, darlings” Anne said, hugging harry again and also placing a kiss to your forehead. 

“thank you mum” “thank you mom” you and harry repeated at the same time.

You could see the pair of grandmothers trying to hold back their tears of joys and so could Harry as he released a playful groan with a “great now the mums are crying.”

“H, hush,” you say, laughing briefly. 

“look how cute you all look, gather in for a picture” Gemma said pulling out Harry’s camera that he insisted on packing in the baby’s bag of all places. 

Your mom stood to your left leaning and Harry doing the same on your right, however, and Anne stood next to her second-born. Everyone leaning into the middle and smiling the for picture. 

“say cheese!” Gemma said. 

                                                             -

You and Harry were shuffling around the hospital room, gathering everything you needed to go home. 

“Make sure to grab all the baby formula and stuff you see” you yell over to Harry while you tried picking the baby’s going home outfit, leave it to your indecisive self to change your mind last minute. 

“Harry, the pink or brown?” you asked turning around to present him the two footies.

“I like the pink better.”

“Brown it is” you say looking over the cute brown, bear like footie. 

“Heyyy!” Harry dragged out, tossing a diaper to the back of your head. 

Once you were finished, you raised her up murmuring how cute she looked. Kissing both her cheeks religiously. “You’re such the perfect mix y’know, look how cute you are, you smell good too,” you say kissing her lips lastly, before setting her in her car seat. 

Harry walked over to both of you, winding an arm around your waist, kissing your cheek. 

“Ew, Harry, that was wet,” you say, turning to bite his cheek in return.

“I’m sorry these are the people you’re being raised by, muffin,” Harry says leaning down to kiss her.

You flick him in the back of his head, his hand raising to touch the spot. “ready to go?” he asked. 

You nodded, mumbling an mhm. You outstretched your hand out to grasp the handle of the seat, until a quick slap was directed to your hand. 

“babe?!” you express, looking at him bewildered. 

“you just gave birth, you absolutely think ‘m gonna let you carry the carseat,” he answers, voice filled with false offense, mumbling something along the lines of ‘out of her mind’ talking to the baby exactly. 

“ok, well can I carry th-”

“No. Ready to go home?” reaching his thumb to massage away the furrow of your eyebrows. 

“Yes”, you sigh, reaching up to kiss his cheek “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Just one of my many jobs,” he replies, hauling you in for a kiss. The baby bag on his shoulder and the baby in his opposite hand, all while his free hand embraced one of yours as you both trailed down the hallway. 

You were meant to walk through the front entrance of the hospital, but it didn't seem that was happening. 

“christ” Harry hissed, his jaw clenched in utter annoyance. 

“What is it? H?” you asked tugging his hand. 

“Think someone told the paps we were here, its fine don’t worry, we’ll just go through the back,” he said, towing you both to the desk to hopefully sort out the mess. 

                                                             -

“meet your new home Miss Styles,” you whispered crouching in front of the car seat, taking her out.

“lovie, look at this cute set, Alessandro sent,” Harry said in excitement from the living room.

When the three of you first walked into the room, you were met with an abundance of flowers, balloons, sweets, and gifts splayed-out all over the living room and some lingering by the hallway where the front door was. What you could only assume was brought in by his assistant. 

The night before you were supposed to give birth to the baby– laying in the hospital bed on your side, while Harry spooned you from behind, one hand rubbing your back and the other your belly – you both stayed up texting whoever you needed to tell them the good news. 

You walked into the living room, sitting next to Harry (who still secured the box of clothes in his lap.) 

“Look at these shoes, oh!, They match my Brit Award ones from 2020″ he said grinning ear to ear, holding the pair up. 

“They even have her initials on the sides” you fell about happily.

“I know! We’ll have to thank him later,” he said placing them gently back in the box and the box to the floor. He laid back against the couch, holding his arms out awaiting you. 

You scuttled back gently, the baby still in your arms, until you were curled up into Harry’s chest – your back to his. He bounded both his arms over your shoulders, leaning his chin on your shoulder to view the bundle in nestled in your arms. 

“I can't believe we’re really parents,”he mumbled, turning his head to kiss your neck. 

“I know, and this isn’t a temporary thing like our nieces and nephews,” you replied, a smile on your face.

“We’re doing this every single day”

You all sat quietly in the living room, his record playing A Sunday Kind of Love in the background. The Idyllic feeling was all over the room, Harry singing along to the song lowly by your ear, rocking the three of you slowly. You couldn’t believe it even though she was in your arms right now, jostling her head a little...uh oh. 

...Before long a loud shrieking sound emitted from her small body, her hands in fists rising up to her chest.

“Yep. Every day” Harry said, sighing as her cries only got louder. 

#dadathon #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles reader insert #dad! harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #dad! harry

[sour--disposition]

Across The Miles

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

please check my masterlist to see if my requests are open

(gif from the amazing @sdmngifs​)

You stepped off the plane and were met with the dreary skies that seemed to always plague England. Simon had told you he and JJ would meet you outside of the baggage claim to help you with your bags and take you home.

As soon as you’d wrestled your cases off of the conveyer belt, you walked towards the big exit sign, looking very much like you’d just stepped off of a long haul flight. Donned in sweats and a Sidemen Clothing hoodie with a travel pillow hung around your neck, you weren’t going to be winning any fashion awards any time soon.

“Y/N!”, JJ and Simon called from the other side of the large arrivals hall. You grinned, waving manically at them as you walked over as quick as you could. You dropped you hand luggage down next to your cases and flung your arms around both of them.

“I’ve missed you guys!”, you smiled up at them once they’d released you. “I can’t thank you enough for giving me this opportunity. And letting me live with you guys? I mean... there isn’t enough words to thank you!”, you gushed.

You’d met Simon, JJ and the rest of the Sidemen at the 2017 Upload event and had stayed in touch with them ever since. You’d been planning on moving in together for quite a while, but finding a time when the three of you were free enough to facilitate moving an entire human and her belongings across the Atlantic Ocean was harder than first imagined, but the minute that the three of you had decent schedules, flights were booked, you’d handed your notice in for your apartment in New York and started packing up your things.

By the time you’d been moved into the spare room, your room, it was nearing 5pm. “We were thinking about grabbing dinner with the rest of the guys? They’ve all missed you and I know Freya and Talia are dying to see you”, Simon said from the door frame.

“Yeah, sounds good”, you smiled from where you sat on the floor, surrounded by your clothes as you tried to organise them.

“You don’t have to do it all in one go. Why don’t you grab a shower and get changed and then you can have another go at this once were back from dinner?”, Simon suggested, the exhaustion from the day beginning to become clear on your face. You nodded, putting down whatever it was you were trying and failing to fold and took yourself off for a shower.

Of course, the guys took you to Nando’s. With there only being a handful of the restaurants in America, and none in New York, you made a point of going whenever you were in the UK. “Are you excited to see Harry?”, Simon poked at you from the drivers seat, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

“Wait, what!?”, JJ exclaimed from the passenger seat, struggling to turn around and face you in his seat. “What’s this then?”, he pestered, reaching out to shove against your knee.

“It’s nothing”, you said pointedly, glaring at Simon.

“Oi, so Simon knows and I don’t? Bit unfair”, JJ sassed, pulling a face at you.

“Simon knows nothing”, you told JJ. “He’s getting ideas in his head that I haven’t said anything about”, you said, eyeing Simon again.

“So, was I just supposed to ignore one of my best friends’ names popping up, literally non-stop, on one of my other best friend’s phone?”, Simon quipped, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just saying what I see, is all”, he shrugged.

“Okay, sue me, I’ve stayed in touch with Harry. Have you guys forgotten that I’ve literally just moved into the same city as all of you and your friends?”, you snipped.

Simon grumbled in defeat, all whilst JJ’s eyes followed the back and forth between the two of you. He sat there with a massive grin on his face, and you just knew that he wasn’t going to leave this alone over dinner.

When you walked into the restaurant, you were greeted by a round of hugs from all the guys, being given the eye by Simon and JJ when you looped your arms around Harry’s frame. You were hugged by Talia and Freya as well, when the guys finally let you go.

“It’s so good to finally see you again in person”, Freya beamed. “Discord and twitch just don’t do it after being friends for this long”, she pouted, eliciting a laugh from both you and Talia.

The group sat down at the table, smaller groups of people all chattering amongst themselves. “How was your flight?”, Harry asked from the opposite side of the table.

“It wasn’t too bad, I’m kinda used to it now, I guess? I mean, 8 hours is 8 hours so it was pretty dull, but I managed to get a few movies in”, you smiled.

“Oh yeah?”, he asked. “What did you watch? Am I gonna be disappointed?”, he asked you with a laugh.

“Of course you’ll be disappointed, you don’t like watching films”, you laughed happily. “I finally started chipping away at my Disney plus watchlist, so I watched Up and both of the Incredibles films”, you told him.

You kept chatting with Harry, along with Ethan, who was next to Harry, and Vik, who was next to you, until your food came. Once people had plates in front of them, chatter died down significantly, only the occasional comment here and there made itself known.

-

“He likes you too, you know”, Simon commented as he drove the three of you home. You’d been bundled into the backseat, wrapped up in JJ’s jacket as you were practically falling asleep on Vik’s shoulder.

“No, he doesn’t, Simon”, you denied sleepily, eyes drifting closed as you rested your head against the cold glass of the window.

“And how do you know that? He doesn’t even know that you like him, so how could he have turned you down?”, Simon asked.

“Because he’s Harry. I’m just some small timer from New York that you guys seemed to adopt after Upload”, you told him. “Look. I’ll get over it, I just need you to stop bringing it up so that I can actually forget about it and ignore the mushy feelings”.

As soon as Simon pulled the car to a stop, you climbed out and started making your way to the lift. You leaned heavily against the wall of the lift as it hurtled the three of you up to your floor. “Thanks for the coat, Jide”, you smiled tiredly, hanging the jacket up on a hook by the door. “I love you and all that, but I’m off to bed. My eyes are melting”, you groaned, waving your hand roughly in the direction of your room. Simon and JJ only laughed at you, wishing you a good night as you trudged down the hallway.

What you’d quite easily admitted in your half awake state wasn’t mentioned again, much to your relief. You got on with filming you ‘I’ve moved house!?’ videos and ‘Guess who I live with?’ clickbait titles. You started streaming more with the the girls, since you were finally in their timezone, and even dropped into the occasional Among Us stream with whoever was playing that night.

You settled into life in London well. You were surrounded by your friends and you doing what you loved with the people you loved. You’d felt more at home in the short months you’d lived in London than you ever had in New York. There was only one problem, though...

The Harry situation hadn’t resolved itself.

Which is why, when Simon came and asked you if you’d be in a video where he sets you up on a blind date, you couldn’t see a reason to turn it down. Worst case scenario, the date went horribly and Simon got a funny video of it. It wasn’t like you’d ever had to see the guy again.

You sat in front of the camera with Simon. “So, before I can send you on this blind date, I need to know what to look for”, he said.

“Erm - someone who’s funny, easy to get along with, can take a joke. Someone who won’t be intimidated or annoyed about me having quite a few male friends, someone who’s supportive of my career...”, you listed, trailing off when you realised who that described to a tee.

“And what do I need to avoid?”, Simon asked. If he had noticed any similarities of your description to Harry, he chose to keep his mouth shut about it.

“Someone thats going to be ashamed of me and my career or is going to want me to take my attention away from Youtube and Twitch. It’s one of the most important things in my life and I love what I do for a living and I’m so lucky that I get to do this for a living, so avoid someone that’s going to try and come between me and that, I guess”, you told Simon.

You knew that you weren’t going to find the love of your life doing this. It was more than likely going to be another single youtuber that Simon had roped into his video with the promise of a great video title and some decent content. But it would be nice to get dressed up nice and have an evening away from editing software or your stream deck.

Simon had told you where to go and when, he’d also told you to dress “all nice like”. He’d set the date up at a cocktail bar that you’d been wanting to visit since you’d moved to London. You only agreed to it once you confirmed that the expenses would be on him because top shelf liquor was on the bottom shelf in this place.

You picked out a dark green satin dress and paired it with some strappy silver heels. You took advantage of the opportunity and filmed yourself getting ready so that if things didn’t go too horrifically, you could post a ‘get ready for my blind date with me’.

Sitting down and chatting to the camera as you got ready took longer than you’d expected. You were rushing around, stressing about your Uber not being there quick enough to get you to the bar in time.

“I’ll drop you off”, JJ offered, already heading over to pick his keys up. “And that way, if he’s a weirdo, you don’t have to worry about waiting for another car to come get you”.

You climbed into the Porsche, thanking JJ for what might have been the fiftieth time since leaving the apartment. “You can stop saying thank you, Y/N. I offered”, he chuckled as he drove out of the parking garage. “You look lovely tonight, whoever Simon’s got you set up with is lucky”, he told you, sending you a genuine smile.

“Thank you, Jide”, you smiled. The rest of the car journey was shrouded in a comfortable silence, disrupted only by the radio. “I think it’s just around this corner”, you said, pointing out of the front window.

JJ pulled up by the bar and came around to help you out of the car, causing you to laugh. “You don’t have to escort me in, J”, you told him lightly. “Why are you acting like an over-protective dad?”, you whispered to him in a giggle.

“Just trust me”, he told you, rolling his eyes softly.

You kept your arm looped through JJ’s as he walked you down the pavement. As you neared the entrance to the bar, you saw a figure standing outside, looking around nervously. That must be him.

“Harry?”, you asked. You turned to JJ, “I think there’s been a mistake. I’m supposed to be on a blind date”.

“Surprise, I think”, Harry said awkwardly, scratching his arm.

“Look after her, Harry”, JJ told him sternly. JJ dropped a kiss to the side of your forehead. “Call me or Simon if either of you need anything, yeah?”, he said before he turned and walked back to his car, leaving you and Harry alone.

“I promise I’ll say something, I think I’m just still trying to process what’s going on”, you laughed awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of your clutch in your hands.

“I can maybe clear things up over a drink? Simon’s paying”, Harry said lightly, reaching his hand out to you. You smiled and nodded, letting him take your hand in his and guide you into the bar.

Once you’d got your drinks, Harry lead you to the terrace garden out the back. It was decorated with flowers and muted fairy lights, making for quite the romantic atmosphere. Harry pulled the tall chair out for you and held his hand out to help you up before walking to the other side of the table and sitting opposite you.

“I - uh. Basically, I asked Simon’s advice on how to ask you out and he said that whenever he brought me up around you, you shut him down. So he came up with this idea. I totally get it if you want JJ to come back and pick you up after this drink, I just couldn’t not try... at least once”, Harry said, sounding dejected as he finished.

You put your hand over Harry’s that rested on the table. “I won’t be calling JJ, Harry. I’m over the moon to be here”, you told him with a smile. “I only kept shutting Simon down because he’s been trying to interfere since the day I landed in London. I was convinced that you wouldn’t like me so I just tried to... I don’t know... get over it, I guess”, you told him. You could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks as you spoke, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Why wouldn’t I?”, Harry asked quietly, rubbing his fingers over the back of your hand absentmindedly as he did.

“Are you kidding? You’re part of one of the biggest youtube groups, have a successful youtube channel, you’ve been someone for so long. And I’m just... what? A newbie who got adopted by the big boys in London. I never thought you could”, you said, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Y/N, you’re amazing”, Harry boasted. “You’re an amazing streamer and your youtube content is quality. Okay so I’ve been uploading longer? And? It doesn’t mean anything, Y/N. And believe it or not, I like the you I see off camera, you know”, Harry said shyly.

“I guess I owe Simon an apology then”, you smiled at Harry, who took your hand in his.

#harry lewis #wroetoshaw #w2s #harry lewis imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #w2s imagine #harry lewis x reader #wroetoshaw x reader #w2s x reader #sidemen imagine #sidemen x reader #sidemen oneshot #sidemen #uk youtube imagine #uk youtube #simon minter #miniminter #ksi #jj olatunji #vikkstar123 #josh zerker #tbjzl

[pretendingboyfriends]

click here to add yourself to the taglist!

A/N: holy SHIT u guys the way i absolutely LOVE how this turned out,,,,, i REALLY hope u guys love it as much as i do and pls pls pls don’t be afraid to tell me ur favorite parts or give me suggestions for the next part!! and thank u miss tanya @sunflowers-styles​ for beta reading this part!!! ily mwah<3

Warnings: some explicit language & slight sexual innuendos

Word count: 5.9k+

fic masterlist

You gaze out into the crystal blue ocean as you drive along the beachfront, car window ajar allowing the salty, warm breeze to kiss your skin gently. The sun glimmers brightly in the sky, not a single cloud in sight and you feel as though nothing could possibly go wrong. 

Deidre invited you on this beach trip as a last minute getaway. She knew you’d been having a bit of a hard time with your mental health recently, so she decided to rent a beach house for the two of you to try and help you get out of your “funk” as she called it. Two weeks of relaxation with nothing to worry about. Just lounging around in the warm sun with your best friend for 14 days. You simply couldn’t say no. 

Seeing as Deidre has been your best friend for the majority of your lifetime, trips like these aren’t uncommon in the slightest. In fact, you’ve been on so many vacations with her and her family that you can’t even fathom going somewhere like this without her. 

“Do you wanna stop and grab something to eat before we get to the house?” The sound of her voice draws you from your almost dazed state and you turn to look at her as she drives. Immediately at the mention of food, your stomach gurgles violently, loud enough for both of you to hear which causes you both to burst into a fit of laughter.

 “I guess that answers your question better than anything.” You choke through laughter. 

“Well then,” She giggles, “McDonald’s, here we come!” 

The two of you purchase almost the entire McDonald’s menu and eat approximately 3/4ths of it in the car before you’re finally headed to the beach house with bloated tummies and quenched appetites. 

Eventually, you’re pulling into the driveway of a small, teal beach house facing the ocean. The house is lifted on stilts due to its position near the ocean and the paint is slightly worn, chipping away on the wooden slats most likely due to past tropical storms. There are two sets of steps, both leading to a wrap around porch, one coming from the back of the house (where the pool is) and one leading directly to the front door. It’s quaint and homey and you love it. 

When you’d initially pulled in, you hadn’t noticed the other car parked in the driveway, but now that you’re stepping out of Deidre’s car, your gaze falls directly onto the bright yellow Ferrari parked only a few feet away from you. There is only one person you know that owns that exact car. 

“Oh! I forgot to mention, Harry is staying here too.” 

You whip your head in Deidre’s direction, your jaw nearly dropping from its hinges. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier??”

She shrugs casually as she swings the drivers door shut and walks around to the back. “I guess I forgot.” She presses a button on her keys and the back door slowly opens in front of her. “Plus, I didn’t think you’d mind, the two of you have always gotten along.”

“Deidre, that’s not why I’m upset-”

“Great, then what’s the problem?” She interrupts, eyebrows raised in question as she stares at you. You definitely aren’t one for violence, but the image of smacking her directly across the face flashes across your mind for a moment and you seriously consider doing it. “He’s just here to relax like us. And he’s paying for the place, so I couldn’t really say no.”

You let out an exasperated groan in response, slamming the passenger door shut and stomping around to the back of the car so that you can retrieve your own bags. 

The truth is, you and Harry had gotten along in the past, which would give you no reason to be panicking right now, but something you hadn’t told Deidre was that for the entirety of your childhood, you were madly in love with him. Yes, he’s older than you by a few years, but that never stopped you from pining over him from the ripe age of six. You had watched the way he treated his two sisters and mother for so long and fell in love with his kindness and care for others. You used to daydream about the day he would realize his love for you, but of course Harry got famous and that day never came. 

It’s been years since you’ve seen him in person. The last time you were in direct contact was nearly 4 years ago, a couple years after he went on The X Factor and was immediately consumed by fame. He was 18 at the time, visiting home during a little break, and you were having a sleepover with Deidre, but the length of your collision wasn’t very long. A few harmless words were exchanged during dinner and then you and Deidre had excused yourselves to continue your evening and that was it. Then, he was undeniably the most attractive boy you had ever seen and now, if it was even possible, he’d blossomed into a beautiful man, even more attractive than he was before.

As you begin to haul your bags out of the trunk, Harry appears at the top of the steps, screen door leading into the house flapping loudly behind him. 

“Need some help with bags?” He calls, swiftly galloping down the wooden steps.

Deidre sighs in relief, “That’d be great, thanks Harry!” 

His long, curly hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of his head, a few stray curls framing his beautiful face. He smiles at you, dimples sinking deeply into his cheeks as he strides towards you, “Long time, no see,” 

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks and you smile sheepishly, “Hi, Harry, how are you?”

“I’m pretty good! And yourself?” He asks, effortlessly tugging your large bag from the trunk of the car and slinging it over his shoulder. 

You swallow thickly, struggling to keep your eyes off of his straining muscles through his thin t-shirt. “I’m uh- I’m good as well.” 

“Glad to hear it, babe.” He winks and you watch as he takes a few smaller bags from the trunk, heading back up the stairs and through the front door, breathing out a shaky sigh before grabbing your remaining bag. 

Deidre is already halfway up the stairs behind him when she calls back to you, “Can you close the trunk before coming up?” 

You shoot her a quick thumbs up and drop the bags onto the cement driveway, lifting your arms above your head and slamming the large door shut before picking up the bags again and heading towards the stairs. You’re still quite stunned at what just happened and, frankly, you’re a little bit vexed with Deidre’s nonchalant way of sharing that Harry was going to be joining you on what was supposed to be a relaxing trip. Nevertheless, you’re forced to set your feelings aside and keep your mouth shut for fear of Deidre prying the truth out of you. 

As you step into the house, screen door slamming behind you, you take a gander around the living area. It’s small and you can tell it hasn't been redecorated since at least 1985. Every piece of decor has some sort of relation to a beach (quite fitting considering where you are). Even the wallpaper is covered with small seashells and fish and it makes you chuckle. There’s an opening connected to the living area that leads directly to the kitchen, a second doorway that you assume leads to the bedrooms, and a large sliding glass door that leads to the back porch. 

Deidre saunters out of the second doorway, “C’mon, let me show you our room!” 

You frown, “Our room?”

“Yeah, there are only two bedrooms.” 

“Oh,” You take a moment to breathe in, feeling your frustration building with every passing moment as you follow her into the small hallway. You pass the first door on your right, glancing inside to find the bathroom before moving on. The next door you pass is a bedroom decorated identically to the living room, a queen sized bed crammed into the corner with a quilt covered in clownfish and seaweed and the last door is another bedroom. This bedroom is painted a bright coral pink and the theme seems to be seashells due to the seashell print on the bed’s quilt and the framed seashells above the bed. This room, although similar to the first one, is a little bit larger and the bed rests directly in the middle of the room instead of it being crammed into the corner like the first one. 

You step into the room after Deidre and toss your bags onto the floor next to the wall before throwing yourself onto the bed as you kick your shoes off. “I’m so ready to relax,” 

She hums as she unzips her large bag and begins shoveling her clothes into the top drawer of the dresser across from the bed. “Me too,” 

“I think I might go for a swim,” You turn over onto your back, lifting yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed as you look at her. “Wanna join me?” 

“As soon as i finish unpacking, I will.”

You shoot her a quick thumbs up and shove yourself off of the bed and towards your bags. Harry had set your large bag of clothes right beside the door, so you fall to your knees and pull it towards you to search for your bathing suit. 

“Go ask if Harry wants to come, too.” She adds, tossing her own bathing suit onto the bed. 

You hate her. You want to strangle her. It’s like she knows. But of course, she doesn’t. You’d never told anyone about your little crush and you planned to keep it that way. Tucking the valuable information into the very back of your mind for the rest of eternity. 

Without a word, you push yourself onto your feet and pad through the doorway, the thick carpet squishing softly beneath your bare feet. You’re hesitant to call for him at first, quietly wandering through the hallway, peering into the open doorways. Both rooms are empty, but there’s evidence of him sprawled across the bedroom. A large suitcase thrown haphazardly on the bed with clothes and shoes strewn all around it. 

 “Harry?” You continue walking, stepping out into the living room to find him lounging on the couch with the TV on in nothing but a pair of tight, black jeans, tattoos on full display. “Oh, there you are,” He looks up at you, a hint of mischief behind his virescent eyes. “Dee was wondering if you wanted to go for a swim with us.” it’s a statement, of course, but the wavering of your voice makes it sound like a question. 

“I would,” He starts, sitting up a little and reaching for the TV remote to turn down the volume. “But it looks like it’s about to rain.”

You frown, turning to the sliding glass window to find that in the short amount of time it took for you to take your bags from the car and into the house, the sky had filled with dark, fluffy clouds. 

“Shit.” 

Thunder rumbles in the distance, droplets of rain mizzling against the windows and roof quietly as the three of you keep yourselves dry inside the beach house.

“Alright, we have Monopoly, Life, Scrabble, Cards Against Humanity, a deck of regular playing cards, Jenga, and a few puzzles.” Deidre lists as she shovels through the large chest beside the couch, labeled ‘Games’. “Which one sounds the most fun right now?” 

You curl your feet underneath you on the couch and shrug, “A puzzle sounds nice.”

She nods, turning to Harry who’s making himself a sandwich in the kitchen. “Harry?” 

“I agree with her on the puzzle.”

“Puzzle it is, then.” She concludes, grabbing the first puzzle her eyes land on and setting it on the wooden coffee table. Another fit of thunder causes the house to shiver and you sigh, silently cursing the rain for trapping you inside on the first day of vacation. 

After Harry comes back into the living room and settles onto the couch beside you, Deidre sits on the other side of the coffee table and dumps the puzzle pieces out onto it. A show you’ve never heard of plays on the TV behind her and you glance up from the puzzle every now and then to watch it as the three of you sit in silence. 

The entire evening Harry sits beside you, his arm gently nudging yours every time he reaches forward to move a puzzle piece. At first, you brush it off as an accident, barely acknowledging his presence, but when he takes it a step further and knocks a puzzle piece out of your hand, you glance in his direction to find him smiling smugly to himself. You shake your head, holding back a small smile as you return to the puzzle, finding a different piece and placing it where it belongs. Two can play at that game. 

As Harry reaches for another piece, you quickly reach over his arm and snatch the piece he was aiming for, mumbling: “Ah, here it is! I was looking for this one.” 

You can feel his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as you hold back a laugh, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Was that necessary?” He hums thickly, keeping his gaze in your direction. 

You shrug, placing the piece into its home. “I mean, that’s the point of building a puzzle, right? Finding each piece and where it goes...” 

He smirks and shakes his head at you but doesn’t respond.

A few hours pass as the three of you work and soon, it’s dark outside and the rain has calmed to a light drizzle. Deidre yawns and stretches her arms above her head before glance at the time on her phone. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed, it’s pretty late and long drives always make me tired.” She says through another yawn and you nod.

“Me too,” 

“Alright then, wimps,” Harry replies, “I guess I’ll just have to party by myself.”

Deidre looks at you and rolls her eyes dramatically as Harry chuckles to himself. You push yourself up from the couch, stretching your arms out above your head just like Deidre had done moments ago.

“Goodnight, Harry.” She hums, stepping around the coffee table to smack a quick kiss to his forehead before sauntering off to the bedroom. You glance behind you as you follow her, giving Harry a small wave. 

“G’night,” He mumbles softly in response and you can feel his gaze on you as you step into the hallway. Part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s checking you out.

Warm droplets of water cascade down your bare skin as you step out of the shower, wrapping a soft towel around your body. You hum quietly to yourself, patting the towel against your skin to dry off as much as possible.

Just as you’ve finished drying yourself off, you realize you completely forgot to bring a clean change of clothes into the bathroom, so you’re just left with the dirty clothes you’d spent the entire day in. Cringing at the thought of putting the clothes back on, you decide to take your chances and slip out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around your form. 

You gather the pile of clothes into your arms after taking a moment to moisturize and brush your teeth, stepping out into the dark hallway. Suddenly, just as you’re taking another step, Harry appears at the end of the hallway, crunching loudly with a bowl of cereal in hand. He’s clothed in a thin, grey t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, fluffy socks pulled onto his feet. 

“Shit,” You gasp, eyes widening as you press the bundle of clothes to your chest harshly. 

“Oh, hey,” Harry says mid chew.

You pause, “I didn’t think you’d be awake...”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, uh, I got a little hungry.”

“I can see that,” 

“I can make you a bowl if you’d like,” He offers, jutting a thumb behind his shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Harry-” You scoff, “I am quite literally standing naked in front of you right now.” 

He shrugs, chuckling to himself as his eyes flit to the ground and then back up to you. “Was just trying to be polite.” 

“Um- well, thanks, but I think I’m alright for now.” 

“Alright,” He sighs, taking another bite from his spoon, “Goodnight, then.”

“‘Night.” You murmur, watching him strut past you towards his room. You wait until the door is closed before you scurry into your own room, finding Deidre fast asleep on her side of the bed. 

Morning comes sooner than anticipated and soon, you’re dragging yourself out of bed as Deidre snores. You’re not expecting her to get out of bed anytime soon. 

You trudge out into the kitchen with a yawn, finding Harry leaning against the countertop with his nose buried in a book. He’s in the same clothes from the night before, but instead of his hair being pulled back into a bun

“Good morning,” You smile, wrapping your arms around yourself as you step onto the cold tile. 

He glances up from his book and smiles back, tucking a bookmark between the pages before setting it down on the countertop. “Mornin’. Coffee’s almost ready if you want some. I made enough for all of us.”

“Oh, great, thank you!” 

“I went out to the shops earlier as well and got some of that coffee creamer you and Dee like,” He starts, pushing his large hand through his long, curly hair. “I know it’s been a bit since we last saw each other, but I know that she still likes it, so I assumed you do, too.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you take a clean mug from the dish rack lying beside the sink, “I actually do still like it, thank you.”

He shakes his head, “S’no problem, really.”

The coffee maker beeps twice to indicate that the coffee is finished brewing and Harry turns, reaching out for your mug. “May I?”

“Oh- yes, please,” You smile, allowing him to take the ceramic mug from your hand and pour the scalding liquid into the mug before gently placing it back into your hand. “Thanks.” 

You walk to the fridge, swinging the door open to scavenge for the creamer he’d mentioned earlier. The carton catches your eye and you snatch it from the shelf, kicking the fridge door shut before setting the mug on the counter. 

“Did I get the right kind?” Harry asks as you unscrew the cap. 

“Yep!” You smile, pouring the cream into the dark coffee, causing the two to swirl together into a thick, hazel colored liquid. You find a small spoon in one of the many drawers lining the countertop and you drop it into the liquid, stirring it momentarily before tapping off the excess liquid and placing the spoon into the sink. Glancing back up at him, you take a careful sip from your mug to test the temperature. 

“Good?” He asks, sipping from his own mug slowly. 

“Great.” You confirm, taking a larger sip as you lean your hip against the counter. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few long moments, sipping your coffee leisurely before Harry speaks. 

“Do you-” He clears his throat, “Do you want to go sit out on the back deck with our coffee? The weather’s great and the view is phenomenal.” 

He seems slightly more nervous than he had been the day before, most likely due to your brief run in that evening, but you don’t mind. “Yeah, that sounds nice!”

He nods towards the doorway with a smile, waiting for you to take the first step before following behind you through the sliding glass door. There are a few chairs settled around a small, round table, overlooking a breathtaking view of the beach where a few people are getting their morning jog in or just strolling leisurely along the shore. You slide yourself into the furthest chair, careful not to spill the hot coffee in your hand as you do so, watching Harry as he does the same. 

You wonder why, if he was paying for the entire trip, he would choose such a cheap beach house in such a rural part of this particular beach. Seeing as he was a multi millionaire, you’d assume he would choose the most expensive place to stay in the most popular area, but that obviously isn’t the case. Not that you aren’t grateful for staying there for free, because you are, you’re just curious. 

“So,” You begin, sipping your coffee for a moment before continuing. “How’s celebrity life treating you?” 

He chuckles, pushing a hand through his luscious mane, “S’not bad. Been treatin’ me pretty well, I can’t complain.”

You nod, “That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” Pausing for a moment, you curl your feet beneath you on the chair before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?” 

He glances up from his coffee, raising his eyebrows with a nod, “Sure.” 

You take a breath, aware of the intrusiveness of your question but speaking anyways. “Dee told me you’re paying for all this,” You motion to the house with your hands, “And I’m just wondering why you chose to come here and rent this house when you have the money for something much nicer in a much nicer area.”

He thinks about it for a moment, brows furrowed in thought before he lets out a breathy laugh. “Honestly, there are a few reasons,” He clears his throat and crosses one leg over the other. “The first one is that I’m able to avoid paparazzi, for the most part, because they don’t suspect that I’d ever stay in a place like this,” He explains, using his hands to animate. “And the second one is that I like to make things as normal as possible, especially when I’m spending time with Dee. I know she would absolutely love staying in some bougie mansion with its own private beach, but I just don’t want things to be different from when we were kids, you know? I’d rather her not have the image of me being a rich asshole in her head all the time. I just want her to see me as she always has; her big brother.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest at his sentiment, the reminder of just how much he cares about his family causing certain feelings to come rushing back to you. “I- sorry, I know that was a weird question to ask... but yeah that makes sense. I didn’t really think of it that way.”

Just as you finish speaking, Deidre comes bursting wildly through the sliding glass door in her bathing suit and a large towel draped over her arm. 

“IT’S BEACH TIME, FUCKERS!!” She screams, leaping down the stairs and bolting across the dock leading to the beach. Her bare feet kick up clouds of sand as she runs across the beach, dropping her towel carelessly as she gallops into the water. 

You and Harry look at each other with wide eyes, both of you bursting into a fit of laughter at the same time. You open your mouth to speak, but Deidre beats you to it. 

“COME ON GUYS!! IT FEELS GREAT!”

You look back at Harry again, snickering. “I think we should get out there.”

He hums, “I agree.” 

You both lift yourselves out of the porch chairs, heading into the house to change into your own bathing suits. Harry, of course, offers to take your mug and clean it. 

Around ten minutes pass before you’re finally in your bathing suit stepping out onto the sand with Harry following close behind. Deidre is laying out on the sand with an arm draped over her eyes as she waits for the two of you to arrive. Since it’s still morning, there’s a bit of a nippy breeze to the air, causing goosebumps to litter your skin and shiver to travel down your spine. 

“Finally,” She breathes, pushing herself up from the towel. Harry comes up behind you and drops both of your towels onto the sand beside her along with his book from this morning. 

“S’quite nice out, innit?” He hums, resting his hands against his hips. His hair is pulled back into a bun and he’s wearing the shortest bright yellow swim trunks you’ve ever seen and you can’t help but to giggle a little. 

Deidre rolls her eyes, reaching forward and grasping your arm before dragging you with her towards the water. It’s around 10:00 am and there are a few more people on the beach than there were when you and Harry had first sat on the deck, so when you enter the water, you and Deidre aren’t the only ones there.

Though there are people on the beach, none of them seem to notice that Harry’s there. They’re all caught up in their own vacations, oblivious to the fact that a multi-millionaire celebrity is galloping into the ocean towards you like a child.

You and Deidre screech as he comes toppling into the water head first, cool water splashing around him and onto both of you. The small waves crash into your legs whilst you clamor through the water, Harry surfacing dramatically, completely soaked and absolutely gorgeous. 

“It’s fucking freezing,” You mutter under your breath, wrapping your bare arms around yourself as you trudge deeper into the water. 

“If you get wet, it won’t be as cold.” Harry retorts, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. 

You shake your head at him, “You’re insane,” 

Just as you speak those words, Deidre dunks herself completely under water, splashing you once again as she comes back to the surface. 

 Harry chuckles, “C’mon, you’re gonna get wet eventually.”

You ignore the subtle innuendo. “I have no intention of getting in further than here so if you really want me to go under, it’s gonna have to be done by force.”

He cocks an eyebrow from beneath his sunglasses. “Is that a challenge?”

“Don’t even think about it,” You breathe, glaring at him. 

“You really shouldn’t have said that,” Deidre snickers as Harry begins to creep towards you slowly. His eyes are hidden beneath his sunglasses but you can tell his pupils are narrowed in directly on you. 

You step back with every step he takes forward, small waves crashing into the backs of your thighs at the movement of the water. He lifts his arms slightly as he stalks toward you and you squeal, nearly stumbling backwards and toppling back into the cold water. 

“Harry, I swear to god-” You start but you’re quickly interrupted by your own shriek as he tackles you into the water. It feels as though you’ve inhaled gallons of water from the impact once you resurface, sputtering and gasping dramatically. He doubles over with laughter and Deidre cackles a few feet away. You feel like a sad, wet dog standing in the ocean as they laugh at you and you cross your arms over your chest with a huff. “I hate both of you so much.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Oh, come onnnn, it’s not that bad.”

“My nipples could do some serious damage right now,” You growl between chattering teeth and both of them giggle. 

“Well, you’re wet now so there’s no point in not swimming with us.” Deidre shrugs, dipping back under as a wave rolls by.

You stand in silent rage for a few moments, glaring at Harry as he tries in vain not to let his eyes flicker down to your breasts. You don’t notice his eyeline wavering, though, too distracted by the brumal temperature of your body. A particularly nippy breeze attacks your damp skin and you whimper slapping your arms around your chest. 

“I’m going back to the shore. It’s way too cold for this.” You huff, the water sloshing loudly as you begin to traipse back to the shore. 

Harry watches you stumble back onto the soppy sand with a slight smirk on his pink lips and you can hear the low chuckle escape from his chest breathily. You counter his haughty chortle with a middle finger thrown up behind you, eyes trained in front of you to shield your view of him. 

Once you reach the towels you’d set out earlier, you unfold your towel and wrap it around your shoulders before plopping your ass into the sand. The chattering of your teeth subsides after a few moments and you glance to your side to find the book Harry had been reading. Curiosity fills you and you reach over, lifting it from its spot on Harry’s towel and bringing it in front of you to examine it. 

It’s a paperback, the cover an off-white cardstock with a simple design of a bleeding heart, impaled by an arrow on the front. The title reads “The Course of Love, a novel by Alain De Botton” and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You never would have assumed that he would be such a romantic.

You turn to the first chapter titled “Infatuations”, scanning it briefly and landing on the small, italicized paragraph in the middle that reads, “A marriage doesn’t begin with a proposal, or even an initial meeting. It begins far earlier, when the idea of love is born, and more specifically the dream of a soul mate.” 

“Insightful.” You mutter to yourself, eyebrows raised in understanding before fanning the pages to scour the book further. 

As you scan the blur of pages, you find that there are words scrawled all over the margins of the paper, words frantically underlined like they’d been scribbled whilst he was in a hurry. Your thumb lands approximately a fourth of the way into the book, a small photograph slipping from the spine and into your lap as you open it. It’s a photo of him, Deidre, Gemma (their older sister) and Anne (their mother) all cuddled up together on Anne’s couch with warm smiles on their faces. Their smiles are almost identical to each other as well as their features and, in a way, it comforts you. 

You glance back up from the photo to the page of the book, your eyes immediately landing on an underlined sentence from the italicized section. It reads, “When two people belong together, there is simply--at long last--a wondrous reciprocal feeling that both parties see the world in precisely the same way.” You suck in a breath at the words for a moment but a sudden droplet of water landing on the page pulls you from your stupor.

“I see you’ve found my book,” Harry’s voice belows above you and you snap your head in his direction as he shakes his dripping wet hair. 

You nestling the photo back into the spine of the book before shutting it and smiling up at him sheepishly. “Sorry, I- it was just sitting there and I got curious.”

“S’alright, I don’t mind,” He shrugs, reaching for his towel and wrapping it around himself. “What’d you think?”

“Oh- I only read a couple sentences,” You mutter, tightening the towel around yourself. “But from what I did read, it seemed quite insightful.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He quirks an amused eyebrow at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “Very elegant and sophisticated.” 

“Mmm.” He hums, nodding his head in agreement. 

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth to hold back a grin as you glance away from him towards the water. Your eyes land on a group of people standing around Deidre in the shallow water directly across from you. You frown, “What’s Dee gotten herself into?” 

He takes a swig from the metal bottle of water he’d brought with him before speaking, “Made herself some new friends, I guess.” 

You study them for a moment, watching her laugh heartily at one of the guys’ jokes and pursing your lips together. Wherever the two of you went, she was always capable of making friends. Her natural charm could sweep anyone off their feet and it endlessly left you feeling like an extra wheel. You know she doesn’t mean to leave you out of things, she never has any sort of malicious intent, but you’re both so different from each other that it constantly feels like you’re left in the dust.

You glance away from the group, looking back in Harry’s direction to distract yourself from the intrusive thoughts filling your mind.

 “So, um, what’re your opinions on it?” You start again, clearing your throat quietly. “The book, I mean.”

He smiles as he skillfully tosses his sopping hair into a messy bun, “I like it. S’actually the second time I’ve read it.”

Your eyebrows quirk at that, “Really?”

He nods, tilting his body closer to you and bending one of his legs up against his chest. “Yeah.”

You laugh, “What do you expect from that?” 

“What, like, do I expect it to change?” You nod silently in response and he shrugs. “I mean- no, it’s just… comforting, in a way.” 

“Comforting,” You repeat to yourself. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It also kind of helps me retain the information better, you know?” He continues, mindlessly digging his fingers into the damp sand. 

“Yeah, I understand,” You reply softly, “Do you do that with all the books you read?”

He nods, “More or less.”

There’s an abrupt screech, followed by a few animated giggles and both of you look up at the sound. Deidre is running towards the two of you happily, a wide smile spread across her face as she skids to a stop in front of you. 

“I’m gonna go get lunch with these guys,” She chokes, out of breath from the short jog over. “Do either of you wanna come?”

You glance behind her at the group as they watch her for a moment and then you turn your head back to her. “You go ahead, I think I’ll just stay back here.”

Her expression falls a little and she sighs, turning to Harry with a hopeful look. He looks at you for a moment and then peers back up at her. 

“Think m’gonna do the same. Have fun, though.” He smiles and you nod along with him. 

She sighs again, reaching down and yanking her towel from the sand. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go change and then I’ll be heading out with them for a couple hours.”

You watch as she calls back to them that she’ll “be right back” before galloping back up to the house with her towel dragging behind her. 

“You could’ve gone with them if you wanted to, you know,” You say quietly. “I’m alright by myself.”

He shakes his head, “No, no, s’not really my scene anyways.”

You stay silent after that, watching the repetitive roll of the waves in a mindless state. Deidre returns in a matter of minutes, a loose dress tossed over her bathing suit, her long, dark hair tied into a high ponytail fluttering behind her as she prances. 

“See ya!” She calls after you. 

“Be careful!” You call in response and then she’s gone, engulfed into the group just like she had been before.

AHHHHHF;LSFSDLFJAS;DLKFJSDFK PLS PLS PLS LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINKKKK <33333

taglist: @first-one-that-i-see @harryandthatgayvodka @summertimestyles @bopbopstyles @harrysclementines @emsthoughts @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @clorenafila @harries-gayvodka @dmcupcakexo @glitterwhore @harryspinkshoelace @lovemenowseemenever @happydays @sisters-of-the-mo0n @shut-up-and-smile @fallingslowlyforu @slytherinambitious @moonlightmaliksblog @cocoamoonmalfoy @harryspirate @sunflowers-styles @sunflower6why​ @harrys-bitch​

#SEND ASKS AND MESSAGES PLSSSSSS LUV U #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry smut #harry x reader #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles and you #harry styles and reader #harry styles and y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #one direction fanfic #one direction #one direction smut #one direction fic #harry styles imagine #my writing #dwm

[fruitcoops]

eve omg omg omg the jules fic was so amazing!!!! i'm so excited for the rest :))))

Here’s part two of Adventures in Babysitting! The editing was being finnicky, so I’m sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather and Jules credit belongs to @lumosinlove!

“Are you warm enough?” Sirius asked as he swiped Jules’ bangs beneath the edge of his beanie. Jules nodded, still sleepy even at seven thirty in the morning. “D’accord, let’s get going. Re, did you let Hattie out?”

“Yep, she’s all set in the living room.” Remus kissed him as he passed, hauling his duffel up and resting his hand between Jules’ shoulder blades to guide him down the steps. “Careful, buddy, it’s slippery.”

“I know,” Jules mumbled. “D’you think it’ll snow?”

Sirius looked up—the sky was still fairly dark, but smudges of thick grey clouds seemed to be rolling in. “Probably.”

The drive to the rink was quiet and peaceful; a six o’clock wake up call was tough even on the best of mornings, when they didn’t have a third tiny person to worry about. Regulus sounded like he was waking as they left the house, and Sirius hoped he’d stick around long enough to say goodbye. Pascal’s house wasn’t far, but Sirius knew he would miss having him around.

“Morning, boys,” Remus called as they entered the locker room.

“Morning,” Kasey yawned, stretching his thigh out. “How’s the kid?”

“Sleepy.”

“Big mood. He’s with Moody again today?”

“Yep. They’ll probably come watch again at some point.” Remus smiled to himself. “Thank you guys for showing off yesterday, by the way. He couldn’t stop talking about it the whole evening.”

“Who’s ready to win a game?” James whooped, barging in and looking far too awake for his own good.

Leo frowned. “Game’s tomorrow, Pots.”

“It’s never too early to get hyped, baby rookie.” James patted him on the head as he passed and Leo scowled.

“I’m not a rookie anymore! Loops is!”

“If I call Loops a rookie, he’s going to make sure I never have children again,” James laughed, throwing a t-shirt to Remus from across the aisle. “Here, I borrowed that a couple weeks ago.”

Remus gave it a tentative sniff. “Dude, you didn’t even wash it?”

“It’s something to remember me by.”

“You’re a walking nightmare.”

“Nah, you love me.”

There was a new intensity to their practice that morning—they had beat the Ravens before, sure, but that didn’t mean they were guaranteed to win this time. Even James centered himself, tapping a puck back and forth with Remus until it was nothing but a blur between them. Sirius didn’t see Jules or Moody at any point throughout their ice time, which left him a little disappointed when the timer went off and it was time to hit the gym.

They all did lighter workouts, more like cool down exercises rather than legitimate muscle-building routines. Sirius let himself fall into the rhythm of squats, pushups, and jump-roping until each beat of his heart aligned with the impact of his feet on the mats. The jingle of his ringtone finally signaled the end of practice and a collective sigh went up.

“See you tomorrow, gents,” Nado said as he stood and stretched his back. Sirius felt the mood change as the pre-game heaviness settling over them like a weighted blanket.

Remus wandered over and gave his shoulder a light nudge. “I’ll shower and get Jules while you finish up, yeah?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be quick.” Sirius pressed their foreheads together in lieu of a kiss before turning back to the rest of the guys as stretches began. “You know the spiel. Get some sleep, carb load, all that jazz.”

“Got it, Cap,” Leo said. He tried for a smile, though he looked troubled.

“The Ravens are a great team, but we’re better. We beat them before and we can do it again. Shake off the weird vibes, okay? We can do this.” We have to if we want to make it to the playoffs, he thought instinctively before reaching over to tap the strip of wooden floor that the mats didn’t quite cover. Nope. No playoff thoughts. Just the game.

Eight minutes and a dozen fist-bumps later, they arrived at the locker room in a jumble of bodies. Sirius paused at the end of the hall and heard more than one quiet ‘awww’; Remus was waiting outside, as promised, with Jules fast asleep in his arms. He winked when he saw them and held a finger to his lips, stepping out of the way so they could sneak past.

Moving over a dozen fully-grown hockey players through a small space was not the most stealthy of activities, especially when all of them lingered to get a look at the sleeping child—it was no surprise that Jules woke up partway through and blinked drowsily at them. “Hmm?”

“It’s okay, buddy, you can sleep,” Remus murmured, hitching him a little higher up. “We’re heading home soon.”

“But I wanna watch,” Jules said, pouting slightly. Kasey made a soft noise and put his hand over his heart.

“You can watch the game tomorrow,” James said in a gentle voice. It wasn’t baby talk, persay, but Sirius had definitely heard him use that same soothing tone when Harry started to fuss. Jules snuggled his face into Remus’ neck again with a hum.

Sirius showered quickly and grabbed his bag, barely checking to see if his stuff was all there before ducking out of the locker room with a final mock-salute to the guys. “How long has he been asleep?” he asked as he picked up Remus’ duffel.

“He was out cold on the PT table.” Remus laughed under his breath. “Moody said he was a firecracker for about an hour and a half, but he came back from the bathroom and found him all curled up.”

“That’s so fucking cute. Did you get a picture?”

“Already sent it to my folks.” Remus carefully set Jules in the backseat of the car and buckled him in while Sirius closed the trunk as quietly as he could. Once they were in their respective seats, Remus leaned over the console and gave him a proper kiss, nice and slow. It sent a buzz all the way down to Sirius’ toes.

The lights were off at the house when they arrived; Jules was fully awake by then and Sirius watched his face fall at the same time his own heart clenched. “Regulus left.”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s okay, we’ll see him tomorrow.” Sirius added the last sentence partly for himself—he tried to keep in mind that Regulus was an adult and had moved out ages ago, but they had settled into their routine so quickly. He didn’t want the house to feel empty again.

“Hey.” Remus’ hand was light on his elbow and he blinked, looking over at his smile. “You alright?”

“Yeah, all good. Let’s get some lunch.” He offered a smile that he knew was weak, but Remus linked their hands all the same and kissed his cheek before getting both their bags out of the back.

Jules was playing hopscotch with the checkerboard of ice patches on the sidewalk; it had snowed while they were at practice, after all. There was a faint bark from inside and Jules gasped happily, racing toward the front door with reckless abandon and pressing his face against the wood. “Hi, Hattie-girl!”

Sirius unlocked the door, bending slightly to absorb her impact as she tumbled into them both and covered Jules’ face in kisses, wiggling to pieces with sheer joy. She sprinted for her toy box and grabbed a knotted rope, trotting back to Jules for him to grab the other end and tug.

“Do we have leftovers from last night?’ Remus called from the doorway when Sirius headed into the kitchen.

“I don’t think so, but we have turkey. How does a sandwich sound?”

“F—uh, really great.” Remus grimaced as he walked in and dropped his wallet on the counter. “I have got to be better about my language. Mom’s still mad at me for teaching Jules to say ‘fuck’, and that was years ago.”

“You had no qualms about teaching Harry bad words.”

“And you had no qualms about being on a desert island without me,” Remus said coolly. “Yet here we are.”

“Touché.” Sirius turned around to construct the sandwiches and felt someone lightly slap his ass. He laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Remus grinned, stealing a slice of cheese from his small pile and hopping up to sit on the counter.

“I don’t know why you do that.”

“Slap your ass or steal food? I do both because I love you.”

“I meant sitting on the counter. You know, where we eat.”

“I like to feel extra tall,” Remus said, reaching for another slice of cheese until Sirius gently smacked his hand away.

“Shortie.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s a bad word,” Jules said from the doorway with a smile. He looked quite disheveled from playing with the dog.

Remus sighed. “It is, indeed. Don’t repeat it.”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

“I could.”

“I’ll tell mom.”

“She’d blame you for teaching me.”

“I’ll tell dad.”

“He’d think it was hilarious, and then he’d tell mom and she’d chew you out.”

Remus rolled his eyes and scooted over to make room for Jules to hop up next to him. Sirius threw his hands in the air. “Both of you! What the hell? Who taught you to do that?”

They shared a glance and shrugged. Sirius was starting to understand why people thought it was creepy how similar he and Regulus looked. “It’s a side effect of being the wiry kids on the block when everyone else is taller,” Remus said, snorting as Jules flexed his skinny arms.

Sirius handed them each a sandwich and, with a heavy sigh, boosted himself up to join them. The marble was cold, but it was…kind of fun to swing his legs and get a few extra inches of height. “I think he likes it,” Jules stage-whispered to Remus.

“It’s not horrible,” Sirius conceded, taking a bite of his food.

“Come to the Dark Side, we have the best places to sit.”

Jules widened his eyes and wiggled his fingers at Sirius until they were all laughing too hard to actually eat, then fell into silence as hunger took precedence after not having anything substantial since breakfast. “Are you good with reading or watching TV for a bit while we take a nap?” Remus asked between sips of water. Jules nodded, still making his way through his sandwich.

“What’re we doing after?”

Sirius paused at the same time Remus stopped halfway through a drink of water. They made eye contact, and he knew they were thinking the exact same thing: oh, fuck, we actually have to do things with a child around. “Uh, we’re…going to the park,” Remus said.

Jules made a happy noise around his sandwich and swung his legs. “Cool!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Okay, mom.”

----------------------------------------

The park was a winter wonderland, to say the least. Four inches of snow coated the grassy field and weighed down the branches of the trees lining the playfield, where about a dozen kids built snowmen with their parents. Hattie’s breath fogged the window as they parked and her wagging tail lightly smacked Jules’ forehead every few seconds.

Jules was out of the car the second Sirius turned the engine off, grabbing Hattie’s leash and leaping into the nearest snowbank with a whoop. Remus burst out laughing and followed him with a final glance over his shoulder to Sirius.

They were making halfhearted snow angels when he finally wandered over to the snowbank. They looked so peaceful, so content and happy.

Remus gasped when the first snowball hit him dead center in his chest. Jules laughed even harder until the next one landed in the neck of his coat and poured a veritable waterfall of snow down his front. They both stared up at Sirius in shock and betrayal; he grinned and tucked his chilly hands into his pockets.

“Go for the legs, Jules,” Remus advised as he scrambled up, keeping one hand on his beanie so it didn’t fall off.

Sirius barely made it three steps before Jules grabbed him around the shin and nearly tripped him. He did his best not to drag the kid face-first through the snow, but Jules didn’t seem to mind as he hooked an arm around his other ankle and Remus collided with his shoulder, sending all three of them to the ground in a heap. “Ugh.”

“Gotcha,” Jules said, clambering onto his chest with a breathless smile. Hattie, who had come over to see what all the fuss was about, began licking his half-frozen ear.

Remus sprinkled a handful of snow onto his face, slowly obscuring his view until everything was icy and white. “Vengeance is sweet, huh, buddy?”

“Totally.”

Sirius wiped the snow away and blinked up at two pairs of amber eyes. “I surrender?”

“I should hope so,” Remus laughed as he stood up and brushed himself off, offering a hand to help him to his feet. He kissed his nose in consolation as Jules took Hattie’s leash and ran off toward the playfield, where he would no doubt make seven new best friends within the hour.

“Cute kid,” a middle-aged woman with a kind smile said as she stopped next to them.

“Isn’t he?” Sirius smiled as Hattie rolled onto her back for belly rubs from three different kids.

“How old?”

“Ten.”

Her eyebrows rose and she looked at Remus. “You must have been young when you had him.”

“What? Oh, no, he’s my little brother!” he said quickly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, you just look so similar,” she laughed, clearly embarrassed.

“No worries, it happens all the time. Which one is yours?”

She pointed to a giggling little girl on the swings, whose dark curls were braided back into a poofy bun. “Lena turned twelve yesterday.”

“Aw, happy birthday to her!” Sirius wrapped his arm around Remus’ waist and put his hand in his back pocket, pulling him close for warmth. They both waved to Jules when he looked over and beamed at them.

The temperature dropped rapidly as four thirty came and the sun began to set; soon, the fat flakes of snow grew smaller and icier as they flurried around the park. Lena and her mother left about half an hour before Remus started bouncing on his toes in an effort to keep warm. Sirius considered himself a decent fiancé, so he figured it would be best to not let Remus freeze solid.

Jules was damp and shivering with melted snow when they got back to the house and Hattie immediately laid down in front of the heater vent as he ran upstairs for a hot bath; Remus and Sirius peeled their soaked outer layers off and hung them in the bathroom to dry.

“If he gets hypothermia, mom’s gonna kill me,” Remus muttered as he shook Jules’ scarf out over the bathtub, though Sirius could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

“He’ll be fine,” he assured him with a gentle hip check. “We were only there for a couple hours and we left pretty quick after it got really cold.”

“He was shivering in the car.”

“Re.” Sirius set his coat down and took Remus’ face between his hands. “Jules will be just fine.”

“We would be really good parents.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Not now, obviously, but I think we’d be good parents.” Sudden nervousness shadowed his face. “Sorry, that was way out of the blue. Do you—do you not want that?”

“No, I do! I really, really do but…we’ve never talked about it before. Like, in depth.” I wouldn’t be a good dad. I barely know what a good parent looks like, aside from yours and the Potters.

Remus relaxed. “Oh. Well, I don’t think it would be a great idea to adopt kids while we’re still working full time playing hockey, but in the future…” He shrugged, the edge of his mouth ticking up in a smile. “I think about it sometimes.”

“Me, too.” There was a splash upstairs and they both laughed. “Well, I guess we’re about to have an indoor swimming pool.”

“I’ll get the towels.”

------------------------------------

Sirius was almost done with the dinner dishes when he realized he hadn’t heard much noise from Jules’ room in quite a while, and yet Remus had yet to come back downstairs. He paused, listening to the muffled voices—no, not voices. Just one.

He rinsed the last plate and washed his hands, making a face at the weird soap texture and the ensuing dryness of his knuckles. There were few chores he genuinely disliked, but dishes were one of them.

The door to the guest bedroom was still open when he went upstairs, and a soft light shone out. He stopped in the doorway, a greeting dying in his throat.

“—‘hold it up!’ said Gandalf. ‘And look closely!’” Remus lowered his voice into a grumble as he read Gandalf’s lines; Jules was entranced, though he struggled to keep his eyes open for more than three seconds at a time. “As Frodo did so, he now saw fine lines, finer than the finest pen-strokes, running along the ring, outside and inside: lines of fire that seemed to form the letters of a flowing script.”

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Sirius, flushing faint pink. In the pause, Jules sighed softly. “Why’d you stop?”

“We’ll pick it up again tomorrow night,” Remus whispered, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “Sleep well, buddy.”

“Sweet dreams,” Sirius added.

Jules mumbled and snuggled deeper under the blankets while Remus set the book on the nightstand and turned the bedside lamp off.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sirius said as soon as he had closed the door behind them and they walked down the hall to their bedroom. “Was that The Hobbit?”

“Fellowship of the Ring. It’s one of my favorites, and he picked it up this afternoon while we were napping.” Remus pulled his shirt off and sifted through their sheets for his pajama pants. “Did you do the dishes?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, baby. That was really sweet of you.”

“You were busy being adorable.”

“Shush,” Remus scoffed, though the blush returned to his cheeks as he curled up under the covers and made grabby hands toward Sirius. “C’mere.”

The bed was cold when he laid down, but Remus was warm, and soon they were tangled together as the moon shone through their window. Sirius drifted off to slow breaths and dreams of the future, where maybe—just maybe—their kid wouldn’t have to leave after four more days. 

[muffindaddystyles]

Hershey Fucker.

Author's Note; here lies the great memory of long hair Harry. Long gone but never forgotten. A smut to make you clench your legs together, *laughs in evil*. Don't forget to gimme some love :(

Kaleidoscopic lights flares around you as you stirred the straw of your margarita dodging the glunk of strawberry. Your eyes anchored at the spindiling lean figure of the emerald eyed monster, jaw tight that of greek god, umber spiral of curls kissing the sharply cuts of his face and it glows as if he has used your highlighter.

You scoff when he puckers his lips around the rim of whiskey giving a fist bump in praise.

It's been going on from the time you stepped inside the club. He's being a pain in arse. Having none of shame giving a harsh squeeze to your butt while leading you, leaning close to whisper words straight outta dirty erotica, throwing you his signature cocky smirks and brush of noses while he adjusted his daddy long legs nudging them in between your knees as you both sat on the high-stools of the bar.

You shake your head in exasperation smiling to yourself when he caught the wrist of bartender pointing at it with slurred eyes and bubbly lips, "nice tat, lad. looks sexy on ya." You know he's trying to make you jealous on purpose and it's quite endearing to see him try.

It makes your pussy weep, in all honesty. The fact that he's flirtatious in nature and when he speaks it feels like roses are falling from his lips would never fail to make you find him more ethereal. He owns that kinky charisma.

He kept on side glancing you while doing his antiques. Chatting with the bartender and complementing him with a lopsided grin, taking your hand for agreement because he's that annoying.

You practically lunges over him straddling his knee to brush your crimson coated lips agaisnt his earlobe while you whisper.

"Wanna go home." He furrows his brows together clearing his throat and gesturing you with his sparkling daunting gaze ','s that so?' when you sit back leaving a satisfied red smudgnes at his earlobe and higher jaw. You bob your head patting his knees and before your hands could sneak any higher he grabbed them, chugging the last of his whiskey and ruffling his wild tresses back to stand both of you on feet.

"Hmm. Was 'avin', fun weren't ye'?" He asks looping his forearms around your front protectively and keeping you close to him while making an exit from the crowd.

"Ehm. dunno, hot bartender." He scrunches his nose at this pinching your hip-bone rasping out in his thick chapel's accent.

"Thought ye'r same thought, babe." You cackle at this loudly gasping audibly when the cold zephyr of London enveloped you. He immediately kisses your head stroking his thumb against the nape of your neck.

"'Ere lemme be ye'r personal heater." He cacoons the warm coat he's wearing around your body pulling you to his chest, his exposed pecks coming in contact with your own bare shoulders making both of you hiss. "Better hurry up, wan' to get wrapped 'round your warmth." You laugh at his chaotic humour hitting him with elbow.

On reaching the car that's parked at the very end of parking lot you spin in his hold gazing deep into his jade and he sucks his bottom lip inside his mouth when you grab his face, squishing his blushed chill cheeks in process.

You part your lips infront of him glazing your wet tongue all over your plump lips to give him a little show before pulling him closer to smear them against his stiff ones, you kiss him sloppily letting your saliva drool around the corners of his lips lapping onto his tongue messily.

"Mhmp. Ye' know your sloppiness turn meh on s' bad." He grunts with fog huffing out sliding his large palm under your thigh to grope your ass and haul your leg around his waist as you lean over the bonnet of car. He glides his thumb from your decolletage to the hilt of your chin tilting it to deepen the already erotic kiss, tasting the insides of your cheeks.

He captures your bottom lip in between his bunny teeth pulling it with floppy sound. He looks down upon you with lust blow irirses wide spreading his legs to straddle your bare thighs and to rub his knee against your soaked centre.

"Meh filthy girl's jealous t' 'er fuckin' core, innit?" You shake your head left and right in utter innocence. He laughs at your effort. Degradingly, intimidatingly rough from his chest that prominents your heavy breathing and a soapy patch of arousal in your thong.

"Now lyin' t' meh aren't ya, bunny." He smirks with stern brows tapping your chin and your dainty squeak traps in your lungs when he yanks you off the bonnet against the door side of the car squeezing between the two cars for less visibility of the dirty things they're about to do.

He kisses the dip where your shoulder meets your neck trailing his parted lips between your breasts tweaking your nipples harshly from the flimsy cloth, "not jealous, right?" He mumbles grazing his teeth against your jawline pecking the corner of your lips.

"No." You choke out slip shutting your eyes and letting your head fall against the window as he thrusts the buldge of his thick hard cock in his pants against your cunt, one hand gripping your hip with bruising force you love other around your throat.

"Not even if I'll be...on me knees fo' him? He heaves out flushing your sweaty chests together and your eyes rolls to your skull with his pressure building on your throat, you grind against him with moans of ecastasy him perfectly rubbing up and down between your weepy pussy lips.

He smirks in victory knowing it's warming you up so he continues in slurred seductiveness, "no' when I'll beg fo' his cock in me mouth? fo' him to deep throat meh, t' fuck me mouth?" You whimper. Shivering hands reaching for him, instead of grabbing them as he usually do with gentleness he wrapped his one palm around your wrists locking them atop your head roughly.

He slaps your pussy and you ducked forward crying out with pleasure into his chest. He tugs at your thong ripping it to shreds and stuffing it to his pocket, "when I'll spread me legs fo' him...." His hard on poking against your stomach as he toyed with your clit. He swipes the tip of his fingers up and down circling it around your weeping hole collecting your moisturizer and snaking it up past your mound and tummy to nipples wetting them. Actually, making a complete mess of you.

"Harry..." You whine raising your hips and he spanks your thigh tapping your chin to open up stuffing his fingers into your mouth, "shut up and suck." You swirls your tongue around his slender digits; a string of saliva attached with your lips as he pulled them out.

"Tell meh ye're jealous, 'n I'll give ye'r tight pussy meh fingers." He pinches your clitoris flickering it into rapid motions, "wh-why should i? when m' not." you spurts out. Tears in your eyes as he eggs you on removing his fingers the moment you were about to soak his digits.

He tuts pushing his dick hard against you, "ye' wouldn't if he'd fuck meh in arse again 'n again, if he'd take me in his mouth 'n play with meh balls like yeh do?" He asks in a low voice looking down in between himself and you, the sight makes him growl as he gave a minute to your imaginations to run wild.

"Ah..ah–daddy, please." You're thrashing in his arms but he doesn't give much attention to it spitting on your cunt and fondling with your sensitive nerves. Harry's a prick that gets what he wants even when you're dripping down your legs for him.

"Answer meh, Y/N! Wouldn't ask again." He grits with a threatening voice and you bobbed your head vigorously. "Use ye'r words." He hovers his middle finger over your entrance.

"Course, I will." He pecks your lips with satisfied grin shoving his middle finger knuckles deep inside your sloppy pussy without any warning causing you to go feral that he had to hold you in one place, "warm like always." He grunts slipping it in and out joining another. Curling it against your spongy walls to quench out moans and whimpers from you.

He digs his teeth inside the flesh of your shoulder and you coiled your arms around him tightly, "oh my god, fuck. fuck. fuck." Your shouts muffles against him as he continuously massaged your g-spot, siscorsing his fingers to fuck you raw with them. He cups his calloused palm and rubs the heel of it against your swollen clit.

"Tell daddy how ye' feel." You kneaded your breasts stuttering with difficulty, "'s good daddy but wan' your cock, inside me." He thwacks your bum groping it and roughly slamming his fingers inside you his metal cold rings brushing against your sticky pussy lips.

"Don't like it when yeh act greedy." You ignore his sharp tone sensing your orgasm build in your tummy and spreading like a wildfire to your bones.

"'cum–m'. May..I come, daddy? Please." You rocked on his hand using his shoulders for leverage, "cum like a sweet good girl yeh are." He says kissing you slowly and you tugged at the lapels of his coat cumming hard on his fingers coating it with your thick cum.

He hugged you swaying you feet to feet one hand still pushing inside you with brutal pace to take every drop from you. His wrist glistening with your cum and wetness in an instant his mood switching, "backseat, spread your legs. I wan' your pussy ready fo' me."

.

MASTERLIST.

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles blurb #fluff #harry angst #daddy harry #dom harry #harr styles one shot #harry styles dirty one shot #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #hsh #harry styles imagine #cute harry #dirty harry styles imagines

[maxwell-grant]

AIUI, Burbank is even more a question mark than The Shadow is; we don't know if that's a personal name, surname, or nickname, we no nothing of his past, his personal life, or even (again, AIUI) his personality. Is that something that should be kept in adaptations, or ought he be developed more?

Both.

The thing about developing a mystery is that you still need to have something in place to purposefully obscure or slowly reveal. You still need to give your audience tidbits and information here and there that makes them want to learn more and find out what the answer is, even if they know it's never really happening, even if the answer couldn't possibly live up to the hype.

Twin Peaks was able to delay the mystery of Laura Palmer's murder for an entire season and more partially because Laura Palmer had such an rich, troubled inner life and turmoil, that we could gradually receive snippets of information regarding it every episode and still not know the whole story, so much so that, even after we learned who did it, there were still many, many stories to be told within Laura Palmer's life and the city. This holds true for The Shadow, and it holds true for Burbank.

Gibson successfully created intrigue regarding Burbank because, not only was Burbank a crucially important figure in The Shadow's organization and therefore someone we'd want to know more about, but because everytime Burbank showed up to play a substantial role, you could gleam something new about him. Burbank is a great example of staging in The Shadow pulps because his scenes are often written as if we were watching a movie where the head of our main character keeps being blocked from view, until it's revealed, and it doesn't really help us understand him much better than before, even though we've come to learn more about what he acts and looks like.

In fact, The Shadow even seems to be aware of this, such as in the scene below when the narration goes to great lenghts to obscure Burbank's face, even in a scene when there is literally no one around but Burbank and The Shadow. Why go through this much trouble to obscure Burbank from no one but the reader? Why not just refrain from describing what he looks like instead of making sure we can't even imagine what he looks like in our heads in the scene? What's the mystery over what's ostensibly just an average quiet-faced man? And so Burbank doesn't become just a mystery, but a tantalizing one.

The fellow's back was toward the light; since the elevator was dark, it was impossible to distinguish his features. When he helped The Shadow carry the boxes to an open apartment, the bulky objects came in front of the man's face. Since the apartment was dark, too, the features of this silent companion remained as concealed as The Shadow's own.

The fact pleased The Shadow. The less people who saw Burbank, the better - Voice of Death

For example, we do know where Burbank's name comes from, and potentially his first name. In both “The Shadow Laughs” and “The Case Of Congressman Coyd,” Burbank is referred to as “Mr. Burbank,” which indicates it's a last name. In The Death Giver, Burbank hands Harry a business card

At three fifteen, the stenographer entered and tendered Harry a card. It bore the name:

L. BURBANK MOTION PICTURE OPERATOR

A later story specifically namedrops famous horticulturist Luther Burbank, and according to Will Murray, Walter Gibson did confirm to him personally that Burbank was named after Luther Burbank.

We know Burbank's main feature is that he's "quiet-faced" with a "soft, even-toned voice", and that characters can recognize Burbank by his voice even when his face is obscured, but his look isn't consistent. His sole appearence in a cover comes from The Lone Tiger, where he seems to be past his fifties and being semi-bald, but it's not how he looks in Edd Cartier's illustration where he's got a hairdo. Both seem to be somewhat based on Dr David Burbank, the New Hampshire dentist who founded the city. He's been said to be at least 40 once, and this in itself is at odds with some descriptions that place Burbank as younger than The Shadow and describe him as "a young man with a solemn look", which is more in line with how he tends to be depicted in comics, particularly the blonde man with the eyepiece designed by Michael Kaluta.

We know he was officially introduced after Harry Vincent and Claude Fellows, but that apparently he's known The Shadow for quite a while, as he (as Cranston) refers to Burbank as "an old friend" in his introduction (is he an old friend of Cranston as well?). Robert Sampson speculated that the two met in 1924 at a radio station, where as Rick Lai speculates that Burbank may have been recruited in an unrecorded adventure in Rio de Janeiro, mentioned in Gypsy Vengeance, that took place between the first and second novels.

We know that Burbank is at a rather unique position among the agents because he is maybe the most important figure in The Shadow's network, the main keeper of The Shadow's secrets, the one entrusted to run the organization on The Shadow's absence, the only one who can directly reach The Shadow in the Sanctum, and if anyone knows anything about whatever secrets there are in The Shadow's past, it's definitely him, but he's also the one we know the least about as a person, and contrary to the other agents, Burbank is often described in mechanized terms, which gives him a rather inhuman aura somewhat different than that of The Shadow's.

In a sense, Burbank was the mainspring of the machinery that The Shadow used in his warfare against crime.

As contact man, he kept in touch with all the active agents; there were times when he actually ran things, during The Shadow's absence. Tonight was one of those rare occasions when Burbank was needed on active duty.

Nevertheless, the human cogwheel had connected up a switchboard and had a short−wave radio set handy, so that he could continue his contact duties from this empty apartment - Voice of Death

When emergency demanded, Burbank served as he now was serving. Instead of making calls to the deserted sanctum, he was issuing orders in The Shadow's stead. - The Key

Everytime Burbank gets any sort of spotlight, we learn a little more about him, who he is, what he can't and can do. His methods, what he does to spend the time, some of the things he does for The Shadow outside of communications like planting recording devices in criminal hide-outs and devising or managing electrical devices and The Shadow's advanced technology (even if he doesn't fully understand it).

"Burbank began his own attempt to scale the wall. Ordinarily, his clutches would have been inadequate, and his toe holds were uncertain. But the wire was drawing upward under The Shadow's haul. It gave the needed support whenever Burbank floundered. The Shadow could actually sense his agent's progress by the varying strain upon the wire. At last, Burbank flopped over the roof edge like a landed fish" - Masters of Death

There were remarkable devices here. Burbank understood some of them, but the millionaire alone was familiar with all the equipment - Eyes of The Shadow

“To Burbank, long, lone vigils were nothing. He was not a man of action; he was one of endurance. Prompt, precise and always dependable, Burbank had served The Shadow well.“ - The Key

During his long hours of duty, he resorted to one methodical habit as he bided away the time. He always had a supply of chewing gum.” - The Killer

Burbank leaned back in his chair. His position was one of patient relaxation. While he awaited new telephone calls, his attitude was one of complete passivity. There was nothing excitable in the make-up of this man who sat with his back toward the light. Yet Burbank was a man of amazing endurance. In place of action, he exercised untiring vigilance. It was this quality that made him a most important factor in the affairs of that amazing personage known as The Shadow - The Killer

Burbank is, at once, the barrier between the agents (and by extension, us) and The Shadow, as well as the bridge that allows the agents (and us) to find and reach The Shadow.

And I do like it that Burbank's specifically said to not be cut for action, that he's not really a fighter or a marksman or even a super tech genius, on paper he's really just a guy who sits in a chair all day fiddling with radio equipment. But he is still cool and impressive by the standards of what matters most in The Shadow's world. He's patient and resourceful and vigilant and clever and trustworthy, and he's someone that The Shadow trusts more so than anyone else.

There was no sound of the door closing; no sound, indeed, to indicate that any person had moved in that direction. Yet Burbank knew, from experience, that his master, The Shadow, had departed, after giving him the sign that his vigil was ended.

Such word usually came from The Shadow’s sanctum. Tonight, being in the vicinity of Burbank’s present station, The Shadow had preferred to give his faithful agent fifteen or twenty minutes of extra respite by visiting him in person

Such was the way of The Shadow. Though none of his trusted operatives had ever seen his undisguised face; though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them; they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation - Death Triangle

In Suite 808, a figure was seated in front of the writing table. It was The Shadow, in his guise as Arnaud; Burbank was off duty, asleep in the other room.

The telephone buzzed; The Shadow answered it. He spoke in a quiet, methodical tone, a perfect imitation of Burbank's voice. Harry Vincent reported - The Case of Congressman Coyd

On one hand, I don't think the "mystery" of Burbank is ever going to be ruined, or should be ruined. But on the other hand, I definitely think there's a lot of room to explore more regarding what exactly is he as a person, as an agent, what kind of roles he plays, what is his connection to The Shadow or what relationship he has with other agents or other people he's meant to be in more direct contact with. I think it's a matter of balance.

There's a lot of room to work with particularly regarding how you could adapt Burbank into adaptations set in different time periods (not necessarily modern day), because with how communication technology had advanced beyond imagination, there's a lot of ways you could adapt or recontextualize Burbank, The Shadow's social network.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the shadow #shadow magazine #burbank #shadow comics

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

19. Love have no bounds

Prompt used - high fiving | fluff | Harry finally delivers his unrequited love to Draco | unedited

" do you think this shelf would go along with the white drawers in my bed room ?" Harry asked as he surfed Ikea along with Draco

" you want something in contrast with the walls of your bedroom and your drawers Harry and red is the last thing that should do, why don't you check those brown shelves, they're pretty good. They would look good with your roof window you know " Draco pointed towards the brown shelves while picking up something's for Harry's new apartment.

Harry smiled at draco for a moment " you always know the best "

" I mean don't underestimate my taste, it's purely elite " Draco gave a tiny laugh

" even when it comes to relationships?" Harry joked

" now that i think of it, the guy I like seems pretty oblivious so I think maybe not so elite " Draco replied smiling to himself

" why don't you just tell him you like him then ?" He asked

Draco frowned stopping for examining the kitchen essentials " he's- it's not that simple. We're great friend's but I think he doesn't like me that way "

" oh " Harry pouted pushing his hands into his pockets before joining along Draco in kitchen essentials. They didn't really talk about it after that. The truth was Draco had been head over heels for Harry ever since the war, he always knew somewhere he liked Harry but only became aware of his feelings after the war but the more troubling part was whenever Draco tried to indicate it, Harry would just freak out and do something so casual as if they're like brothers and it would ruin the moment and draco would be forced to simply drop it. It happened so much that Draco had completely given up trying to make a move on Harry a long time ago but his feelings haven't really left him at all, it's hard to not fall for someone more each day when they're around you so much.

They were outside in the park after shopping sitting on the bench eating ice cream when Harry finally talked after all

" Draco ?"

" hmm"

" There's this place that I know - well uh- Someone suggested it " Harry awkwardly fumbled with his jeans avoiding looking at Draco.

Draco was immune to harry freaking out easily yet he couldn't help but feel giddy about how after all this time Harry had finally decided to maybe make a move.

" what's the place like ?" Draco controlled his hyperventilating emotions to ask something casual. Maybe this was it.

" well it's a new Riverside restaurant, the foods delicious and I was wondering .."

" wondering what ?"

" if- If you'd maybe like to come along ?" Harry finally asked.

" like -"

" yeah like with everyone " Harry interjected almost jumping up in his seat.

" oh " something hauled in Draco's stomach like a huge weight was dropped and suddenly he was very much aware of his tounge in his mouth. He rubbed his nose with his index finger before giving Harry a warming smile " sure yeah, that'd be great. Who all are going to be there ?"

" yeah - I think Ron , mione, you could maybe ask pansy and Theo to come along. I'll see if I can get Ginny and Luna to come " Harry smiled.

" uh yeah sure- you know what you take care of Ron and Hermione, I'll ask Luna and pansy. Theo's out of state for some business so he won't make it " Draco replied in a strained voice, his clutch on his ice cream too hard to almost break it.

" great then " Harry said and raised his right arm " Draco, high five " Draco raised his eyebrows for a moment as if not actually believing Harry had done that but nonetheless in a fake happiness he gave him a high five and ate the rest of this ice cream in the loneliness of his broken heart.

" you've been strangely quiet " Harry asked as he walked Draco home

" oh- it's nothing- just a little brain freeze from the ice cream and tired. I'll see you at that restaurant with others tomorrow night then " Draco gave him a firm smile and without a goodbye closed the door behind him. He pressed his back against the front door sliding down, closing his eyes with his hands over his face rubbing it slowly, harsh breaths leaving his lips.

" fuck " Draco whispered to himself hitting his thighs wanting to scream for even thinking that Harry could've possibly after all this time would've reciprocated any feelings as such. He cursed himself repeatedly for being so stupid, so stupid to believe any of such sort. Rubbing his eyes he finally got up and just sleept his sadness away.

" honey- I'm so sorry about that. I mean I thought after all this time -"

" yes so did I pans but you know what I'm done with his shit. He can go fuck himself, I don't care. I don't care even a little bit" Draco harshly said as he put on shoes for the night

" but Draco, you do care, you care so much that after all this time you still love him the same " came a small whisper from the girl in blue. Luna.

Draco's eyes softened upto Luna " I - maybe I do but I have to stop caring. It's been years, I've been in love with him for as long as I can remember but it's clear isn't it, he just doesn't see me that way and I can't care about it even if I want to. He doesn't like me and that's the bottom line and I have to accept the harsh truth "

" he's a git " Ginny said annoyed almost stomping the floor in the process

" yes, the git I've been In love with unfortunately . Shall we ?" He gave them a small smile. With pity they nodded and everyone apparated to the said address.

When Harry had said the restaurant was by the Riverside, draco didn't actually believe it would be Riverside but he was surprised to see that it just by the river and beyond perfect. The lights on the coast and the leaves on the surface of the river with the exquisite sight of river was perfect, perfect for a date which Draco unfortunately wasn't on one.

And just in mere seconds he saw Harry come in with Hermione and Ron, Hermione harshly Whispering something to harry before she saw the others and immediately turned her lips into a gentle smile.

" evening, table for 7 I suppose " the waitress said, Harry nodded claiming he had a reservation and finally when they were seated, it didn't take long for everyone to erupt into conversation, everyone except Draco who was admiring the beauty of the river.

" hey " he heard across the table and looked upto see Harry smiling at him

Draco gave him another small smile.

" you're very quiet, everything alright ?" Harry asked leaning over so they could have a little more privacy.

" everythings fine " Draco gave a curt nod before picking up his wine and Turning to Ginny on his side and talking about quidditch.

They were half way through the conversation when Draco saw someone across the table sitting along and instantly recognising him from work

" Thomas ?" Draco called out. The guy instantly looked up and gave him a firm wave.

" mind me " Draco said as he got up from the table and joined thomas in a little conversation which seemed like a small playful argument from Harry's side before he came back to the table.

" would you guys mind if invite Thomas to join us, he just got stood up on his date and he's just in a bit of a shitty place?" He asked. Everyone nodded except Harry.

" Harry ?" Draco finally asked him

" huh - I mean yeah sure- I don't mind " he said and instantly turned to his drink and gulped it down. Frowning Draco walked away and asked Thomas to join. Within minutes the entire table filled with much more conversations and funny anecdotes from Thomas, everyone loved him but Harry. He didn't even say anything, for the rest of the night he had chosen silence and Frankly Draco didn't wanted to care much, but, he did.

After the dinner while everyone was departing and draco was paying for Thomas's dinner, Harry joined him.

" nice guy Thomas huh" he said as he took out his card

" yeah " Draco said without looking up from the bill and finally took his wallet and paid in cash.

Once everyone had left, Draco was saying goodbye to Thomas by the river while harry waited for him so he could walk home with him but it took him forever and harry was almost bored of waiting but didn't leave.

" what are you still doing here ?" Draco furrowed his eyebrows as he finally looked at harry waiting kicking rocks.

" waiting for you " Harry replied as if it was so obvious. Ignoring the tone Draco bobbed his head in forward direction for him to join along for the walk.

" so he's the oblivious guy ?" Harry asked as he pushed one of his down his pocket while the other hung his jacket on his back.

" what ?" Draco asked confused, looking at harry only for a moment, as if it'd make him forget of his Beauty.

" the guy you like. Seems like it worked out for you tonight " Harry didn't look up from the road

" what? You think I like Thomas ?" Draco questioned exasperated

" seemed evident. You guys were all over each other, laughing about, having fun " the bitterness could be heard even by a deaf man but Draco refused to get his expectations up this time. He have had plentiful of Harry's heartbreaks to take another one because of false expectations.

" i- I don't like Thomas. I only invited him because he got stood up by his date " Draco replied irritated

" yeah so you swooped in became the nice guy and now he won't stop thinking about you and the next thing you know you both would be snogging each other off at office" Harry clenched his jaw finally looking up Draco's irritated face.

Draco stopped dead in his track out of disbelief in whatever Harry was saying, it was unlike him to say anything like that.

" he's not the one I like"

" right " Harry sarcastically replied raising his eyebrows before looking away from Draco to the side

" I - I can't believe you right now. Out of all the People you are not supposed to react this way " Draco pointed his finger at harry for emphasis

" me ? " Harry rolled his eyes

" yes you ! You are the last person to act jealous about me inviting Thomas over on the table. You shouldn't even be jealous of him" Draco's voice raised a little in annoyance, thankfully the streets were empty.

" jealous ? Why would I be jealous, there's no reason for me to be jealous, I'm just saying you have a good shot with him " Harry irritability said

" good shot- I - god - I can't believe you Harry. You think I should date him ?" He asked crossing his arms in front of him

" I don't see why not, he's nice and smart and cute and exactly your type" Harry clenched his fists on his side's..

" my type ? How exactly do you know my type Harry, or you're just assuming that just because I invited a guy over I want to snog him " Draco huffed closing the distance between them

" I know what' your type is-"

" no you freaking don't Harry. Thomas is not my type, you're my fucking type. You're the bloody git I like but if you want me to go off on date with him, I might as well do that because apparently we're never working out because you're never going to feel the same way " his voice broke with each step he took closer to harry but didn't let his emotions get the best of him.. " for you I'll ask him out on a date. It's time for me to move on anyways" Draco Whispered ,stepped back and walked by Harry. He didn't wanted to see Harry's face, he didn't wanted to see the face of rejection but above all he didn't wanted Harry to see him cry. Draco pushed his hair back as he started walking off alone thinking if this was really the end of it all until he heard the voice behind him.

" you're the stupid git " Draco turned around to see Harry walked fastly towards him

" me?" Draco asked annoyed

" yes you" Harry replied as he was almost face to face with Draco again

" Enlighten me why?"

" because you thought I never felt the same way-"

" don't make up rubbish -"

" you're stupid to think that I haven't spent most of life loving you, that all this time I've been so In love with you that I rejected every date I ever got asked for, you're stupid to think that all this time I didn't know you loved me the way I did, you're stupid to think that I'd let some other man take away the only man I've ever been in love with, you're stupid, you're stupid Because I'm in love with you, you're stupid to think that all this time I didn't make a move because you thought I didn't like you but the truth is I didn't make a move because you're too good to be true, Because I don't want to wake up one day and know that I don't have you anymore, because I don't want to lose you, because everything I've loved had been snatched away from me but I don't want that. You're so fuckin stupid to think all of that you stupid git " Harry Whispered tear Falling off from his left eye.

Stunned with Harry's word, Draco blinked away his tear and gave small laugh " I am a stupid git "

" but I want to be yours stupid git Harry, how long would it take for you to figure out. You're never going to lose me, there's nothing else left to lose to, you're the stupid git to think that I would wake up one day and walk away from the only best thing in my life. And you will be stupid to think that I haven't loved you every morning I've woken up. You are my first thought and my last thought Harry and I can promise you, you'd never, ever lose me"

" you promise ?" Harry choked on a smile with tears now rolling down his face.

" I promise" Draco smiled wiping off Harry's tears before cupping his face and kissed him..

Neither of them actually ever believed that love was magical, that a kiss can be so magical that you'd lose sense of where you are, that when you kiss Someone you love after so long feels like returning home. They didn't thought that kissing each other would be the best thing they'd ever done in life but when they did, they lost all sense of who they are, where they are and what they are and only remembered kissing each other. When they did kiss, they weren't on earth, they were in their own magical world where there was Only the two of them, and when they kissed it felt like they had been doing this all their life. Only they didn't realise that even after being so in love, they could still love each other more that they would want to spend the rest of their lives together one day, but that's about love, it surprises us.

Requests open

Day 18 - game for losers | Day 20- safe with me

#drarry #harry potter #drarry incorrect quotes #draco x harry #hp fandom #harry james potter #drarry prompt #draco is gay #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #drarry incorrect posts #drarry headcanon #drarry oneshot #drarry ao3 #drarry au #drarry stuff #drarry squad #drarry ship #drarry prompts #draco malfoy headcanon #harry potter headcanon