#This week's been all silly and distracted somehow it's been hard to focus I wonder why lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wroteasongabouther · 4 years

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can’t stand to see you lonely: part 3

a/n: we love a little throwback with this gif, my heart 😭 again, i can’t thank you all enough for the love you’ve shown my writing it’s truly the sweetest thing and i’m happy you guys are liking the story so far! this was is the longest part so far with a lot happening, so happy reading! remember to leave some feedback and reblog cause it’s always appreciated.

and as always, thanks to the lovely jess @arrogantstyles and jill @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading ❤️

word count: 19k

warnings: mentions of a partner cheating (f*** mark), minor mention of drugs (aka weed lol), alcohol consumption (tequila anyone?), and serious! sexual! tense!

fic page // let’s chat // cstsyl playlist

Y/N didn’t realize she had left Harry’s apartment the other day with his hoodie on until the next morning when she had woken up to the sweet smell of faint lavender and laundry soap. She didn’t return the hoodie, though. In fact, she shamelessly slept in the hoodie for three more nights; it was just really comfortable, she tries to convince herself that’s the only reason she’s wearing it to bed each night. It wasn’t because the smell that calmed her, reminding her of that dimpled smile and dazzling green eyes that would wander into her dreams every night now and then. And it was especially not because she found herself falling for those same pair of eyes, no, not a shred of feelings besides friendship there.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Sammy deadpans.

“What are you talking about now?” Y/N questions, keeping her eyes on her phone as she texts back Harry.

“You and your little affair,” Sammy quips back. His choice of words causes Y/N’s head to quickly snap up and look at her friend. He’s giving her a bored look, a smug little smile on his face that makes Y/N narrow her eyes.

“I am not having an affair, Sammy, so let’s not start that rumour around the office, please,” Y/N says to him in a hushed voice. “Plus, Mark hasn’t bothered to call or text me in almost a week now. So, I’m pretty sure the next time we do talk it will be to end things officially,” Y/N explains, her voice falling flat as she feels her heart rate pick up just thinking of her and Mark breaking up. Regardless of the fact he’s hurt her feelings, annoyed her and so on - it’s still a break up, and they really freaking suck.

“I sure hope so,” Sammy says. “You know I’m team Harry all the way,” he gives Y/N a wicked smile which she only rolls her eyes at.

There were no teams to be on, she thinks. She was just becoming friends with Harry, and yeah, she found him ridiculously attractive and really sweet too, but she wasn’t dumping Mark for him or anything. If she was dumping Mark it was because of how their relationship turned out, without Harry’s help, and how neither of them are benefitting from being together anymore. Hell, they didn’t even have sex last time he was in the city. It also didn’t have to do with the fact that Y/N would be nervous that Harry could hear them. Nope that thought didn’t cross her mind not even once - Y/N finds herself biting on her bottom lip as she’s deep in thought and trying to convince herself certain things.

Her phone buzzes where she left it on her desk brings her back to reality. She picks it up and swipes up as the face ID recognizes her, opening up the messages, between her and Harry, that she was previously on. Y/N can’t help it as a chuckle leaves her lips. She notices how Sammy leans back in his chair and raises a brow at her, but she chooses to ignore him and instead keeps watching the gif Harry sent on loop over and over again.

It was a cartoon Santa, dabbing. Yes, Harry used a gif that had to do with a trend from the world's youth. Y/N never would have guessed Harry even knew what dabbing was. She holds back another chuckle and looks up a gif to respond to his. She goes for one that’s a cartoon of Rudolph, his nose lighting up like a strobe light as he dances on two legs. It’s silly, but she’s enjoying this back and forth texting of stupid Christmas themed gifs. It’s been going on for about five minutes and she doesn’t even know why or how it started, but she loves it.

How’s work so far today? Harry texts after sending a gif of the Olaf the snowman from Frozen, dancing in the field of flowers. Y/N tilts her head to the side and leans further back in her seat, stretching her legs under her desk. The work that was on her desk was long forgotten when her and Harry began texting earlier.

It’s good, I finally have a few moments of downtime at my desk. We had like four clients in this morning for some fittings for the many Christmas parties going on next week. Y/N sends that off before typing, How’s your day? Write anything good yet?

Glad it’s less busy now, don’t let me distract you with all these amazing Christmas gifs though. And I’ve got a few things written while at the cafe, finally found the right melody for another song I was working on last week. Harry types out to Y/N, biting on the nail of his thumb after hitting send. He’s been leaning on the guitar in his lap for the past twenty minutes. That melody was found, but pushed away after he got into texting Y/N.

Not too distracting, although I think Sammy is jealous no one’s sending him any silly gifs. A second text shows up only seconds later, Harry’s sometimes surprised at how fast Y/N can type. And that’s good though! Will I ever get to hear you play in person besides through the wall our apartments share?

Harry smiles over his thumb at the first text but then is biting at his nail again as he reads over the second bubble a few times. He isn’t too surprised that she can hear him play from her apartment, but he is surprised she’s asking to hear him play. He doesn’t think he’s all that great of a guitar player. It’s kind of hard to think when he’s best mates with one of the best guitar players in the industry; Mitch could outplay him any day. Harry stops biting on his nail and hovers his thumbs over his keyboard. Although he’s usually too nervous to just sit and play for someone, he finds himself imagining playing for Y/N.

Tell Sammy I’ll send him some gifs too if he wants. And as for playing for you, maybe... if you catch me on a good day. Y/N shakes her head at his response, somehow not too shocked that’s what he says. She recalls him not telling her what popular songs he had written, how his cheeks grew a shade of pink at the mere idea of Y/N knowing of his work. So, she’ll take her odds and pray that someday soon she gets Harry on a good day and hears him play something.

“Y/N,” Amanda’s voice calling her name causes Y/N to jump, sitting straight up in her seat and nearly dropping her phone. She shuts off the screen and feels the vibration from her Apple watch, a notification reading that it was time to head into the conference room to interview new interns with Amanda. Y/N looks over her shoulder to see Amanda standing behind her with her eyebrows raised and her lifeline of a notebook in hand. “You alright?” She asks, slight concern in her tone.

“Yeah,” Y/N clears her throat and stands from her desk, wobbling on her heeled boots as she gathers up her laptop and cell phone. “I’m all good, ready to find us some new interns,” she states with a smile.

Amanda gives her a look as if doubting her, but then nods as Y/N steps in front of her and they move into the conference room. It’s not until their third candidate that Y/N thought of her boyfriend. Her watch buzzes, flashing up at text from Mark, then one from Sammy right away. She ignores them and tries to focus on listening to yet another fashion student talk about their love for the industry and the company. She was once just like them, sitting on the other side of this conference table and grinning ear to ear from just being in the building. She still felt excited to come into work every day and she feels very grateful to still feel that way. So, therefore she doesn’t hate sitting there for a few hours and having a handful of first impressions with girls that she once was. But, in the back of her mind she’s wondering what Mark could have texted her. It’s been five days since the phone call she ended up hanging up on him. What could he possibly have to say?

“Thank you for coming in today,” Amanda says with a smile to their last interview of the day. The small blonde stands up as the two of them do, and reaches across the table to shake both of their hands before saying short goodbyes and letting one of the receptionists walk them out.

“I think I liked her the best,” Y/N comments, writing a quick note beside her resume.

“I agree. We’ll email back and forth a bit more about it. I’ve got another phone meeting with a few clients for the new year first,” Amanda explains as she’s reading over her planner before snapping it shut.

“Sounds like fun,” Y/N nods before walking separate ways from Amanda and heading back to her desk. As she gets closer, she can't help but notice the oversized bouquet of flowers on her desk. Her eyebrows pinch together as she slows her steps, taking in the beautiful pinks and oranges in the bouquet before reaching for the card that stuck out of it. Sammy pops up then, right by Y/N’s side almost breathing down her neck.

“Did you not get my text? These showed up like halfway through your interviews,” Sammy states, trying to read the card before Y/N can. She shields it’s away from his eyes and looks at him over her shoulder. “Sorry,” he apologizes and takes a step back.

Y/N reads the printed out note and finds herself sighing as she reads it over again. I’m sorry - Mark. Y/N shakes her head and rolls her lips into her mouth, staring at the bouquet again. That’s it, just sorry? She thinks, but then remembers that he had texted her too. Maybe there’s something more there but Y/N finds herself doubting it.

“Who’s it from?” Sammy questions. Y/N ignores him and pulls out her phone from her back pocket. She unlocks it and taps on her messages app, having to back out of her conversation with Harry in order to open up Mark’s text from earlier.

Did you get the flowers? The company sent me a notification saying someone signed for them. Y/N rolls her eyes at his careless text message; not an ounce of emotion behind any of his words, through text or on the note. She doesn’t find herself smiling at the flowers, thinking how it’s a nice gesture, but instead finding it ridiculous that her boyfriend missed the whole point of the fight and just thinks some random bouquet of flowers will fix everything that she’s feeling. Is he even bothered by the fact they fought and haven’t spoken in five days? She wonders as she shuts off her phone screen without responding.

“Mark sent them,” Y/N finally tells Sammy, turning around to hand him the card. After he grabs it, and Y/N turns back around and places a hand on either side of the vase. She turns on her heels and walks around her desk to the left, moving Sammy’s chair out of the way and placing them on his desk instead. “You can have them, they look better on your desk,” she stays in a flat tone of voice, feeling indifferent about if she should just throw them out or not.

“Are you going to break up with him?” Sammy asks, his voice is quiet and soft - sounding like a caring friend instead of a gossiping coworker.

Y/N bites down on her bottom lip and nods, “yeah, I think I am going to. I just don’t know how, breaking up with someone on the phone feels so shallow and I would hate to be broken up with over the phone.” She explains, turning back around to look at Sammy again. He’s frowning, a look of pity in his eyes.

“But it’s unfair to you both to keep this relationship going on like this, Y/N,” Sammy says, letting out a deep sigh and tosses the card in the garbage bin by Y/N’s desk. “You’ll know what to do, you always do,” Sammy adds on with a smile.

Y/N tries to mirror her friends smile but feels it fall flat on her lips. She’s doubting herself, doubting her choices with Mark these past four months, and she keeps doubting herself all day till she’s walking into her apartment. She closes her door and slips out of her coat. Y/N sighs and pulls out her phone while walking to her bedroom, taking a seat on the end of her bed before pulling up Mark’s contact.

Her fingers hover over the call icon, her heart beating a million miles an hour as she imagines how this phone call is going to go. Should she really break up with him over the phone? She thinks, yet again doubting herself. This was really the only way to do it, seeing as he won’t be in the city for who knows how long. Y/N didn’t want to be in this relationship anymore, especially since it started to feel less like a relationship as the days went on this past month. Y/N inhales deeply just as her phone begins to ring, Mark’s contact picture of him kissing her cheek fills the screen in her hand. Y/N exhales before tapping the green icon on the phone and bringing it to her ear.

“Hi,” Y/N says softly into the phone.

“Hey, you didn’t answer my text earlier,” Mark starts off the conversation with a hard tone of voice as if he’s annoyed. Y/N licks her lips and nods, even though Mark can’t see her.

“Yeah, um, sorry, work got busy,” she lies. She had the time to text him back, she just didn’t know what to say as her thoughts were clouded with how to break up with him.

“Did you get them?” Mark asks.

“The flowers? Yeah, I did,” Y/N sighs. She’s racking her brain on how to do this. How do you break up with someone over a phone call? She shakes her head and brings a hand to her forehead, pushing her fingers through the roots of her hair. “Mark, we need to talk,” she says, feeling that’s the best she can do - the good ol’ classic line.

“Yeah, we do,” Mark agrees with a sigh from him now. Y/N listens as it’s like something shuffles on the other end of the phone, as if Mark switches his phone from one ear to the other. “Look, Y/N, you’re a wonderful girl, truly, you are. But we’re not really benefiting from this, are we?” Mark says, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts as her brows pinch together.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Y/N questions.

“Uh, yeah-”

“No, no, I’m breaking up with you. I have thought long and hard about this for days now, and I don’t think we should be together anymore, Mark,” Y/N blurts out quickly, feeling as though her moment that she’s been talking herself up to all day was being taken away from her. She releases the grip she had on her hair and stares straight ahead at the painting on her wall, waiting for Mark to say something.

He lets out a long breath, “then I guess this is a lot easier for the both of us then, huh?” He says. Y/N shakes her head in disbelief.

“I guess so,” she mumbles.

“I’ll uh, I’ll send my assistant over soon for any of my things I’ve left at your apartment. She’ll bring the few things of yours that are at my place too. Are you available tomorrow?” Mark explains, asking the question so casually too. In fact, he sounds like he’s distracted with something on his end of the call too.

“Have you had this planned for a while now or something?” She asks, her eyebrows only pull together tighter in confusion. How can he act so unbothered only seconds after breaking up with her? She thinks. Sure, it’s a mutual break up, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t bothered by it still.

“Uh, no,” Mark mutters, not sounding convincing at all. Y/N rolls her eyes and shakes her head at herself - how did she even date this guy?

“You know what, whatever,” Y/N breathes out as her eyes close and she runs a hand through her hair, “I’ll be home from work around five in the evening tomorrow for your assistant to come by. Tell her to be on time, please,” she tells Mark.

“Alright,” he says. There’s a couple beats of silence between them, and she doesn’t feel upset over it at all. In fact she feels at peace with this breakup. She supposes that they didn’t date for long, and they never said I love you to each other and really didn’t spend too much time with one another the past two months. Maybe that’s why she’s not bothered by this break up at all.

“Well, it was fun, Mark,” Y/N says, “I wish you the best,” she adds.

“You too, Y/N,” he replies. And with that, Y/N brings the phone from her ear and ends the call. Staring at the screen that was on Mark’s contact info for a few minutes as she lets herself fall into her thoughts.

That was a lot easier than she imagined it to be earlier today. Y/N falls back on her bed, her hair fanning out around her as she holds her phone to her stomach and stares up at the ceiling. Did he have this planned though? She finds herself thinking. She imagines that he sent those flowers earlier to butter her up, maybe, before he called to break her heart only hours later. And having already made plans for his assistant to go through his apartment and bring her things to her. Maybe he already had gathered her things beforehand, meaning over a week ago he would have packed it up - only to come over to her house and fight with her for days on end before making her drive him to the airport. Y/N just shakes her head as her thoughts run wild.

Y/N knows exactly what she needs to do to get out of this overthinking stage that she’s got herself into. She gets up from her bed and opens her closet, her figure skates sitting on the bottom of the closet leaning nicely against each other. She finds an empty tote bag and tosses them inside, then quickly gets dressed into a pair of light blue skinny jeans, a plain white turtleneck long sleeve, and then layering by putting on a dark grey crew neck that has ‘LA’ in white writing across the front.

After making sure she has her wallet, phone and keys, she puts on a black puffer jacket and heads out her front door. Harry’s walking out of the elevator just as Y/N is locking up, he’s got a Starbucks hot drink in hand and a smile on his face.

“Hey,” Harry says, but then his eyebrows pinch together as he realizes the time, “where are you off to?” He wonders. Y/N brushes her hair from her face and lets out a small sigh.

“It’s, like, two weeks till Christmas and I haven’t gone skating yet, so I just got up and grabbed my skates to go out,” she explains, lifting her shoulder that her tote bag was hanging off. Her skates are poking out the top slightly, Harry notices the white figure skates with a pair of matching light pink guards on the bottom.

“Oh, fun,” Harry nods, meeting her eyes again.

Y/N doesn’t even think twice before she’s asking, “did you want to come with me?”

Harry smiles, causing Y/N to mirror him, before he takes a few moments to nod in response. “I would love to, yeah,” Harry clears his throat, noticing how overly excited he may have sounded. “I should dress a bit warmer, though, it’s supposed to snow tonight,” he tells her, motioning to his apartment door down the hall.

“Good call,” Y/N says, following him to his doorway. Harry holds open his door for her after unlocking it, then letting it close softly behind them as he takes off the lighter jacket he had on. Y/N smiles at the decorations around his apartment, loving how the glow from the lights of his tree filled up the space around them before he can turn on any lights.

“I don’t have my own skates, suppose I’m not a real New Yorker like that,” Harry states as he opens the closet beside his front door and starts ruffling around in order to find where his scarfs were hiding.

“That’s fine,” Y/N says with a soft chuckle, turning around to watch as he sticks his head into the closet and pushes things around. “They have rentals at Bryant Park,” she tells him.

“I’ve never been,” Harry admits. He finally gets a hold of the long burgundy scarf with a brown leaf pattern on it, his mum had gifted it to him a few years back. Harry pushes the doors of his closet closed and puts the scarf down for a moment, hanging it on the door handle before he grabs his long black coat to slip it on. Once he’s got that on, he wraps the scarf around his neck, fixing the collar of his coat and the scarf so it’s comfortable.

“You’ve really never been to Bryant Park?” Y/N asks surprisingly. It wasn’t Central Park by any means, but anyone who lived in the Manhattan area typically had walked through Bryant Park.

“Nope,” Harry says, grabbing for his forgotten Starbucks drink, bringing it to his lips for a quick sip. He looks up at Y/N to find her smiling at him. “What?” Harry questions.

“Nothing, I’m just excited for you to see Bryant Park. It’s beautiful during the Winter,” she states.

“Well then, let’s not waste any time, come on,” Harry nods his head to the door and gives her a smile while holding it open for her. She thanks him, waits for him to lock the doors before they fall into step with one another to the elevator. Harry beats her to hitting the button, literally leaning in front of her in order to push the down button before she can. Y/N shakes her head at him, smiling.

“So how was your time at the cafe earlier?” Y/N asks Harry, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“It was good,” Harry says, tilting his head to the side so he can look at Y/N, “wrote another song about love,” he adds with a smile. Y/N chuckles and raises her eyebrows.

“Never would have guessed,” she teases him.

The whole walk to Bryant Park, all Harry can think about is when the hell was the last time he skated? That and how good Y/N looked, which is a thought that’s always going through his head, to be honest. But he’s stressing himself out, hoping and praying that some sort of muscle memory clicks in and he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of Y/N. God, maybe he should have just saved himself the embarrassing situation and declined her invitation. Harry knew the moment he looked into her eyes there was something a bit off with her; how her smile didn’t quite reach its full potential - so the moment she asked if he wanted to come along with her, he didn’t even think twice before saying yes. The girl has her own figure skates, Harry wouldn’t doubt it if she’s about to skate circles around him.

“All black outfit,” Y/N comments as she watches Harry pick out a pair of black skates in his size, “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear all black before,” she adds with a smile.

“I used to only wear all black,” he admits, “back in uni, I really didn’t venture out in fashion and only wore black jeans and black t-shirts basically all year,” he explains to Y/N, letting her lead the way to the area for skaters to sit on the many benches and do up their skates.

“I truthfully can’t even imagine that,” Y/N replies, taking a seat on the bench right by the open door to the ice rink. She looks out at the about forty people on the ice, lit up by the many Christmas lights hanging over it and a few light posts in each corner too, as the sun has fully set now. The city around them is still hustling and bustling as it always is, which makes her smile.

“It was a tragedy, but I got older and realized that fashion can be fun, especially after moving to New York, seeing what people wear out for some innocent ice skating,” he mentions, taking in Y/N’s fashion forward outfit. The style was very trendy these days, he had noticed - online and in the streets.

“I would be an abomination of a former FIT student if I just walked around New York City in leggings and a hoodie,” Y/N states, “if I’m going somewhere, with someone, I always feel the need to look good.”

“And you do, by the way, look good,” Harry says, his words coming out quick and in a bit of a stumble. Y/N can feel the blush creeping onto her cheeks. She says a quiet ‘thank you’ before she begins to lace up her skates.

Y/N has her skates done up before Harry, so she has an extra minute to take out her phone and open her Instagram app. She checks out her newest comments, liking a few, before she finds herself aimlessly scrolling through her feed and liking some posts there. Checking up on Harry, she notices he’s almost done doing up his skates, so she stands up and grabs her tote bag that now holds her skate guards and chunky black boots.

“Did you want to lock anything up?” Y/N asks Harry, motioning to the small lockers to their left.

He shakes his head, “no thank you,” he says before his attention is back on tying his skates. Y/N smiles at how his tongue pokes out just slightly passed his lips before she turns around and walks over to lock up her tote bag, making sure everything but her phone is inside.

Once the small locker door is closed, she walks over to the wall of the ice rink and opens her Instagram again, putting on a quick filter that makes it look like it’s being filmed with an old film camera before she pans her camera around while holding down the button on the screen. As she turns to face where Harry is, she cuts off the video and double checks he’s not in it. With having so many followers, she always makes sure that her friends and family are comfortable with being posted before doing so. Y/N adds a quick caption of ‘first skate this season’ with a white heart emoji before she posts it to her story, then she slips the phone into her back pocket and walks over to where Harry sat waiting for her.

“Ready?” Harry asks, smiling up at her.

“Yup,” she nods, smiling back at him. Harry nods, muttering ‘alright’ under his breath, and then stands up on wobbling legs. Y/N chuckles and reaches for his elbow, helping him stand up straight. “You’ve skated before, right?” She asks, realizing now that she only assumed that he had.

“Uh, it’s been a few years,” Harry admits, flashing another nervous smile her way. All he can think about is her hand on his arm, and how she hasn’t let go of him yet. Harry hadn’t even thought about the potential arm holding, or hand holding maybe, they could get into here. She has a boyfriend, he reminds himself over and over again as he watches her lips tug up as she smiles back at him again.

“Alright, we’ll take it slow then,” she assures him, pulling at his arm gently to get them moving forward on their skates.

Y/N takes the first step onto the shining ice, letting her blades slide over the top slowly before she takes a sharp turn and is in front of Harry in an instant. His eyebrows fly up his forehead as his eyes fall down to her skates again, noticing how worn out they look now, her left foot lifting up as she sticks the toe of her skate blade into the ice - her whole stance made her look like some sort of professional. Harry’s head snaps up and he meets her gaze, lips now smirking at his stunned expression.

“You’ve been skating a lot before then, hm?” Harry gulps, looking back down at his feet as he inches slowly to the ice.

“Since I was a kid,” Y/N reveals. He’ll touch more on it later, but first he wants to get himself onto the ice and get this embarrassment over with. Harry sighs and starts to place his right foot into the ice, letting out a deep breath as he does but just as quickly as he makes the move he’s slipping. Harry sucks in a sharp breath, ready to fall before he even has both feet on the ice. But both of Y/N’s arms fly out and grab a hold of his forearms, causing him to wrap each of his hands around her much smaller forearms.

Harry shakes his head and just decides to get it over with, pushing both skates onto the ice in a quick motion. Y/N is fully prepared for his sudden movement and skates backwards, checking over her shoulder quickly to make sure she doesn’t get in anyone's way. She keeps a tight grip on Harry’s arms and smiles as she looks up at him and sees the stressed out look on his face.

“You’re doing great,” Y/N assures him, her voice causing Harry to look down and meet her soft eyes. “We can move a bit closer to the wall so you can hang onto it for the first bit?” She suggests, motioning to the wall beside them.

“Probably for the best,” Harry agrees, nodding his head and finally taking his eyes off Y/N’s in order to make his way to the wall. The few movements on his part aren’t as hard as he thought they’d be to get over to the wall. He thinks his muscle memory for skating will click in soon, hopefully.

Y/N takes it slow beside Harry, waiting for him to get comfortable enough to only need one hand on the wall before she lets go of his arm. She already misses the warmth from his touch. Not even one day into her and Mark’s break up and she’s already feeling touch deprived. To be fair, her and Mark hadn’t so much as given each other a few quick pecks and barely snuggling on the couch the last couple days they were together. Y/N shakes her head slightly at her thoughts of Mark.

“So how did you get into skating?” Harry asks after a few moments of them finding a slow pace.

“Um,” Y/N pauses as she thinks of how to explain how her parents didn’t want to spend much time with her, so they stuck her into many different hobbies to fill the void. “I was into a lot of the typical little girl hobbies, dancing, gymnastics, art, but figure skating was something that just really stuck with me as I grew up. Probably in connection with my obsession with the holidays, and the winter season,” Y/N explains, noticing already how Harry’s pace on his skates is picking up.

“Are you, like, really good?” Harry questions. Y/N chuckles and looks away from the ice below them to meet his gaze before he’s glancing down at his skates again in order to keep upright.

“Yup,” Y/N nods, rolling her lips into her mouth to hide her grin.

“So humble,” Harry jokes with a chuckle. “You could probably skate circles around me, huh? Do those little twirly things too?”

“I could do a few spins, yes,” Y/N says and nods her head. “I’ll let you get used to the ice first before I throw out any big moves,” she adds, looking down at how Harry’s feet were moving on the ice. Every minute he is getting better, soon enough he’ll let go of that wall and be able to skate in slow laps around the rink with her.

“How very considerate of you,” Harry notes, causing the both of them to chuckle again.

They do another two laps with Harry’s hand just inches away from the wall, hovering over it just in case he made the wrong move. But then soon enough, they’re mixed in with the other skaters and making strong, smooth strides across the ice. Y/N is laughing at something Harry says about how he must look like Bambi on ice, head thrown back and eyes crinkled up, when Harry just about falls. She catches him gasping and opens her eyes quickly before catching his hand in hers.

“You okay?” She asks, clear concern in her voice as she moves in order to meet his eyes. Harry knows this isn’t the first time they’ve sort of held hands, but it still feels like her skin is too warm for his cold touch and butterflies erupt in his stomach as she cards their fingers together so effortlessly. Damn Styles grow some balls and don’t let her make all the first moves, he thinks to himself.

“‘M alright,” Harry mumbles and nods, completely losing focus on the world around them as they float across the ice looking into each other's eyes and holding hands.

Y/N licks her lips, blinking up at Harry in what feels like an innocent way but realizes the moment his gaze drops to her lips that maybe it isn’t. Clearing her throat, she squeezes Harry’s hand and then slowly lets go. Harry can’t help but feel disappointed by how short they’d held hands for, he was hoping it would at least last a whole lap around the rink. Y/N shivers and sticks both of her hands into her coat pockets, playing off letting go of his hand with being cold, but in reality touching Harry’s skin made her feel like she was on fire.

“Tell me what your favourite colour is,” Harry blabs out loud suddenly.

Y/N furrows her brows and looks up at Harry. He’s no longer watching the ice with each stride of his skates, instead his posture is completely at ease almost as he seems much more confident on the ice now. Something tells Y/N that Harry is stupidly good at pretty much anything and if he doesn’t get it right the first time it would only take a few more before he masters it.

“It changes almost every other day,” Y/N admits, biting down on her bottom lip - which causes Harry’s eyes to flicker down to her lips yet again. “Lately it’s been green,” she exclaims, as she speaks Harry’s gaze falls back to her eyes.

“Like my eyes?” Harry teases, batting his eyelashes.

There’s suddenly a group of teenagers in their way, causing their conversation to pause as they have to maneuver around the few bodies. Harry finds that he doesn’t struggle at all with the quick movements he has to make with his skates in order to get around them. He smiles to himself, proud of how fast he’s picked up skating again. Maybe he’ll try the little twirly spin around Y/N to impress her. Too bad she’s much more talented on skates and is picking up speed before making a quick turn and is now skating backwards in front of Harry with her eyes narrowed and a tight smile on her lips.

“Firstly, that was a poor set up to try and get a compliment out of me, I’ll just tell you that your eyes are very pretty,” Y/N states. Harry smiles at her words, those pesky butterflies back in his stomach once again. “And second, my favourite green is more like a dark, rich, forest green,” she explains, quickly looking over her shoulder as they turn the corner of the rink. Harry notices how effortlessly she picks up her skates and crosses them over each other to smoothly take the turn.

“Like a Christmas tree?” Harry wonders.

Y/N smiles and nods, “exactly, like a Christmas tree,” she says, a beat of silence between them before she asks, “what’s your favourite colour?”

“Pink,” Harry answers without missing a beat. It’s been his favourite for years now, since he was just a young lad.

“Like my lips?” Y/N teases, her voice dropping down into a low and soft tone that causes a fire to spark in the pit of Harry’s stomach. His eyes drop to her lips at the mention of them, which Y/N notices and smirks at him before she’s turning on her skates and facing forward again. They both don’t say anything as they skate around the other turn of the rink, avoiding an older couple that has slowed down in front of them. Y/N still has a smug look on her face when Harry glances to his left where she skates beside him. Obviously, yes, exactly like the shade of your lips, Harry thinks and wishes he had the guts to say aloud.

“More like,” Harry pauses and then smiles, “like the Pink Panther,” Harry jokes.

“You know what, fair enough,” Y/N chuckles and shrugs her shoulder.

The two of them continue to ask each other more random favourites, getting the basics down with favourite foods, favourite alcoholic drinks, and favourite word too, of course. In fact, they are just skating at a leisurely pace for quite some time. Y/N notices that the number of people on the rink dwindles down to a mere twenty and she lifts her Apple watch up, so it lights up and shows her the time. Bryant Park should be closing within an hour or two, depending if they’re on holiday hours yet, meaning that Harry and her have spent nearly two hours out on the ice together.

“I think it’s time you bust out some of those fancy figure skating moves,” Harry suddenly says unprovoked. Y/N furrows her brows and shakes her head, watching a young couple, just a few people ahead of them, holding hands, like how she wishes her and Harry could have been this entire time. But it’s too soon, she thinks.

“I don’t know,” Y/N mutters under her breath, her eyes still on the couple as they’re laughing together - much like how her and Harry have been. Did these strangers around them think they were a couple?

“Fine,” Harry huffs and starts to skate a bit faster to be a few strides ahead of Y/N before he comes to a wobbly stop a bit more into the middle of the rink out of everyone's way. Y/N comes to a much smoother stop in front of him. “I’ll give it a shot then, how hard can it be to spin around a few times.”

Famous last words, Y/N thinks as Harry tries to whip his body around to try and attempt to do a spin. She can already see how he’s lifting the toe of his left skate, the small ridges getting caught on the ice while his body is still trying to spin around. Y/N’s eyes widen as she suddenly tries to stop him, her hands just barely getting a hold of his arms before he can fall. But his weight is too much and her skates slip out from under her. A small screech escapes her mouth as the two of them begin their fall to the ice - for surprisingly the first time tonight. Harry turns them both so he gets the worst of the fall, moving Y/N so she falls more on top of him rather than on the ice. Y/N notices and quickly moves her hand to the back of his head to ensure he doesn’t smack it against the hard surface. Her fingers card through his hair, while her other hand is clenching into a fist around the fabric of his coat.

“Shit,” Harry groans as the bodies fall to the ice. Thankfully, he tries to sit up a bit during the fall, so he doesn’t hit his head but instead he feels immediately pain shot up his elbow and backside.

“Oh my god,” Y/N gasps, blinking several times as she takes in what had happened. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She asks Harry in a rush of words.

“I’m okay,” he nods, which causes Y/N to realize her hand is still brushing through his hair. She rubs his scalp a few times with her thumb before removing her hand and quickly lifting her body off of Harry’s. “I’ll probably have a bruised ass, but I guess that’s karma,” he tries to joke.

Y/N frowns and smacks his arm gently, “don’t pull that shit again, oh my god, I thought we were going to end our night in the ER.”

Harry chuckles and sits up, taking in how Y/N has sat up on her knees with both her hands resting on her thighs. Her hair is a bit of a mess and her eyes wide and wild with emotion - but otherwise she looks alright. Thankfully, Harry did good and kept her safe in their fall.

“Just need a few ice packs and maybe a joint before bed to ease the pain,” Harry says, only half joking.

“Wait,” Y/N’s eyebrows pinch together, “do you smoke weed?” She asks. To be honest, she couldn’t imagine Harry as some pothead. Not that there was a true look to a ‘pothead’ these days. Hell, she’s had her fair share of joints and edibles while in college. Even afterwards too, Sammy loved to roll a joint or two towards the end of their wine nights.

Harry shrugs and begins to get up from the ice slowly. “Not really. It makes me a bit sleepy, truthfully,” he tells her.

“I get that,” Y/N nods, “I don’t smoke often, but when I do, I typically fall asleep within the hour after smoking. It annoys the crap out of Sammy.” She tells Harry truthfully. Harry nods as well, only a little bit surprised to learn that Y/N didn’t say no to drugs in her youth. Not that he was judging, far from it really cause he had no room to judge, but he just simply didn’t imagine her consuming anything more than a bottle or two of wine.

The two of them get up off the ice now, finally getting back on their feet. A sigh leaves Y/N lips as she brushes her hands on her jeans. “I think you falling is our cue to get out of here,” she suggests, skating slowly backwards towards the doorway where the benches were.

“You’re probably right,” Harry agrees and begins to follow her, trying not to whine with his movements as a sharp pain stings his bottom with each stride of his skates.

Y/N leaves Harry to sit on the bench they had used before and goes over to unlock her locker and get her tote bag. Harry’s lucky no one stole his shoes he had just left under the bench with no care in the world, she thinks as she walks back over and sits beside him. She unties her skates and is slipping on her boots before Harry can even untie one of his skates. Y/N puts the guards on her skates and places them into her tote bag before turning to look at Harry, noticing the pained look in his face as he bends forward to work on the laces of his other skate.

“Did you need help?” She asks him.

“No,” Harry pauses to hiss in pain, “I’m fine,” he adds, but Y/N just rolls her eyes and scoots over on the bench till she’s nearly pressing right up against Harry’s side, leaning down in order to work on his laces.

Harry watches her nimble fingers untie and loosen the laces, noticing how her hair falls as she bends down further. A faint smell of roses hits him with the movement of her hair as she pushes it back away from her line of sight. Harry looks away, glancing around them to see if anyone’s watching them because from any other view it may look like Y/N is giving him-

“There you go,” Y/N says with a smile and sits up again. Harry looks at his skates to see them completely loosened and ready for him to slip off easily.

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly with a smile.

After Harry has his trusty not-so-white vans on, they walk over to return his rentals and make their way out of the ice rink area of Bryant Park. Harry notices the shops around the park, the painted white frames and clean windows were rather pleasing to look at while the inside glows with soft yellow lights. He wonders what they sell, but notices Y/N hiding a yawn behind her hand and decides it’s probably best they just head home. Also, his ass really did hurt with each step he took.

“Would you like to get a hot cocoa before we walk home?” Harry suggests, pointing to the small shack that was open and looks like it serves hot drinks and a few treats maybe.

“I would love that,” Y/N answers with a bright smile.

Her heart can’t help but burst at the thought that Harry knows her so well already. Not even a month of knowing one another and he already is so much better than Mark ever was. He would never go skating with her or buy her a nice warm drink afterwards either. It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend anymore, Y/N finds herself reminding herself, which causes her heart to pitter patter in her chest again. This time thinking about how maybe Harry could maybe be her boyfriend, one day.

“Hi,” Y/N gives the small brunette at her front door a tight smile.

She’s almost thirty minutes later than Mark said she would be. But to be fair, the subway was later than usual on her way home so Y/N had only just gotten home ten minutes ago. She had texted Mark to let him know and relay the message to his assistant, but he didn’t answer, no surprise there. So, in hindsight it wasn’t the biggest deal that his pretty little assistant was late.

What the big deal was the way she just strolled into Y/N’s apartment and set the box of her things on the couch. Y/N is standing by her door still in disbelief, mouth hanging open and eyes wide at the girls behaviour. When she turns around and gives Y/N a funny look while pointing around at her Christmas decor.

“It looks like Mrs Claus threw up in here,” she says.

“Thanks,” Y/N mutters and walks over to where she stood by the couch. Mark’s assistant steps back, pulling out her phone and tapping away at the screen as she seems bored to be here. “I’ll go get Mark’s things,” Y/N says, but then just as she’s about to walk away her eyes catch something red near the top of the box of her things that Mark had packed up.

She pushes her favourite Eagles shirt out of the way and hooks one finger around the lacy red fabric. The Victoria’s Secret label sticks out of the barely there red thong that’s hanging off her index finger. Y/N doesn’t recognize the underwear, she thinks as her head begins to spin. How the fuck did a pair of woman's underwear get into this box of things Mark packed up? Why would he have a red thong at his apartment that wasn’t Y/N’s? What the actual fuck? Another round of questions are about to spew in Y/N’s head as her heart beats out of her chest but then suddenly Mark’s assistant is reaching for the lacy fabric and taking it out of Y/N’s grasp.

“Oh, those are mine. Must’ve slipped in by accident,” she stammers out the words. Y/N’s head is spinning, her heart is beating out of her chest, as she puts the pieces together.

“Really? A thong just slipped into the box?” Y/N urges, narrowing her eyes at the young brunette standing in her living room. “How long have you been fucking my boyfriend?” Y/N asks and raises her voice, the anger filling her whole body now.

“Ex boyfriend,” the brunette has the guts to utter out.

“Answer the damn question,” Y/N snaps back at her.

Her face is turning red, to match the stupid thong in her hands, “uh, it’s none of your business-”

“Just tell me!” Y/N shouts, feeling like she deserves some truth in this moment. Mark’s assistant visibly gulps, avoiding Y/N’s eyes and looks all around the room.

“Like, a few months,” she mutters under her breath, still not meeting Y/N’s burning gaze.

Her whole body is shaking with the anger coursing through her. She should have known. How could she be such an idiot? She thinks while shaking her head. Of course, Mark was cheating on her during the entirety of their relationship. They were only dating for four months, meaning that for at least half of it, he was busy screwing his fucking assistant - how unbelievably cliche of him, but also how unbelievably naive of her to not guess. Y/N brings a hand to her forehand and rubs at her temple as a headache begins.

“Can I just get Mark’s stuff and go-”

“Get. Out.” Y/N spits out the words, glaring at the brunette who has the audacity to be so nonchalant about being the other woman.

“What about his things?” Mark’s assistant all but winces out the words, her dark eyebrows pulling together.

“Tell Mark to eat a dick,” Y/N sneers, taking a step towards the girl which causes her to step back. She can’t deny the bit of joy she feels at the sight of fear in the girls eyes. “And get out of my apartment, now!” Y/N shouts at the woman.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, turning around and walking to the front door.

Y/N is hot on her heels, making sure to slam to door shut behind her. The moment she’s left to herself, her apartment falling silent around her, she feels the pain settle in. Mark cheated on her with his assistant that he then had the nerve to let come over to her apartment. The realization of how embarrassing this whole situation is hits her, along with the hurt too. Regardless if it was a mutual break up, being cheated on does not feel good. Y/N sniffles, bringing a hand to her mouth as she suddenly is holding back sobs. Tears fall down her cheeks while her brain runs wild thinking of how many times Mark could have fucked his assistant and then just waltzed into her apartment and then they-

Her thoughts are cut short as she’s bolting to her bathroom, throwing the door open and bending down in front of the toilet. She lifts the seat and empties her stomach into the bowl. After a moment she’s coughing, lifting her head out of the toilet and reaching for the lever to flush away any contents that were in her stomach. Y/N grabs the hand towel to her right and brings it to her mouth, wiping away the bit of drool at her lips.

Y/N can feel the vibration from her cell phone after a moment of sitting on the bathroom floor, zoned out on the shower and thinking about how stupid she could have been to trust Mark. She lets out a short sigh and reaches into her back pocket to find her buzzing phone. Her eyes roll on instinct of seeing Mark’s contact photo taking up her screen. A part of her wants to answer, to yell and to scream at him. But a bigger part of her feels sick to her stomach again and just tired, honestly. So, she ignores the call and opens her phone to her contacts and deletes Mark all together. She goes into her photos and does a quick sweep of any photos of them together. It was something she was going to do eventually anyways, but after the news of him being a cheating piece of shit she couldn’t waste another second before getting rid of anything involving Mark.

Mark is a fucking asshole. His precious little assistant came by to drop off my few things and one of her thongs was in the box, so she spilled the beans that she had been sleeping with Mark for months. Meaning that piece of absolute trash was cheating on me like the entire time we were together. Y/N types out the message to Sammy, making sure that he knows the drama first - but also just simply because he’s her best friend.

Sammy is typing back a response as Y/N stands up from her spot by the toilet, flushing it again due to her spitting a few times into the bowl, and then she quickly washes her hands and looks up at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are red, her hairs a bit frizzy and out of place from the perfect curls she had earlier today, and her makeup is ruined. She decides to wash her face, drying it with a clean towel as her phone vibrates on the counter.

Are you fucking kidding me?! I’m going to kill him. Please tell me we have a murder plan, I know where we can hide the body. Did you want to talk about it? I can come over and bring a big bottle of tequila? Sammy sends each sentence as a separate text, adding a few choice emojis too. The knife is used many times. His enthusiasm makes Y/N chuckle but then she’s frowning again while walking out of the bathroom and to her bedroom.

Honestly, I just want to curl up in bed and cry it out some more while listening to some sad music. But I’ll keep you updated on any murder plans I think up. Y/N sends back her texts before throwing her phone down on her bed.

Letting out another sigh, Y/N strips out of her tight fitting pants and puts on a pair of grey sweatpants. Next, she takes off the collared button up shirt she had worn tucked into her pants today, hanging it back up in her closet to prevent it from getting wrinkled. Her eyes wander around her bedroom, a certain article of clothing was on her mind to put on and snuggle into bed with. Y/N smiles as she sees Harry’s black hoodie on the top of her laundry hamper. To be honest, it needed to be washed, but she needed the comfort of his oversized clothing more. So, she tugs it on, puts her hair into a messy topknot bun, and tugs down the hood before lifting the blanket and getting into bed.

Not even three songs into her ‘depressed? yeah, me too’ playlist of sad songs, there was a knock on Y/N’s front door. At first she thinks of ignoring whoever it is, but then her music is cut off as a phone call comes through. It’s Mark’s number, regardless that she just deleted his contact, she still knew his phone number. Y/N groans and gets out of bed. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she imagines Mark or that little assistant of his having the balls to come to her apartment again and demand for his few things he had left around here. Y/N narrows her eyes and unlocks her door, ready to glare at her sad excuse for an ex boyfriend - but her face instantly softens at the sight of Harry standing there.

“Nice jumper,” Harry comments. A smile on his lips as he takes in how Y/N looks in his clothing, days after he had lent it to her. But that smile vanishes when he notices the redness in her eyes and her pouting lips. “What’s wrong?” Harry asks, his voice full of worry as he fights back reaching for her and bringing her in for a hug.

Y/N sniffles, “um, I thought you were Mark, sorry,” she says in a quiet voice.

“Oh, sorry, is he coming over?” Harry questions. Suppose it made more sense for her boyfriend to comfort her during a bad day, he thinks although it tears him up inside that it can’t be him.

“No, no, he’s in Arizona, or somewhere. I don’t even know,” Y/N sighs, her voice sounding brittle, like it’s about to crack at any second, as she tries to keep herself composed in front of Harry. “I don’t really care actually, we broke up,” she reveals, her gaze down at the floor. Harry’s wearing those dirty white vans again, she wonders if he wears anything else.

They broke up, holy shit don’t freak out Styles, keep it together, Harry’s thoughts are all jumbled up at the news of Y/N and her boyfriends break up, which she is clearly very upset over, judging by her appearance and how she’s sniffling every second - bringing the sleeve of his Columbia jumper to her face to wipe her nose. Harry frowns and adjusts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” Harry says softly, “break ups can really suck,” he adds - knowing from experience just how terrible break ups can leave a person feeling.

“Yeah,” Y/N breathes out and looks up at Harry now, “but he’s kind of a trash human so it’s for the best, honestly,” she tells him, letting out a breathy chuckle while shaking her head. She shouldn’t be crying so damn much over the guy, she thinks.

“Oh, well then, fuck that guy,” Harry agrees with a nod of his head.

Y/N lets out a genuine chuckle at his words. She brings a hand, that is covered by the cuff of Harry’s hoodie, to her forehead to swipe back any crazy wispy hairs that are in her face. “So, what brought you to knock on my door?” She asks, smiling as Harry realizes he had gotten distracted by her state and forgot why he knocked at all.

“Right,” Harry chuckles, “um, a few friends of mine are in this band, it’s nothing crazy they just play at the pub a few blocks away. And I was wondering if you weren’t busy if you wanted to come with, thought it could be fun. But if you’re not in the mood to leave your home I understand,” Harry explains to her.

“No, I would love to come with,” Y/N insists. She lets out another chuckle and motions to her current appearance. “Just not looking like this, and as long as you promise there will be liquor involved in this Saturday night out.”

“I’ll buy you as many drinks as you need,” Harry promises with a smile.

“Then count me in,” Y/N says, mirroring his big dimpled smile. “Just give me some time to get ready?”

“You’ve got plenty of time, we don’t have to leave for another hour and a half,” he tells her. “I’ll let you get to it,” he adds, throwing a thumb over his shoulder as he takes a step away from her doorway.

“Oh, I’ll wash the sweater and give it to you soon, by the way,” Y/N says, lifting both her arms before letting them fall to her sides. Harry just shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

“Keep it as long as you need, it’s no problem, honestly,” Harry tells her while flashing a grin her way, hoping that it makes her feel even a little bit better. And it does, his casual response to her wearing his hoodie and then those dimples - it had her stomach fluttering. She gives Harry a small timid smile, tucking her chin down slightly into the collar of the hoodie as she watches his walk backwards down the hall to his door. “I’ll come knocking again in a bit,” Harry adds before he’s out of her sight and she’s closing her front door shut once again.

Y/N absentmindedly brings her hand to her mouth, biting on her nails as she stares off at her Christmas tree - though the lights are blurry due to her zoning out. You can do this, Y/N thinks and begins to give herself a pep talk of getting out of the sad break up phase and going out with Harry and his friends. Oh my god, Y/N’s eyes widen at her thoughts, what am I going to wear?

Y/N felt overdressed.

After twenty minutes of ripping apart her closet and tearing items out of her dresser drawers, she was truly tempted to just keep on Harry’s hoodie, pair it with some good jeans and some red heeled boots and call it a day. But that would be weird, showing up to hang out and meet Harry’s friends while dressed in his clothing. She was sure they were already going to assume things with him just bringing her along. Y/N didn’t need them thinking they had sex before too.

The thought had made Y/N blush like crazy as she tore off the stupidly comfortable hoodie and grabbed a silky white top that plunged low in the neckline, tying off just at her belly button, and then had long flowy sleeves. Pairing this with her trusted pair of light blue jeans, and for accessories: some chunky gold hoop earrings and layered gold necklaces to fill up the amount of skin she was showing at her chest. To top it all off, she slipped into her go-to black Balenciaga boots and long brown jacket to keep warm. After heading into the bathroom quickly, she brushed her hair through again and restyled the curls, put on a touch of light makeup, and then made sure to stick her lip gloss in her small black purse just as Harry was knocking on her door again.

Harry was dressed in a grey t-shirt with a large yellow smiley face, brown trousers and a blue and cream plaid jacket that quite literally made chills wash over Y/N’s body when she saw the whole fit - but that jacket, it made her head spin with some rather inappropriate thoughts. She’s a fashion major, can’t blame her for thinking clothing can make someone even more attractive. But even then she should have gotten the vibe of this evening and changed into something more casual.

But she didn’t, so now as she’s walking into a dive bar a few blocks away from the apartment building, she feels very out of place. Everyone’s wearing t-shirts and jeans, it smelt like cheap beer and cigarettes, and was definitely not the place to wear a silky white top that cost about five-hundred-dollars.

“You alright?” Harry's voice is soft and closer, as he steps directly behind Y/N after walking into the bar.

He notices how she crossed her arms at her chest and seemed to tense up almost immediately after walking in. Y/N shivers at the feeling of Harry’s breath falling over her exposed neck, having pushed her hair to lay on her left shoulder while he stood over her right. Y/N is still looking around the bar, trying to put together who may be Harry’s group of friends in this crowded bar.

“Y/N?” Harry tries again, this time placing a delicate hand on the small of her back - barely touching her, that he’s not even sure she’s noticed through her thick jacket. But she does, and she feels dizzy at the sweet gesture.

“Yeah,” she sighs, blinking a few times before looking to her right shoulder at Harry. He’s lips are so close, she thinks while trying her best to keep her eyes on his eyes. “Just feeling a little overdressed,” Y/N admits with a tight smile.

Harry shakes his head, “you look fine, better than fine actually. You look amazing,” Harry watches as Y/N’s eyes flicker to his lips for just a split second. He smiles but clears his throat, finding that they’re both blushing at his comment now. “As any FIT student in New York City should, of course,” he adds on to try and make his compliment a little less obvious.

“Thanks, Harry,” Y/N smiles.

When Harry saw Y/N for the second time that evening, it was like day and night from the hour before when she answered her door in his hoodie. She looked incredible, and was so out of his league. Dressed like she was going to a photoshoot, hair flowing down her back perfectly, and accessories that made him visibly gulp - he was a sucker for some gold jewelry on a girl, it was a weird weakness of his. And now, standing in the dim lighting of this dingy dive bar, she did look a little out of place, but in the best way possible, like she shined too bright to be in just a dark and depressing place.

“This way,” Harry says, leading the way to where he notices his friends are sitting at a table. They thankfully got his texts about him bringing Y/N with him and had two seats open for the both of them.

“Should we stop at the bar and get a drink?” Y/N asks. She’s honestly unsure how the service works at a place like this. To be honest, she hadn’t been in too many dive bars in her years.

Harry stops, looks behind him at her, and shakes his head. “We have a waitress that works basically every night my friends play, so she’ll come by and get our drinks for us,” he explains to Y/N. She nods, giving him a tight smile, and Harry can’t help but notice how she’s still got her arms crossed at her chest. Is she uncomfortable here? Maybe he can make some shit excuse after the first few songs and get her home.

Harry notices as he’s turned towards Y/N just how much attention is on her. He’s not surprised, seeing how he already realized how much she sticks out in a place like this, but he doesn’t quite enjoy seeing every male’s - and a few girls too - eyes in this place on the girl he’s brought with him. So, he makes the quick decision of holding out his hand for Y/N to take. She looks at Harry’s outstretched hand and feels her breath get caught in her throat. Playing it off, she smiles and reaches forward, watching as his much larger hand envelopes hers and tugs gently to get them moving again. Y/N’s stomach is already full of butterflies and her head is spinning at them holding hands for all of ninety seconds it takes to get to his table full of friends - she needs a drink, stat.

Harry lets go of Y/N’s hand as he approaches his friend's usual table and has to bring his arms up in order to hug Adam, who’s throwing himself into Harry at the sight of him. Harry huffs out a laugh, making a comment about how drunk Adam must be already, to which he responds by smacking Harry’s back a few times and laughing with him. Y/N can’t help it as the corners of her lips turn up into a small smile at the sight of Harry engulfed in a hug by a man bigger than him. As she’s watching their interaction, she notices how everyone else is watching her. Y/N’s smile falls right away and she finds herself crossing her arms at her chest again.

“Everyone,” Harry speaks a bit louder in order to get everyone's attention as he turns around and holds his arm out to Y/N, which she takes as her singal to step forward for an introduction and smiles timidly at the group of four others at the table. “This is Y/N, Y/N, this is everyone,” Harry announces, smiling at his friends - catching Mitch’s smug look in return.

“Hi,” Y/N says, her voice that soft and gentle tone that he had grown to like, quite a lot, actually.

“I’m Tom,” he’s the first to speak up, offering a hand to Y/N to shake, which she turns just a bit to her left in order to properly greet Harry’s friend. Tom’s got bleached hair that’s not styled and laying flat on his forehead, his roots are a dark brown that match the mustache and bit of bread he’s got. Y/N notices the few different necklaces around his neck while he’s wearing a simple outfit of a black long sleeve and black jeans.

“Jenny,” the woman sitting to Tom's left reaches over the table in order to shake Y/N’s hand. She’s also got bleached hair, and a dazzling smile too. Y/N notices the equally dazzling ring on her finger and she glances down at Tom’s hands to see a wedding band, assuming they are married due to them sitting so closely.

“Mitch,” a long haired young man speaks up just as Y/N and Jenny drop their hands. Y/N meets his gaze and blinks a few times, feeling slightly intimidated by him. Regardless of how he seems like the scrawniest at the table, his eyes just sort of bring Y/N to a stop, but she recovers swiftly and gives him a smile, returning the wave he gives her as it’s too far of a reach to shake hands. Mitch raises a brow at Harry, to which Harry is quick to return. Catching the interaction, Y/N imagines they are the closest of the group. Suppose he’s just a bit protective of his friend bringing a random girl around, Y/N thinks to herself before her attention is grasped by the last person sitting at the table.

“And I’m Adam, the only name you need to remember, obviously,” says the man who had hugged Harry upon their arrival. He’s smiling so widely there’s crinkles near his eyes, which make Y/N feel all warm inside as she stares into his big brown eyes. He’s got a full bread, like Mitch, and matching brown hair that looks like it may need a bit of a trim but he styles it well. Y/N likes his button up shirt that’s a dark navy with little white stars all around it, paired with some plain black jeans.

“It’s really lovely to meet you all,” Y/N says after shaking Adam’s hand, “thank you for letting me come crash your night,” she adds with another timid smile.

“Nonsense, it’s nothing special,” Jenny assures her, waving her hand too before wrapping it around her half full glass of what Y/N assumed was alcohol - or hoped, because she really didn’t want to be the only one drinking tonight.

“Ouch,” Adam scoffs jokingly, “guess your husbands best mates playing is nothing special then, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m hurt, Jenny,” Mitch nods, bringing his glass up to his lips to take a sip of the dark yellow foaming liquid in his tall glass - beer, okay, sweet, so we’re all drinking, good, Y/N thinks. She also notices that Mitch is the only one with an American accent. She wonders how this group all became friends, being from different parts of the world, where did they all connect?

Harry chuckles and shakes his head at his friends, looking to Y/N to find her smiling at his mates too. He places a hand on her elbow, causing her to look at him. He nods his head to the open seats on the other side of the table for them. Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and begins to walk around the table, stepping behind Tom and Jenny’s chairs before stopping at the first one on Jenny’s right. Y/N catches Mitch’s stare, now ignoring the conversation at the table to instead watch Harry and her, but she’s quick to look away from his intense gaze and focus on taking her jacket off. Just as she tosses her jacket over the back of her chair, fixing her top in a discreet manner too, a red headed woman steps up in between her and Harry who is also slipping out of his jacket.

“Hey, Harry,” the woman greets him in a sultry tone. If Harry notices the obvious show she puts into her voice, he doesn’t act like it.

“Hey, Amy,” he says quickly, looking at his chair as he pulls it out and takes a seat.

“Running a bit behind your friends tonight, huh? What took you so long?” She asks. Seems she's rather observant of Harry’s presence, Y/N thinks, while she takes her seat and looks anywhere but to her right where the red head - fake red dye too, it was so obvious - back was mere inches away from her.

“I love your top, it’s so stylish,” Jenny comments, causing Y/N to look to her left at Jenny’s dazzling smile again.

“Thank you,” Y/N says, “this may not be the place to wear it, seems more like a casual band tee kind of place,” she notes, narrowing her eyes while looking around at the bar around them. Noticing now just how many neon signs there were in the dark space. The biggest was on the wall behind the small stage, which every table was facing. The bar was at the back of the bar and there were booths lining the wall closest to the door, then a couple of pool tables and gambling machines in the far right of the bar. Y/N had spent too much time in high maintenance bougie bars to find any of this remotely normal - but she didn’t hate it.

“Rubbish, you look hot, definitely got people in here questioning their wardrobe,” Jenny states, gaining Y/N’s attention again, “hell, next time I’m stepping it up to match this energy,” she adds, waving her hands at Y/N’s outfit.

Y/N chuckles and shakes her head, “well thanks, but you look incredible already! There’s no need.”

“Y/N,” Harry interrupts the girls suddenly.

Y/N lets out a small breath before turning to face what she’s been ignoring. The flirtatious red head and Mitch’s strong stare. Y/N raises her eyebrows at Harry. She completely ignores how the waitress now stood facing both their chairs, but she did notice how her hand was resting on the back of Harry’s.

“What are you drinking tonight?” Harry asks her, lips turning up into a smile. He can’t help himself, he finds himself smiling so much around her he’s sure he has wrinkles already.

“Oh,” Y/N says, finally looking at the waitress now. Her dark makeup made her blue eyes pop, it was a bit smudged but Y/N assumes she’s too busy working to notice. The waitress, Amy - Y/N reads her name tag, pinned on her tight black v neck shirt that has the bar's name on it - is staring at her, clearly forcing a smile while waiting for Y/N’s answer. “I’ll have tequila and soda water, bring a few lime slices on the side too,” Y/N orders, knowing exactly how Upper East Side she sounds, “please,” she adds with a forced smile that she mirrors from Amy.

“Coming right up,” Amy nods before turning away, not without a lingering gaze on Harry though.

Her obvious fake customer voice was rather annoying, Y/N thinks as her eyes follow her walking back to the bar. She takes note of the crowd around the bar, many waving at the one bartender stationed behind the bar. He looks older and is struggling to keep up with the rush of people. When Y/N turns back around, to face the table again, she catches Harry eyes on her. She scrunches up her nose at him and he chuckles before their attention is taken away by Adam’s deep voice.

“So, Y/N, you're this bloke’s neighbour, huh?” He questions, nodding his head to Harry. Y/N smiles and nods, sitting back in her chair while folding her hands between her thighs.

“Yeah, we just met in passing and ended up becoming friends,” she states, catching Harry nodding in the corner of her eye while he rests an arm on the table and faces towards her as he leans slightly into Mitch. To which Mitch responds by pushing his shoulder gently, making Harry’s smile widen at how he manages to bother his friend so easily.

“Give us the tea. How shit of a neighbour is he?” Adam asks, causing everyone at the table to chuckle.

“Hey,” Harry playfully whines at his friends.

“He’s fine, great even,” Y/N tells them, earning another smile from Harry as he watches her.

“Surprising considering he’s a shit roommate,” Mitch comments after taking another long sip of his beer. Harry turns in his chair and glares at Mitch, earning a smirk from him in return.

“I am not,” Harry grumbles.

“When were you two roommates?” Y/N asks, finding herself bringing a hand up to adjust her necklaces. Anything to keep her nervous hands busy. Suppose making new friends wasn’t her biggest strength, it was a rather nerve wracking experience to be honest.

“We just room together when we travel for any work stuff,” Harry answers, meeting her eyes for only a brief second before he’s looking back at Mitch. “Mitch here just likes his beauty sleep, while I have a pretty set morning routine I like to stick to,” Harry explains, looking back at Y/N as he finishes talking.

“Yeah, that starts at like six in the morning like a crazy person,” Mitch huffs jokingly.

“Six is way too early,” Y/N agrees, nodding along with Mitch. “At least give the man till nine,” she adds.

“He’s just being dramatic,” Harry states. Mitch mumbles something under his breath before taking another sip of his beer. Sounded a bit like “say’s the drama queen himself” but Y/N isn’t sure. Regardless, the interaction makes her smile. Just as she’s about to make another comment, Amy returns with hers and Harry’s drinks. Setting his down first with a smile before turning to Y/N and placing the glass of tequila and a small dish of limes too.

“Thank you,” Y/N says. Doesn’t matter if she thought Amy had an attitude problem, Y/N had manners.

“Anything else for the table? Another refill for you boys before you head up on stage?” Amy asks, ignoring Y/N completely and instead turning her back on her and looking at Mitch and Adam. Y/N notices how she leans her body into Harry a bit, her arm resting on the back of his chair again. If Harry notices, he’s oblivious to her motives. It almost makes Y/N laugh at how Harry’s ignoring her.

“Please,” Mitch nods, lifting his glass to finish off the rest of his beer. Y/N tries to hide her facial expression as she is impressed with how Mitch manages to gulp down the beer so fast, instead bringing her focus to her own drink - which she was looking forward to downing herself honestly.

She picks up a lime wedge and squeezes it over her glass, watching the juices squirt out and into her glass. After she stirs it with her straw, she brings it to her lips and gulps back nearly half of it. Y/N suddenly feels her phone buzzing in her jean pocket. She sits up slightly in order to slide it out of her pocket and looks at the screen. It’s Mark’s number again. Rolling her lips into her mouth, she declines the call and sets her phone screen down on the table before grabbing ahold of her drink again and having another sip. He sure has some nerve to continue to call numerous times, Y/N thinks as she zones out from whatever Harry and his friends were talking about.

“Y/N grew up in the city, actually,” Harry states. Y/N raises her eyebrows and looks around the table to see everyone’s looking at her now. She’s missed what they were talking about prior so she just spit balls it here and smiles.

“Um, yeah, born and raised,” she nods, “I noticed you all have quite a jumble of accents, where are you all from?” Y/N asks, looking towards Tom and Jenny as they begin to explain where they were separately from before meeting in London.

Harry watches Y/N while his friends speak, mostly because he already knows everything there is about their lives, but also because he likes watching Y/N. Taking in her small mannerisms like how she talks with her hands quite a lot, and how she rubs her ankles together under the table as she listens to Adam talk about his wife and kids back home. They all chat amongst themselves, making jokes and laughing too, for nearly thirty minute before Mitch and Adam are whisked away to the stage. Harry feels his chest bursting as he sits back and watches Y/N interact with his friends as if they are her own. He smiles when she looks his way, her cheeks howling as she sucks on the straw of her second drink - nearly finishing it while staring at him. Harry has to break the gaze as his thoughts run a different less innocent route, causing him to readjust how he’s sitting and clearing his throat just as the lead singer of the band introduces them.

“So, why aren’t you in the band?” Y/N asks as the beginning chords of their opening song play out. She’s leaning her elbow on the table, resting her head in the palm of her hand while turning her head to Harry - shutting out Jenny and Tom completely but they’re too busy watching the band to care.

“Bold of you to assume I have enough talent to be in a band,” Harry says with a smirk. Y/N rolls her eyes and reaches for her glass, bringing the straw between her lips and finishing off the tequila and soda water with three squeezed lime slices in it - Harry watched her prepare her drink both times, finding himself intrigued by her drink of choice.

“You are definitely talented enough,” Y/N says, “from the bit I’ve heard through the walls, you’re great with a guitar and I’m assuming I’m right considering that your job revolves around music.”

“Well, they already have a guitar player,” Harry notes, nodding his head towards Mitch who’s strumming away on his guitar. “And he’s one of the best in the business so if I did have any talent, he wipes me out without a question,” Harry insists.

Y/N is about to respond but then the band is starting to really get into the song. She turns her head, sitting up straight again, and watches the band perform. They’re really good, she thinks and starts to bob her head along to the song. Harry tries to not be obvious, but he stares at her for a few moments before facing the stage to watch his mates as well. He smiles as he watches her get into the music, nodding along with the bass line and tapping her foot to the drums. They’re performing one of Harry’s songs. He had written it a couple years back when he had finally settled into New York, hence the title ‘Ever Since New York’. He didn’t sell the song to any big artist, instead he kept it within his personal folder and when Mitch asked if his and Adam’s band could borrow it Harry said yes. It was one of the few personal songs he would let his friends borrow, others were too much of him to let someone else sing.

Y/N is seriously enjoying herself. The tequila has hit her, settling into her body with a constant buzz, and this band was so good. She’s shamelessly swaying her body in her chair and nodding her head back and forth with the beat. To be fair, so was everyone else at the table. Jenny matched her energy perfectly, even throwing an arm around her shoulders as the course of their third song picked up - Jenny knew the lyrics and sang along, causing the two of them to erupt into laughter afterwards. After Jenny turns her attention back to her husband, Y/N looks at Harry and notices him lightly singing along while bobbing his head too. She smiles and ends up watching him instead of the band for maybe a little too long. He turns his head and catches her stare, raising a brow but she just shakes her head and leans closer to him to ensure he can hear her before speaking.

“They’re really good,” she compliments, “like a lot better than some of the mainstream artists I’ve seen recently,” she adds on just as the band finishes up another song.

“Yeah, they are,” Harry nods in agreement, “but the bands really just a hobby for all of them since they are all involved within the industry already.”

“Oh, that’s sick though,” Y/N says, “not everyone’s hobby includes filling up a dive bar in New York City every weekend with people singing along to your songs,” she exclaims. She had looked around the room earlier during the last song to see it wasn’t just the bandmates' friends that knew the words to their songs. Majority of the people in the bar were singing too, clearly being regulars to their sets.

Amy arrives at their table again, setting down everyone's refills in a rush, thankfully being too busy to stop and flirt with Harry. Is that jealousy, Y/N? She questions herself in her head. She ignores her thoughts and brings her new drink to her lips, not even bothering with the lime slices this time as she’s feeling a bit drunk now and honestly could care less. As the band opens their next song with some strong drums and an incredible electric guitar melody, the crowd goes a bit crazy. Y/N furrows her brows and looks at the people at her table, Tom and Jenny are also hollering at the band while Harry is chuckling. He meets her eyes before echoing the crowd and cheering on his friends. Y/N’s eyes widen and she huffs out a laugh before she grabs her phone quickly and opens her Instagram.

Just in time, she opens her Instagram stories as the song picks up and the small crowd that had formed overtime at the front of the stage starts to dance around. Everyone is cheering and singing along, causing Y/N’s jaw to drop in pure amazement. She holds down the button to record and gets a quick ten second video of the band rocking out while the bar sings and goes nuts as the bass line played by Adam kicks in and their drummer flings his body around to play one of the most addicting beats they’ve played so far. Y/N shakes her head and swipes a filter on before tapping on the screen, turning to face Harry - who’s already watching her, of course.

“Does the band have an Instagram?” She asks. To which Harry just shrugs in response, because he really isn’t too sure - he’s not hugely into social media himself.

“They do!” Jenny says with excitement, Y/N turns in her seat and grins at Jenny as she spells out the bands Instagram handle. “I keep trying to get them to stay active on it but they barely do,” she states.

Y/N slips her drink that she holds in one hand and taps ‘post to story’ on her phone that in her other hand. “Well, they might get, like, a few notifications flood in since I tagged them in my story,” Y/N tells her.

“Oh yeah?” Jenny questions. “Are you big on Insta?”

“It’s kind of grown over the years, I just hit half a million last week actually,” Y/N states. Her words cause both Jenny and Tom’s jaws to drop. Suppose it’s quite a big number, Y/N thinks.

“That’s insane, oh my god,” Jenny says, “is social media like your job then?” She asks. Y/N notices how both Tom and Harry are more interested in hearing about her Instagram than the band’s next song, to be fair it is a slower tune, but still it shocks her a bit.

“Um, not really,” Y/N licks her lips, “I have a career at a fashion studio in the city, we style the city’s elite and some celebrities, do their personal shopping and all that. But the social media thing is really just a little add on, I guess,” Y/N explains, pausing a few times as she feels a bit nervous telling them about her following. Some people saw it as a clout thing, asking for shoutouts and tags so her followers would get their follower count up. While others thought it was childish and weird that she was kind of like an influencer in a way.

“Wow,” Harry says, his voice gets Y/N’s attention as she looks towards him now, “how didn’t I know this?” He questions with a chuckle.

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “it’s really just like a hobby, barely even that.”

“Like how the band is for Mitch and Adam,” Harry nods.

Y/N smiles and nods with him, “exactly.”

“You’re definitely the coolest girl Harry knows, by the way,” Jenny states, bringing Y/N’s attention back to her left where she sat. Y/N laughs and brushes her hair back over her shoulders.

“I don’t know about that,” Y/N disagrees and shakes her head, reaching for her drink again to take a few sips.

“No, you definitely are,” Harry corrects her, having a sip of his own drink as well. Y/N puts down her glass and smiles, shrugging her shoulders and leaning back into her seat.

“I mean, if you say so,” she says in a joking tone. Jenny, Tom and Harry all chuckle, which makes Y/N laugh along with them. The band is talking to the crowd now, mentioning that their weekly gig will not be happening next week due to the holidays. Then they’re explaining something about their next and final song, thanking the crowd before the song starts up.

“This was their first song as a band,” Tom tells Y/N. She smiles and nods, appreciating the insight from him.

The song is catchy, still fitting the bands vibe but definitely isn’t as good as some of the other songs they had played already. Y/N decides to take a final snap of the band on stage on her Instagram story. Mitch’s head is down, his hair falling forward that she can barely tell that it’s him, while Adam is grinning at the crowd which makes Y/N smile as she swipes on a filter to lighten the picture some and types out ‘new fave band alert’ as her caption, finding a red siren gif quickly before posting it to her story. As the song comes to an end the bar erupts into a roar of cheers. Y/N brings her hands to her mouth and hollers along with the bar, grinning as she watches the four boys of the band come together and bow. As they bend down Harry whistles, having both his hands at his mouth, to show his support to his friends.

Y/N widens her eyes and turns quickly to look at Harry, surprised by the loud whistle that came from him. He matches her look, widening his eyes and playing dumb as he slowly lowers his hands from his face. Y/N laughs, slapping a hand on his arm and leaning back, immensely entertained by his actions. Harry laughs along with Y/N till they both calm down and shake their heads. Just as Y/N is about to say something her phone starts to buzz on the table from an incoming call. She looks down at the screen and sees it’s Mark - again.

“Ugh,” Y/N groans and hits decline, unlocking her phone to go to her phone app. “How the hell do you block a phone number?” She asks aloud to no one in particular.

“Is it Mark?” Harry questions in a low voice, leaning towards Y/N to keep his words between them. Y/N frowns but nods her head once. The tequila in her system starts to mess with her, her screen becoming fuzzy as she thinks about all the crap she learnt about Mark earlier today. And now he was ruining her fun out with Harry and his friends.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Y/N asks, turning to Jenny since she would know the location of the women's bathroom over Harry.

“Down the hall in the back corner over there,” she points in that direction and before anyone else can say something Y/N is on her feet with her phone in hand and heading to the bathroom.

Harry looks over his shoulder as he monitors Y/N’s move across the bar. He’s worried about her, obviously, but he’s also watching to make sure no douche bag makes a grab for her. Although he is sure that she could handle it herself. As he turns back to the table he sees both Tom and Jenny staring at him. Harry furrows his brows and brings his drink to his lips, having the final sip of his third drink tonight. Jenny just shakes her head and looks down at her phone, he’s pretty sure she’s looking up Y/N’s Instagram. Tom’s still staring at Harry though.

“What?” Harry finally asks, setting his glass down with the few other empty ones at the centre of the table.

“So,” Tom pauses, “what’s going on here?” He questions, being annoyingly vague.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, trying his hardest to not roll his eyes.

“Well you just show up with this bombshell of a woman, who is beyond anything you could’ve described her as by the way, and we’re all just supposed to forget she’s in a relationship?” Tom questions, tilting his head just slightly to the side as he stares down Harry.

“Firstly, I’m insulted you don’t think we could just be friends,” Harry says, he’s about to continue but Mitch and Adam join the table again. They get a round of ‘good job’ from everyone before Mitch is turning to Harry and furrowing his brows.

“What were you saying before?” He asks.

“That it is just possible for Y/N and I to be friends, but also not that it’s any of your guys business cause it’s not even mine, but her and her boyfriend broke up, like, recently,” Harry informs his friends, dragging his fingertip along the condensation of his empty glass in front of him. He feels silly, having to explain himself for simply bringing along a friend to hangout tonight. But he can’t deny it feels good to know that she is single now. Only to feel bad a second later as he knows that Y/N must be hurting, judging by her drowning herself in tequila drinks and getting upset over Mark calling her.

“Well, shit,” Mitch breathes out. Harry lifts his gaze to find his best mate with his usual smug look on his face. “What are you waiting for then, loverboy, make a move,” Mitch coaxes him.

“Did you not hear me when I said they broke up recently? As in maybe I should just let that settle for a while before I try and make any sort of move,” Harry says.

“Well if you don’t eventually and you let this one go, then you’re a bloody idiot,” Adam resorts, “Y/N is a prize, one evening knowing her and I understand your little crush, H,” he adds with a smile.

“Trust me,” Harry huffs out a breath and shakes his head a bit, “I’m well aware. But seriously guys, I’m just going to let it play out and not force anything. I’m happy to just be her friend, honestly,” he explains. Everyone nods, seeming to understand where Harry is at now with Y/N. Perfect timing, Amy shows up with refills for everyone to get the attention of the group off Harry.

“So, Harry,” Amy says after setting down everyone glasses, turning her body away from Jenny and the empty chair for Y/N to completely face him - her boobs practically in his face. He gives her a polite smile, leaning back in his chair in order to get some distance from her. “Who’s this new girl you brought with you? A cousin or something?” She asks, her body seeming to lean even further towards him as she speaks.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to let Amy know her ridiculous assumptions were wrong. When he hears Y/N’s voice from behind where Amy stood. “Classy,” she mutters under her breath.

Amy rolls her eyes rather dramatically before she turns away from Harry and looks at Y/N as she’s pulling out her chair and returning to her seat. “What did you say?” Amy asks, her voice rather snarky in Y/N’s opinion.

“I said, wow you’re hair colour, it’s like, so classy, I love it,” Y/N resorts, putting on a smile just as fake as her words.

Amy’s lips part, her eyes narrowing at Y/N’s bored stare. Whatever bitchy response she has lined up for Y/N is cut short as Amy’s name is being yelled by the bartender. Her gaze falls behind Y/N, looking at who had called for her, before she meets Y/N’s eyes again. She glares again, huffs out a short breath, and then is nearly stomping away from the table like a child who didn’t get the Barbie doll she wanted to play with - or rather the Ken doll. Y/N’s lips turn up slightly into a smug smile as a feeling of pride flushes over her.

“Yup, it’s official,” Jenny says, bringing Y/N back to reality as she looks away to her left. Jenny is grinning as she brings an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her into her side. “You’re one hundred percent the coolest girl Harry knows,” she states, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“You handled Amy like a pro,” Adam notes, then jutting his chin towards Harry, “H is always too nice to let her know how annoying she’s being.”

Y/N smiles and looks at Harry in the corner of her eye, noticing the slight tint of pink upon his cheeks. She flips her hair over her shoulder and shrugs, “I grew up dealing with the snobby Upper East Side kids, Amy is harmless, believe me,” Y/N ensures the group before grabbing for her drink and sucking back a few good gulps.

The group around the table begins to talk about the performance, compliments and praises to Mitch and Adam all around of course. Even a few strangers come up to give them a pat on the back and ask for a picture. They’re like royalty in this dingy little bar.

Y/N is enjoying sitting back and simply being around people, letting herself push away any thoughts of Mark. She had blocked his number while she waited in line for the washroom, then responded to Sammy’s million texts asking where she was and with who - when she told him she was with Harry he just replied with ‘#TeamHarry for the win’, which she rolled her eyes at but ended up smiling down at her phone and texting him a thumbs up back.

When Y/N finished with her business in the rather dirty washroom - the sink barely even worked, it was not ideal - and she saw Amy at the table beside Harry again, Y/N let her jealousy fly. Then when Amy started leaning so far into Harry that her boobs nearly touched his chest, Y/N just couldn’t help it. It was like her vision turned red suddenly, her chest swelling up as she tried to bite down on her tongue. But she couldn’t, she was too annoyed by Amy’s less than classy actions towards her customer.

“Hey,” Harry’s low voice snaps Y/N out of her own world. She blinks and focuses on him, feeling herself melt at the sight of his smile. “Are you okay?” He asks, more than likely referring to her quick departure to the bathroom after Mark called.

“Yeah,” she assures him with a smile and a nod. “I blocked his number, I don’t want to hear his excuses. I could really care less,” she explains to Harry. He nods in response and is about to say something else, about how Mark is a real idiot for whatever he did to hurt her. But Y/N sits up, places a hand on his arm that was resting on the table between then, and gives him another smile. “But enough about him, seriously, I’m feeling a little drunk and having way too much fun here with you to be bothered anymore,” Y/N tells him.

“Alright,” Harry smiles, peering at Y/N as his heart beats wildly in his chest. He’s pretty sure his skin’s tingling from where her hand rests. But it doesn’t last long before she moves, reaching for her glass - that she then raises into the air.

“I would like to make a toast,” Y/N announces to the table, gaining everyone’s attention and smiles, “to Mitch and Adam’s absolutely amazing performance, new friends, and to having a lovely holiday season,” Y/N beams as Harry and his friends cheer in agreement and everyone lifts their glasses into the air.

The group ends up buying shots after, then another round of drinks, and then more shots. Y/N is laughing so much her stomach hurts. She hasn’t been this happy while enjoying others' company in far too long, outside of work of course. Harry makes another joke, teasing Adam, but Adam dishes it back right away. Y/N finds herself letting her hand slip to Harry’s thigh as she throws her head back with laughter at Adam’s absurd comment. Everyone else is too focused on the banter to notice, but Harry does of course. He’s breath hitches in his throat as he feels her delicate fingers spread over his thigh. He gulps, unsure if he wants to break whatever drunken trance that Y/N may be in. Does she realize that she’s put her hand on his thigh? He wonders. But his thoughts are quickly answered as she caresses her thumb along his pants before lifting her hand slowly off of him altogether.

Y/N’s leaning on her elbow again, her chin propped up in the palm of her hand as she looks at Harry. He’s so hot, her drunk self thinks as she watches his Adam's apple bob up and down for a second time since she had placed her hand on his thigh. It happened by accident to be honest, but she wasn’t sorry about it. God, she was just itching to touch Harry. His thigh, his arm, maybe rub gentle circles on the back of his neck as he talked amongst his friends, but she wanted to touch his lips more than anything. She couldn’t stop looking at his pretty pink lips as he replies to whatever whoever said to him.

Harry catches Y/N’s glossy eyes staring at him in the corner of his eye. He rolls his lips into his mouth to stop himself from smiling. He likes how she can’t seem to keep her eyes off of him, because he does the same thing maybe a little too often. Harry turns his head and meets her gaze, giving her a smirk as she playfully narrows her eyes at him. Her cheeks are rosy from the amount of liquor she’s consumed, while her eyes truly are a bit glossed over from her being more than tipsy. She’s so hot, he thinks, as his eyes shamelessly roam over her appearance. Even hours later at this shitty bar and she still looks breathtaking. Harry’s gaze lingers a little too long on her chest, admiring the way the top fit her breasts; was she wearing a bra? Oh how he wishes he could find out.

Y/N adjusts her position in her chair, letting her left arm fall into her lap while she lays her right arm beside Harry’s. She is liking this game they seem to be playing with their eyes. She sits up straight, knowingly sticking out her chest just a bit as she watches Harry’s eyes fall to her breasts. But she keeps it classy, of course, unlike some people. Y/N lets out a breathy sigh as she looks at Harry’s hand mere inches away from her right hand. Those rings, she thinks, they could do some real damage. Her thighs clench involuntarily, her mind falling into a fog as she imagines them leaving red marks on her bare bottom or how cool they would feel against her throat.

“I really like your rings, have I told you that before?” Y/N’s voice is hoarse, but she doesn’t care as her pinky reaches over to touch the large gold ‘S’ that rests on his pinky. The metal is cool to her touch, just as she imagines. Feeling brave - thanks to her good friend, tequila - she lifts her hand slightly in order to comfortably drag her fingertip over the ‘S’ shape a couple times.

“No, you-” Harry clears his throat, feeling it become dry at the sight of her doe eyes staring at his fingers. His mind goes somewhere dirty, thinking of somewhere else his fingers could go. Tangled in her hair, wrapped around her throat, inside of her. Harry licks his lips before he speaks again, “you haven’t, but thank you.”

“Which is your favourite?” Y/N questions, her finger still lazily tracing the ring on his pinky finger.

“Quite like the inicals,” Harry answers, smirking as she glances up to peer at him through her lashes. She mirrors his smug look easily.

“A very narcissistic answer,” Y/N hums, teasing him. Harry playfully narrows his eyes at her, which she returns but ends up giggling after a moment as he sticks out his tongue at her. These inappropriate thoughts have got to just slide away for a moment, Y/N thinks with a deep breath.

“We’re going to head out,” Tom announces to the table suddenly, helping Jenny out of her chair. Jenny’s beautiful dazzling smile is on her husband as he helps her into her coat. They’ve both had quite a bit to drink too and Harry notes how Jenny latches onto Tom’s side after they’re in their coats.

“I’m still shocked you two both came out tonight,” Harry says.

“We paid big bucks for this babysitter, so they better keep it together for at least another four hours,” Tom exclaims with a wink. Jenny gasps and smacks her husband on the chest as she realizes what Tom is insinuating.

“Don’t go acting like you last longer than ten minutes, bud,” Mitch taunts jokingly to his friend. Everyone laughs as Tom glares at Mitch across the table. Y/N covers her mouth with her hands, finally bringing her finger away from where it laid on Harry’s ‘S’ ring, in order to cover her chuckles.

“It was so lovely to meet you, Y/N,” Jenny gushes, letting go of Tom in order to put her arms around Y/N and hugging her tightly.

Y/N smiles into her bleached hair, squeezing her back just as tightly, “you too, Jenny,” she says.

“Don’t let H keep hiding you away now,” she says, pointing a stern finger at the two of them. Harry laughs and shakes his head at his friend.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jenny,” he tells her.

Then they’re all saying goodbye to the couple as they walk out of the half empty bar. Y/N glances around the place, noticing how it feels less scary now. Maybe it was the tequila that helped, or how comfortable she felt around Harry and his friends. A yawn suddenly makes it’s way past Y/N’s lips, she brings the back of her hand to cover it but ends up squinting her eyes closed as her whole body feels drained. She meets Harry eyes after the yawning stops, he shows her a small soft smile that makes her return it right back.

“Ready to go home?” He asks. She contemplates it for a moment, because she truthfully doesn’t want the night to end. But she decides to not fight it and nods to Harry.

Harry does practically the same thing as Tom just had. He announces his and Y/N’s departure, helps her into her coat, and lets her say her goodbyes as Adam opens his arms up for a big warm hug. Mitch only nods, waving to them both before Harry leads the way out of the bar. The cold night air blasts Y/N’s hair back, the sharp wind taking her by surprise as she blinks back tears from the cold. She puts both her hands into her coat pockets and zips it up all the way, snuggling into the warmth it will provide her on their walk home.

“I feel like Mitch doesn’t like me much,” Y/N admits after a few minutes of comfortable silence between her and Harry.

“What?” Harry shakes his head, eyebrows pinched together. “No, that’s just how he is. He’s quiet and looks all moody. Give him some time, he’ll warm up, promise.”

“I think he’s just protective of you,” Y/N says, looking up at Harry after they cross the road, “thinks I’m a threat or something.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head again,“well, it’s definitely not like that with Mitch and I, plus he’s seeing someone. Her name’s Sarah, she plays drums on a lot of tracks we write.”

“If you say so,” Y/N sighs. She looks around at the sights before them. A few other mildly drunk people wander the streets, and she notices a few homeless people too, that tore Y/N’s heart apart, as they were bunkering down in the alleyways. Harry keeps pace with Y/N the whole walk home, letting her control the speed they walked and what they talked about. She would jump from subject to subject the entire time, but Harry thought it was kinda cute that she was so drunk she didn’t even realize how quickly she changed the topic.

And all too soon, they’re in the elevator in their apartment building. Harry presses the number six button and joins Y/N on the back wall. They both lean into the railing, comfortable silence falling between them once again. But it was obviously their thoughts were anything but silent. The elevator doors open on their floor, and Harry lets her walk out first as always.

“Well this is me,” Y/N says dramatically as she approaches her apartment door. Harry chuckles under his breath, shaking his head slightly and letting his eyes fall to the floor for a second before meeting Y/N’s stare again. “I really did have a great time tonight, Harry,” she tells him.

“I’m glad, I did too,” he agrees.

Y/N wants to kiss him. She really really really does. But they’re both a little drunk, and she literally just broke up with Mark yesterday - or maybe technically two days ago now since it’s past midnight. But it didn’t matter, she didn’t want to be that girl. Plus she wanted to really get to know Harry and take this slow and see where it went. That didn’t stop her gaze from falling to his pretty pink lips though. Harry’s thoughts are running laps too. He wants to kiss her. But he knows she’s more than likely still hasn’t recovered fully emotionally from her break up Mark, hell not even ten hours ago she was crying because of her shitty ex boyfriend. Didn’t mean he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her though, especially when her gaze falls to his lips.

Just as quickly as they seemed to fall into some dream like state as thoughts of kissing each other float around them, they snap back to reality. Y/N blinks a few times and takes a step back, bumping into her front door. Harry clears his throat and steps back as well, towards his own front door.

“Polar Express,” Y/N says suddenly, earning a look of confusion from Harry. “We’re watching the Polar Express tomorrow, and you’re going to play me something on that guitar of yours.”

Harry lets out a chuckle and gives Y/N a smirk, “yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“You will,” she singsongs as she focuses on unlocking her door. It takes a few extra tries to get the key in but once she does she unlocks it and opens the door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry smiles.

“Goodnight, H,” Y/N says softly, smiling as well, as she leans against her door to look back at him. Harry’s smile deepens at her using his nickname. She must’ve picked it up from his friends using it earlier during their time at the bar.

She gives him one last look over, knowing very well that she’s going to dream about him in that cream and blue plaid jacket - and maybe only wearing that jacket - before she shuts her door and presses her back against it as it closes. Today was a lot. But she’s beyond grateful that Harry invited her out, introducing her to his wildly unique group of wonderful friends, and letting her get a little bit drunk too. Her chest flares up as she remembers their close moment at the bar, her touching his rings, placing her hand on his thigh-

“Oh god,” Y/N all but moans out as her thoughts go right back to the place they were at before.

She shakes her head and heads to her bedroom. Harry wouldn’t be able to hear a vibration from the other side of the wall, would he? Y/N shrugs and opens her bedside table drawer to grab her vibrator, knowing just how much she needed it tonight as she imagined Harry’s hand between her thighs. Fuck, she’s so screwed, she thinks, biting her lip as she realizes, she really really really likes Harry.

>> part four <<

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until next week 😘

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#harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles concept #harry styles one shot #1dff #cstsyl #omg this took me so long i know but i really really like it and hope u guys to do!!

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 3 years

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Hogwarts No.1 Ship

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader Word count: 3.4k Summary: You - Rubeus Hagrid’s niece and a surprising slytherin - have a crush on the Slytherin prince himself, but you are sugar and he is spice and there is no world where the two of you would fit together...right? Warning: Swearwordsm concussion, broken bones, but mostly fluffffffffff Requested by the amazing and patient (I’m really sorry it took so long) @onlycherryblossom: Hi! I love your work and I was wondering if you could right a Draco Malfoy x Reader. you know, the one we talked about. It'd be so awesome! i hope you have a good day/night! (I won’t put our chat in here so that I don’t spoiler anything)

Hogwarts had rarely ever known two students who were as opposite to each other as Draco Malfoy and Y/N Hagrid. Draco - who was the embodiment of how people imagined the stereotype of Slytherin to be - was (most of the time) a prideful, cold, unempathetic prick, while you were a selfless, positive thinking, kind and gentle soul that could‘ve been a descendant of Helga Huffelpuff herself. The two of you did have one thing in common though. Your house. The hat had made you both into Slytherins which was on Draco’s side not surprising at all, but quite a shock for everyone who had talked to you for even a minute. Probably the biggest shock was courtesy of Rubeus Hagris - Half-Giant and your adopted uncle (on his father’s side) - who insisted that the hat must have made a mistake, but was quickly shot down by Dumbledoor who assured that the hat didn‘t make any mistakes. After some initial tumbling though, Hagrid realized that the house didn‘t make the person and that it didn‘t matter in what house you were sorted into, you’d always be his little pumpkin. And he was quite right. Even after you had been a Slytherin for just about five years, you had only grown more kind and loving - having bonded with many people in the other houses and years, but not quite as many in your own house. You’d call Blaze and Millicent maybe something close to friends and Pansy tolerated you which is why you gave her the title of ‘good acquaintances‘, but other than that you didn‘t really have a lot of contact with them in your free time. The most complicated relationship you held though was the one to the aforementioned Draco Malfoy. In a weird twist of fate the two of you somehow became the main ship in Hogwarts (with Harry and Ginny or Harry and Hermione as close second) even though you couldn‘t remember more than two or three times that you had talked to the boy outside of a classroom or study environment. Sure, he had never bullied or teased you which already differentiated you from most of the students, but you simply explained it by the fact that you were a good student - especially in potions class - and behaved well enough to gain a number of house points which made you into a good asset to Slytherin and as such made you a less logical target. Now all in itself that would‘ve been more than fine with you, but for some stupid reason your heart decided to betray you against it‘s better judgement and fall for him. Somehow, even after years of seeing him kick others down and behave like a complete douchebag you couldn‘t help but blush slightly at the mention of his name and feel your heart flutter when you walked by him in the hall or in the common room. The worst part was in potions class where he sat right beside you after Snape deemed your former partner as way too unqualified for one of his best students and exchanged him for Draco. Working with him in and of itself was actually rather nice. He was a good student and did his work thoroughly and mindfully, but you found it hard to concentrate when his hand brushed yours as you read a passage in the book or when he poured ingredients in the coultron that you were stirring. You really tried to ignore your feelings and ban every thought of him, but it seemed like you weren‘t doing the best job at it since your uncle kept asking about what it was that was distracting you all the time. On a rainy October day fairly at the beginning of your fifth year you decided you had enough. You were sitting in your Uncles hut with a plate of more or less edible cookies in front of you and a cup of something that was surely supposed to be tea when you finally gathered the courage to say what you had been meaning to say for weeks now. “Uncle Rubeus, can I ask you something?” Hagrid turned to you with his usual smile as he patted fang who was drooling all over his lap where he had laid his head. “Course ya can pumpkin. What’s it about?” “Uhm...well… you know there is this boy that I-“ “Ohhh Ah see,” Hagrid quickly interrupted you before you could even ask the question, “Ya know, usually I’d be more than happy to help ya with every question you have but ah really don’t thin’ I’m the right person for this, I’m sorry.” A little bit disappointed but not really surprised you just sighed and shook your head, telling him that it was okay, before bidding your goodbyes and making your way back to the castle quietly mulling over what exactly your plan b should be now that plan a had failed and you still had no idea what to do with or how to get rid of your stupid crush on Draco.

“You know what I would do if I were you?“ Ginny asked and pointed the end of her quill at you. The both of you were sitting in a corner of the library where you had planned to help her study for her upcoming potions exam, only for her to basically interrogate you until you admitted that you had an unlucky crush, even though she luckily hadn‘t pushed you to tell her who the guy you had a crush on was. “I‘d probably just tell them, I mean what do you have to lose. Either he‘ll say yes and you‘re happy or he says no and you just avoid him like he doesn‘t even exist - which would honestly be the appropriate reaction if he refuses a snack like you. See, no real downside to it.“ “Oh really? Hmmm, I wonder why you haven‘t told Harry how you feel yet then,“ you teased her and tapped your chin. Ginny‘s face immediately started to rival the colour of her hair and the way she crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted reminded you of an overgrown toddler - but in a cute way. “I-I don‘t like Harry, okay? I mean I did when I was like ten because he was famous and I was a child,“ she tried to make sure you really knew how silly she wanted you to believe she thought it was by drawing out the word child for a good few seconds before rolling her eyes and looking to the side, “And anyway, it‘s not like he‘d date his best friend’s sister…“ “Oh Gin,“ you immediately felt bad and grabbed one of her hands with yours, “Have you looked at yourself? You‘re amazing and if Harry doesn‘t see that through his stupid invisible cloak and these glasses than he doesn‘t even deserve you.“ “Even though I admit that yes, I am amazing, this isn‘t the topic that we should be conversing about right now, remember? I think there‘s a certain blond Slytherin that you should be worried about more right now.“ Immediately blood shot right to your cheeks and you quickly looked around to make sure no one could‘ve heard her before leaning forward and hissing: “What? No? I don‘t like Draco? Why would you even think that? I never said that he is the one I have a crush on.“ Ginny just raised her eyebrows in an unimpressed manner, leaning back in her chair and picking the quill back up to play around with while she talked. “Listen honey, I‘m not judging you or anything. Don‘t get me wrong, I still and probably will always think Draco is a major asshole and doesn‘t even deserve to breath the same air as you-“ “He isn‘t that bad…“ “Yes he is, but anyways, no matter what I think of him I also know that you are a clever girl that knows how to protect herself and who knows, maybe you‘d even have a good influence on him.“ Images of you and Draco together with your friend group laughing and having fun crossed your mind and you could feel your heartbeat fasten involuntarily. “That‘s all great and good, but like I said, I don‘t have a crush on Draco,“ you gave the hope of getting out of this situation with the lie you‘ve been telling yourself for months still intact one last try, but Ginny didn‘t give it the time of day. “Oh please, I see the way you look at him in the dining hall and how your eyes are always on him when he‘s playing quidditch and just now you defended him even though the two of you aren‘t even friends. My love-radar is pinging like crazy around the two of you which is why I, Ginny Wealey also known as the love witch-“ “No one calls you that,“ you interrupted her only to be shushed by an evil glare. “I, Ginny Weasley, will help you in fulfilling your desire and getting together with Draco and I already have the perfect plan.“ “No no no no, please don‘t! Don‘t do this! Ginny no!“ you tried to make your point clear but she was already cleaning up her stuff and getting ready to leave. “Don‘t worry oh sweet Y/N, the next time we‘ll talk everything will be set in motion,“ she winked before dashing off leaving you standing in her figurative dust with your mouth agape for a few seconds before you let your head sink onto the table. This would definitely take an interesting turn…

After that you definitely started to actively avoid Draco which was - surprisingly enough - not as easy as you thought. Somehow he was almost always at least in your near vicinity. Besides the obvious factors of class (where you tried to focus on working and on praying whatever Ginny had planned wouldn‘t happen) and when you were eating in the great hall (where you had resorted to sitting at the very end of the table as far away from him as possible) he seemed to also be there in your free time. You were relaxing in the common room? He was there reading a book. You were outside with Harry and co.? Guess who’s coming their way to insult them (while not saying a single bad thing about you). By now there were just about three places where you were sure that he wouldn’t be able to pop up at any given moment. Your room, the bathroom and the potions classroom on Wednesday and Friday afternoon when class has already ended. After Snape had realized that he had some real potions-potential sitting in front of him he offered you extra credit as some sort of teaching assistant which basically meant that you helped him prepare lessons, helped him grade the first to third years tests and that you cleaned up and organized the potions classroom twice a week. Now usually, knowing that you were more than capable of handling the potions and ingredients standing around on your own after having seen you do it for a few months, you‘d be alone while you cleaned up except for the occasional visit of your professor to tell you which ingredients you should put on the students desks for the next class, but for some reason the next Friday - three days after Ginny had made her promise to you - the door already stood open and you could hear Professor Snape talking to someone. “I really expected better of you, your action is the reasons Slytherin has lost 50 housepoints and I hope you know that it is on you to gain them back, no matter your status,“ Snape‘s voice carried to where you stood and you wondered who the student was if Snape went so easy on them with his lecture. Usually you‘d be afraid for your life after losing even ten house points so getting such a calm reaction for 50 must‘ve really meant something. Your questions about the identity of the student were answered when you entered the dungeon room and immediately felt yourself freeze. Of course not even you (time dependent) sanctuary was safe anymore. Of course Draco just had to stand there and look at you without any identifiable emotion in his gaze. “Ah, Miss Hagrid, right on time as always,“ Snape nodded after he also noticed you and you felt slightly more at ease knowing that with him there nothing could really happen. “Should I come back later?” you asked politely, not sure if you had interrupted something. “No, you may stay. Mister Malfoy over here has got himself caught trying to sabotage McGonagall class, a childish act which I would’ve expected of the Weasleys but really not from you. As a punishment he will be the one to clean the potions classroom bi-weekly from now on until he has regained the house points lost. You’ll supervise him.” “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I understand.” “Malfoy will do all the cleaning but since he has no experience with it I can’t just leave him alone so, since you’d be here anyway, you can watch him and make sure that everything goes orderly.“ It wasn‘t really a question as much as a command, something that you were used to from Snape, so you just nodded and bid him goodbye as he went to his office, leaving you and Draco behind. By now you had seen through what was happening. This was Ginny‘s plan. Somehow she must‘ve managed to blame Malfoy for the prank on McGonagall - something rather extreme given the taken house points- hoping (or somehow knowing) that his punishment would force you to spend at least an hour with him alone in a dimmed room twice a week. Inwardly you cursed your friend, while outwardly you tried everything to avoid directly looking at Draco as you explained his tasks to him before you sat down at your usual place and pulled out a book really hoping you could get him to not talk to you that way. Either your plan was working great or Draco just really didn‘t care for you, because an hour later you still hadn‘t exchanged any words, instead he dutifully, but slightly pouting, had done his job while you shot him the occasional glance to make sure he was doing it correctly. “I think that was all, you should be good to go now,“ you told him with a small smile, relieved that you were finally free to leave the room and with that the tension that had built up inside you as a mix of nervousness and fear. Draco had opened his mouth to respond when a third year came rushing inside with at least twelve books in her arms that almost towered over her which she quickly placed on a table, slightly out of breath. “Professor Snape sent me. He said these have to be sorted and put away.” You could probably feel Draco’s sigh before he had made it and - not really fond of spending more time so frustratingly close to your crush and yet so far - you just nodded and told both of them that you’d take care of it and that they could leave, which both promptly did. You took the books and carried them to the back of the room where a sole, old bookshelf was standing - since the students mostly had their own books - and started putting them away when you heard a sickening crunch before suddenly the shelf including books came crashing down at you and before you could even think to pull out your wand, the world turned black.

“I’m so so so sorry, you were right I shouldn’t have interfered, if I’d just listened to you you wouldn‘t be lying here now,“ Ginny whined from beside your bed where she had been sitting for the past twenty minutes apologizing over and over again and blaming herself for the broken arm, leg and the concussion that had you unable to leave the infirmary for the next three days to a week. “Ginny, how often do I gotta tell you, it isn’t your fault! I would’ve sorted those books in anyways - no matter if you had pulled that prank or not - and it would’ve fallen anyways,” you tried to reassure her and gave her a soft smile. “But-“ “No but, okay? We can’t change the past anyways, and even if we could I wouldn’t because thanks to you, I don’t have to take that stupid DADA test.” Your attempt to lighten the mood seemed to work, because soon you and Ginny were back to your usual conversation-style and it relieved you immensely. It made you feel okay again. She was just telling you of a stung Harry had pulled in the Gryffindor Common room when she suddenly paused mid sentence and looked up. You followed her eyes to where they were placed firmly on a certain Platinum blond boy that looked simultaneously like he’d rather be everywhere else and like he was glad to be there, it was a sight to see. “I think I’ll leave for now, I’ll come back later with tons of sweets that Luna and I are going to steal from Harry’s personal stash,” Ginny said goodbye and gave you a wink as she walked away making you torn between wanting to roll your eyes and feeling yourself blush. Unsure of what to do next you motioned to the chair that Ginny had just occupied and Draco seemed to get the hint because he quickly sat down. “Hey-“ “Hi-“ “Sorry, you first.” “No it’s fine, you’re injured, you go first.” “Well, uhm-“ you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, “-I wanted to thank you, for bringing me here I mean, Madame Pomfrey told me you carried me all the way.” You looked away hoping that he wouldn’t see how nervous you were. “You don’t need to thank me, I couldn’t just let you lay there buried under books, your not Granger after all,” he said, seemingly trying to joke but immediately noticed that it was probably not the best thing to say given that you and Hermione were good friends. “Listen, what I came here for,” now it was Draco’s turn to take a deep breath, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but you were always with Potter or avoiding me or whatever, but after I saw you lying there… I guess I was just worried for you, I really don’t want you to get hurt.” Now that definitely caught your attention. For a second you played with the thought that this could possibly not be Malfoy but just someone else playing him with the help of polyjuice potion because he was definitely not acting like himself, but something in his word convinced you otherwise. “Thanks, I think, but would you mind me asking why? I mean...we’re not really the closest of friends,” you asked him, looking directly into his face to search signs of a possible answer. “Fuck it, I like you, okay? Happy?” You were completely stunned. Stunned, speechless, shocked. In all the time that you had been crushing on him you had never even really considered even the slightest possibility that he could reciprocate your feelings but now here he was telling you straight up. “You-You like me? Like like-like me?” You asked, just really wanting to be sure. There was a hint of nervousness and worry in his eyes, but he hid it behind a wall of annoyance. “You heard me, didn’t you? So, just get it over with, do you like me too or do you not, because if you don’t then I don’t want to waste my time any longer.” This definitely sounded more like the Draco you were used to and you had to giggle a little bit. “Yes, yes I like you too,” you confessed and like it was the most natural thing in the world you moved the uninjured hand over to where he laid on your bed and took it in yours. For the moment, you were caught in the shimmer of happiness and glee at having your crush there with you, definitely something more than your crush, and it would probably take a while until you‘d realize that there were some interesting things to follow, like telling your uncle about this for example...

#Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x reader #draco #harry potter #hogwarts x reader #harry potter x reader #ginny weasley #professor venomous #oneshot #hogwarts oneshot #harry potter oneshots #hogwarts

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sylvain-writes · 4 years

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If We Say the Words (Raphael x Reader)

Rated: G Gender Neutral Reader, friends to lovers, pining, affection, confessing feelings You and Raphael have been 'dating' but not really. It's finally time to confront your feelings, if only Raphael would make his move. for @bppeny32

Raphael's arm brushes yours as you approach your door, rough and solid and perfect. You hold yourself back from linking your arm with his and leaning in, but the fantasy niggles at the back of your mind.

Your discussion has turned animated as you playfully argue whose Mandarin was better when you'd practiced with Meili at her family's restaurant during dinner. While Raphael was the clear winner last week at Omatsu, you think you've pulled out a win tonight.

"Admit defeat, Raph,” you tease, switching to walk backwards. You poke his chest to make your point known. “I saw you pretending to like the peanut noodles. You could have told her you messed up your order."

You give him a playful shove that does nothing to alter his stride, and it’s really just an excuse to touch him again.

He pretends the overcast sky is the most interesting thing he’s seen all night, but then gives you a sideways glance and a twisted scowl that has you in stitches.

"Still a sore loser, huh?" You pivot to face front as you approach your townhouse. The steps are slick with wet fallen leaves, and as you lead the climb, Raphael steadies you with hands on your waist.

"Sore?," he says, "Wouldn't know." You wonder how he's so unaffected by the touch that’s left you breathless. “I neva lose." The soft light of the streetlamp gives his eyes a mischievous twinkle.

"Oh, come on!" You give him a slap on the stomach before fishing for your keys. "You're coming in, right?"

Raphael tips his head with a grin, poised to say yes, when his pocket starts to ring. He lifts the phone to his ear with a gruff, "Hello," and a voice speaks immediately over the line.

Raphael meets your eyes. You smile, but he turns away.

He grunts into the phone, trying to mask his frustration with short answers and a tight jaw. But it bleeds through his protests.

You slide your hand up the curve of his shell in silent support of whatever he's going through. The clench and release pattern of the free hand at his side gives away his struggle to keep his even tone. You're proud of him for not losing his cool.

Abruptly, the conversation comes to an end. Raphael turns, his bulk and stature smaller somehow as he rounds his shoulders and dips his head low. He gives you a soft, despondent look before dropping his gaze to where your hands are linked. You don’t remember reaching out for him. You cover Raphael's hand as it flexes and turns.

When his eyes meet yours again, they're searching. Intense, and wide, and needful. Raphael stares and you take the smallest step forward. But instead of coming closer, Raphael lets his hand fall from your grasp.

"That was Leo," he says, telling you what you already know.

"Ok." Your short nod is a familiar one. Just as his goodbye will be.

"Mikey found a lead. I gotta go."

You think maybe tonight’s goodbye hurts more than the others.

You barely register the lonely walk up the stairwell. By the time you reach your floor, you know Raphael is already sprinting across town by the rooftops.

Your palm is hot with the memory of holding his hand. With the texture of his shell under your touch. Your fist curls around the phantom sensations regardless of how silly it is to think you can hold onto the feelings forever.

You can’t help but sigh with want for the loss of him. For the loss of the kiss that seemed a hair's breadth away before Raphael's hand dropped from yours.

It would have softened the goodbye; it would have been a sign. It would have been a long time coming. With a heavy heart, you think, It'll be a long time still.

You can't force Raphael to move faster than he's willing to go. And if he's not comfortable, if he doesn't feel safe exploring the feelings you both clearly share, then you'll go at his pace. You’ll follow his lead. Quietly you admit to yourself, you’ll follow him anywhere.

You've been spending more and more time together. And now it seems like you have a standing dinner date for Tuesday nights. No, not a date. Dinner and movies and moonlit walks. Stargazing and late night phone calls. Family game nights and music exchanges. But no dates. Right. You're not dating.

And when you stand close or choose the seats closest to each other, when your heart leaps into your throat at his texts and your breath catches in your chest at each compliment, when his face lights up the moment he's caught sight of you, that's not a testament to your mutual attraction.

You flirt and you touch and everyone says that one day you'll be more than friends, but each day that passes without Raph taking the next step leaves you feeling like maybe everyone's imagining it all.

Yawning and trying not to think about how your loneliness feels heavier tonight, you flick off the light in the hallway and walk into your bedroom.

You're too focused on the drawstring tie of your pajama bottoms to notice the large form seated at your window. But once you look up, there's no way you can miss Raphael's imposing figure.

Only, he doesn't look intimidating at all. In fact, he looks smaller than he's ever seemed. And it's not that he's lost bulk. No, it’s the way he stoops and curls in on himself, as if afraid to take up too much space. And it breaks your heart to see your boisterous, confident warrior like this twice in a night.

"Raph?"

He grinds his fist into his palm, refusing to meet your eye. "I'm always cuttin' out." It's an apology and an accusation against himself rolled into one.

"It's ok."

"Naw, it ain't. Ya deserve so much better than that." His accent is heavier than usual; his voice thick with emotions you can tell he’s holding back.

You let what he says hang, afraid anything said to the contrary might incite an argument. It would be so easy to fall into the trap, so easy to say the wrong thing and push him away. So, you draw him closer instead.

"You must be tired," you acknowledge delicately. "I know I'm beat, and I wasn't the one running all over the city chasin-"

He holds up a hand to stop you from going further. He doesn't like to drag you into the mess of what's going on. Foot soldiers were one thing. But since the aliens and mutants started popping up, he’s tried to shelter you from whatever the News doesn't cover.

"Come on," you say, climbing onto the bed. You don't direct him to lie with you, you don't ask for a cuddle. But the request is implicit. Even if these are things the two of you don't ask for out loud.

When he sits against the headboard, you slide into place as you've done dozens of times before. The weight of his arm curls around you, a shelter and a shield. Your head and hand fall gently to his chest and he lies back with a quiet sigh.

You draw circles over his heart, following the swirling pattern of his plated plastron and perhaps this would be the time when other couples open their hearts and talk about their feelings. But you don’t expect that from Raphael. Not when words are so difficult.

When emotions run high, he lies low. And you have always taken Raphael - you've always loved him - as he is.

It's a long while of silence. But it's comfortable and sweet.

You gather every minute. Clutch them tight. Cherish them. It sometimes feels like you steal these moments from his hectic life. You don't take a second for granted.

His blunt fingertip follows the shell of your ear and your heart skips with the yet unspoken affection between you. He stops at your earlobe, offering slight pressure. Distracted by his thoughts, he rubs the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

Raphael draws in a deep breath and the shift in his pattern has your full attention.

"What if..." Raphael starts and stops. His voice sinks into the space between you, rough and broken. "What if we were doin' this for real?"

Hearing him struggle for words, you hate to ask for clarification. “This?"

Raphael's breath hitches and you swallow hard to push down your rising nervousness. "You and me. But, y'know..."

"For real," you finish his thought.

"Yeah.” His focus is on the delicate curve of your ear, the slope of your neck, anywhere but your eyes. “Know I ain't good enough,” he says and gives a small grunt to clear his throat from shaking. “Know I'm always gone or leavin'. But when I'm not, I wanna be here."

You tuck your chin and rest your forehead on his chest. Your 'yes' sounds more like a whimper than a word; you're not sure Raphael heard it for what it is.

His words burrow into your heart, and the muscle aches as if his confession has expanded the muscle.

You confess more clearly, "I want you here," and your arms encircle him as best they can and squeeze.

Raphael combs his fingers through your hair. He pets and waits, and you lift your gaze to his.

His green eyes shine, catching the glow of the bedside lamp. "...That mean we're doing this thing?” Hope tremors through his chest and your palm tingles with the vibration. “Cause I been wanting to kiss ya."

You crawl up beside him and plant a little kiss on his cheek. His skin grows warm and dark. Then, with a hand on his neck, you coax him to turn for more. The kiss is natural and safe. It feels like home, with the excitement of a favorite holiday. Your heart flutters and flips. You smile against Raphael's lips.

When his phone interrupts your night again, you kiss his cheek and settle back on the pillows to allow him room to answer the call.

“Leo?” Raphael relaxes immediately, then flushes dark, and gives a nervous chuckle.

Your smile returns easily. Watching Raphael’s relationship with Leo evolve has been a warm thrill for everyone who knows them.

“Yeah, I did.” Raphael answers Leo, and his hand sneaks toward you over the mattress. Though still wrapped up in the call, he hooks a finger over yours and smiles. “Yeah, I am.”

Raphael gives a contented grunt before tugging you close. You can hear Leo on the line as the pair of brothers exchange goodbyes.

“...happy for you, Raph,” Leo says and you blush at the approval. “I’m proud of you.”

Raphael stills in your embrace, unable to respond to his older brother's praise. Leo is understanding; he ends the call and Raph sets the phone aside without a word.

You cup Raphael's face and look into his eyes. You take your time, gazing down at him in a way you felt hasn’t been your right or privilege until now. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Didn’t do nothin’,” Raphael mumbles humbly, his eyes transfixed on you.

But you know the truth of it now. Going to Leo for support, for help, still doesn’t come easily for Raph, despite the closeness they’ve gained. And if Leo is checking in, asking about you, then Raphael must have confided in him. Trusted him with his vulnerability.

You give Raphael a soft shake of your head and a firm kiss on the lips. "Wasn't nothing."

With your nose nuzzled against his, you tell him again. Because there are more words to be said - more you'd like for him to hear, and believe, and maybe one day say back. But today you'll start with this.

#TMNT x reader #raphael x reader #tmnt x gender neutral reader #raphael x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #prompt fill #request fill #my writing

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acciofanfics · 4 years

Text

Spell It Out (Oliver Wood x Reader)

Request: could you do an oliver wood x female reader where they’re like friends and she’s really little (like thin and short and she’s insecure abt it by the thinks it’s cute) so he’s like kinda protective over her but she’s oblivious and idk maybe like he gets jealous or something (?) idk u can make the plot but they get together in the end and maybe it’s a lil steamy (?) thanks sm!!! i love ur writing 🥺

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Heavily implied smut and maybe language? I’ll say language to be safe.

Word Count: 1652

A/N: I hope this is what you wanted! I really struggled with thinking I wrote Oliver too OOC. That being said... I apologize if this is too OOC >.< As always here’s a reminder that requests are still open! - S

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Oliver Wood took quidditch quite serious, and would never fault anyone else for doing so. His chest swelled with pride when he found his team already on the pitch practicing, before their scheduled time. Maybe it was that they’d be playing Slytherin next week that had them finally taking the game as seriously as he did (they were Gryffindor’s biggest rival). His chest deflated when he saw (Y/N) playing keeper. How could they let her play?!

It wasn’t that he didn’t like (Y/N), they were good friends. Fred and George often said it was quite obvious he fancied her. Maybe, that’s why he had such a problem with it, quidditch could be a dangerous game! Of course it wasn’t against the rules for students not on the quidditch team to play around on the pitch and fly, but it should’ve been... at least for her. His first game on the team he took a Bludger to the head 2 minutes in and was out for a week!

Oliver found himself just watching for a bit; annoyed but distracted, he was fond of her smile and the wind catching her hair. Well, he was fond of it until Fred was hovering beside her, both laughing as her smile grew. Oliver couldn’t hear what they were saying so he had to make it up in his head and he was irritated that Fred had the nerve to suggest such. Oliver was quite glad he heard George yell and break his trance, “MUM’S HERE NO MORE FUN AND GAMES!”

Oliver tried to seem normal, as they all settled down and got ready for practice. He brushed off a friendly greeting from (Y/N) and tried to ignore the thoughts of her all together while she put the broom away. It wasn’t going to be the easiest task, given the fact that she usually settled in the stands to watch them practice.

It was a brutal practice... he had the tendency to do that: take out his frustrations on the pitch. It was pretty obvious that he was having an off day, but the team knew it was best to just suffer through it and hope next practice he would be in a better mood. Poor Fred seemed to get the brunt of the abuse.

(Y/N) was a bit concerned. It’d been awhile since she’d seen Oliver work himself and them this hard and that was after a particularly hard run in with Marcus Flint. (Y/N) just worked on her potions homework and waited for practice to end. It ran longer than usual, and her worry only grew when she didn’t see Oliver exit the locker room with the rest of the guys. She waited a few minutes before deciding to just walk right in.

“Oliver, you still in here?”

Oliver’s eyes widened at her intrusion, he’d just gotten out of the showers and wore only a towel around his waist, “Bloody hell, (Y/N)! Just barge right on in, will ya?”

She rolled her eyes at his tone. “What’s wrong with you today?”

He thought about responding with a simple: nothing, but they knew each other too well for that. It wouldn’t work. “Why were you out there playing today?”

“Is that what you’re mad about? We were just messing around, practice hadn’t even started yet. It was just a warm up.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have been warming up with them.” Oliver approached her and as he sized her up, he really didn’t feel like he was being silly. She stood a good head or two (maybe three) shorter than him, and all around the girl was just tiny. A good gust of wind could’ve knocked her right off that broom, “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

(Y/N) was used to this, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. She wasn’t a child, even though everyone seemed to think she was. It was rather disheartening actually to be treated like this by him... she wondered if she was a bit taller and a little more filled out if this was the conversation they’d be having while he stood before her basically naked. “Oh, sorry. I thought something was actually wrong, I wouldn’t have bothered had I known you were just being a git. It’s not different than you playing! You could get hurt, in fact out of the 2 of us you’re the one with more quidditch related injuries.”

Oliver ignored her, they wouldn’t reach an agreement on the subject anyhow. He decided to go in on something else bothering him, “What are you doing here anyways? I figured you’d be back in the common room with Fred or whatever.”

Fred? He was two years younger than her (granted you definitely wouldn’t realize that by looking at them) and sure he flirted with her. It was Fred, he was flirty and goofy. It was the boy’s personality and had nothing to do with anything. “Honestly, Oliver you are too much sometimes! You’re going to act like I’m a child and then turn around and act jealous in the same breath?”

Did she really think he viewed her as a child? That wasn’t it at all. Maybe he needed to get over himself and finally come clean. “I don’t look at you like you’re a kid... and you call me thick.”

“Okay,” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue, “You act like I can’t do anything for myself, you’re mean to any guy that pays me any mind, you hardly let me carry my books for myself!”

“And there’s no other explanation for that?” Oliver’s eyes widened in disbelief when she didn’t speak up. He’d called her thick as a joke, but maybe... “Oi! Just make me spell it out, why don’t you? I fancy you, (Y/N)!”

Oliver Wood just confessed attraction to her. Was it some sort of joke? (Y/N) obviously had a crush on him, plenty of girls in their year did. She felt a little silly for being so oblivious, but most guys adopted her as a little sister of sorts. She’d had a few boyfriends here and there, but it wasn’t like they were lining up for her. And there she stood shocked and confused, “If this is a joke it’s not very funny.”

Oliver chuckled at the girl, she was still there so that must’ve been a good sign. “I’m not joking.”

“Why would fancy me? You guys said I looked like a first year yesterday.” She crossed her arms. Of course she wanted Oliver to like her, but something didn’t seem to add up.

“That one was a joke! And I didn’t say anything I just laughed,” He defended himself, but he supposed that didn’t make him sound much better. “I like your size... I think it’s cute.”

Honestly, (Y/N) had grown tired of being called ‘cute’, but she didn’t mind it that much when he said it. There was only one logical response to this in her mind (although there probably were a few more ways in all actuality). She grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to one of the benches where she promptly stood on top of one. Oliver smiled a bit, catching onto her plan, "You know you could've just asked me and I would-"

(Y/N) cut him off, he was being annoying anyhow. Her lips crashed against his and Oliver immediately a wave of relief crash over him. The doubt that had still lingered in his mind was long gone and all that he could focus on was what happening. He'd held the desire to kiss the girl in front of him for so long and now that he could feel her lips against his, he didn't want to feel anything else.

(Y/N) placed her hands on his chest, firm and still damp (up until that moment she'd somehow forgotten about the lack of clothing he was wearing). She knew this was highly inapproptiate and if McGonagall had any idea what her two students were currently up to she'd have their heads.... or at least a month of detention and quite a few house points. Call it teenage rebellion or maybe just lust, but it only fueled the desire to keep going. Oliver felt the same and pulled her flush against him, his hands felt so large against her clothed body that she shuddered to think what they might feel like against her skin.

For a first kiss, it was quite efficient, their mouths moved in tandom like they like dance partners that had been working together for years. Before she even really aware of what she was doing, (Y/N) found herself shedding her clothes (Oliver helping her out), it wasn't long at all before she'd practically caught up with the boy. She stood before him in nothing but her knickers, and perhaps she might've felt a little embarrassed baring herself in front of one of her closest friends, but Oliver didn't give her much of chance to even think those silly thoughts before his hands and lips were exploring her body.

How they’d gone all this time without each other seemed like a mystery that couldn’t be solved at the moment. Oliver lifted her up, a task easily accomplished given her stature and his training, and instinctively (Y/N) wrapped herself around searching for stability that she easily found. She arched herself into him involuntarily when her back hit the cold wall; the action earning a groan from Oliver.

Fred and George waited and watched from behind the stands. When (Y/N) and Oliver both exited the locker room hand in hand and foolish grins on their faces, their faces lit up. Oh the material they’d have to torment them! Honestly they hoped the couple wouldn’t even bother trying to deny it, they didn’t seem to bother trying to cover it up, or at least the twins assumed by the state of their hair. “Georgie, you owe me a galleon!”

#oliver wood #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter #fanfiction #fanfic #request

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gravelyhumerus · 4 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Thirteen

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away” Relationship: Jemily

Rating: Explicit Summary: Foxes, lattes, churches and resolutions.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

The first thing she noticed was the snow. It was falling down on her, hitting her skin with pinpricks of ice cold. She wandered through the bookshelves, searching for something. She wasn’t sure what for.

It didn’t normally snow inside the library, but that didn’t seem to matter to her.

The snow crunched beneath her feet as she turned down another row of books, past the history section and stepping over a stack of books on the floor that was left there by some other student. To her left was a row of empty desks. It was just Emily and the books.

But, Emily didn’t feel peaceful. Something inside of her told her that she couldn’t wait around, she needed to do something, find something.

Emily trudged through the snow. Was she searching for a spot to sit and study? Was she searching for a book? When she found it, she would know.

She turned down a corridor, looking up and down the tall bookcases, her eyes skimming along the spines. They were old leather bound tomes, in rich oranges, blues and reds. They looked as if they hadn’t been read in decades. She searched for something she recognized, but nothing made sense to her as she couldn’t make out the titles or authors.

Out of frustration, she turned away to stomp back down the row, but something stopped her in her tracks.

Emily blinked at the image in front of her. It was a fox standing in the middle of the fiction section, looking at her expectantly. It was as if he had climbed out of one of the books and materialized before her eyes.

“Bonjour,” Emily said, kneeling down before the animal.

“Bonjour,” said the fox.

Emily looked around, confused at the appearance of the animal. What was a fox doing in a library? When she looked back, he was gone.

She looked around.

“Je suis là,” came the voice, from between two books, announcing his presence on the adjacent shelf.

“Qui es-tu?” Emily asked, wondering who he was—or what he was—and what on earth he was doing here in her college’s library.

“Je suis un renard,” said the fox. He was a fox. No shit.

She blinked at him, trying to figure out what she was remembering. The fox was familiar. She had seen him before… or read about him before.

It was just like out of Le Petit Prince—the book that JJ had given her for her birthday. The book was a classic children’s novel, one that Emily had read many times. It was as if the character had simply stepped out of the book.

The book was about a little boy who lived on an asteroid and was in love with a rose. He went on an adventure through space before landing on Earth. There, he befriended a fox. Emily could picture the simple watercolour illustration of the small boy prince speaking to the fox. She could almost feel the pages of the book between her fingers. She smiled as she thought of JJ’s excited face as Emily unwrapped the present a few weeks back.

This fox, like in the book, was speaking to her. She racked her brain for what she was supposed to say.

“What am I doing here?” Emily asked, this time in English.

“Je ne puis pas jouer avec toi,” said the fox, which was not the answer to her question, since he had told her that he couldn’t play with her. “Je ne suis pas apprivoisé."

I am not tamed, he said. He has not yet been tamed. Emily remembered now what she must say.

“What does tamed mean?” she asked, in French.

The fox jumped down from the bookshelf and walked through the library, his small paws leaving prints in the white snow. He was bright red against the ground and easy to follow through the familiar stacks. Emily noticed that she wasn’t cold, despite the weather, even as her breath came out in puffs that lingered in the air.

“It’s something that’s been too often neglected. It means ‘to create ties’... but you know this.”

Emily remembered this part, he was right. In the book, the boy doesn’t know what taming means, how to create ties with the wild animal. He does not yet know the meaning of friendship.

The novel was filled with layers of metaphor. It spoke to childhood, love, loss and the power of the imagination. Emily’s copy sat next to her bed, and she had been looking through it before she fell asleep that night.

The fox crept through the seemingly endless bookshelves, his tail swishing back and forth as he walked. Emily tried to keep up, but he seemed to weave through the library with a practised ease.

The fox stopped. He hopped onto a desk and curled his tail in front of him. He cocked his head and looked at her expectantly.

“Your person has run from you, correct?”

Emily stared at him. This part was not in the book. She nodded after a moment.

“I ran from my boy at first, too.”

She remembered this part: in the novel, the young boy wanted to befriend the fox. But he was impatient. The fox explained that it would take time, that the boy would have to return over multiple days to build his trust. The boy would begin sitting far from the fox, not even making eye contact. Over time, he could move closer and closer until they finally could play together. Their friendship could only be forged over time.

“Were you scared?” Emily asked.

“At first,” he replied. “But he was patient. And persistent.”

The fox swished his tail, then continued: “At times, my heart was not yet ready to greet him.”

“How did the little prince finally tame you?”

He did not answer the question, as she already knew the answer, instead he said: “Words are the source of misunderstandings.”

“Was it all worth it? Even though he left you in the end?” Emily asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, then looked off into the distance, almost wistfully.

“Here is my secret,” he said. “It’s a very simple secret: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

“On ne voit qu'avec le cœur," Emily repeated. She knew this line by heart. It was better in French.

The fox disappeared into the books and Emily was left alone in the empty library. His words filled her mind.

Words are the source of misunderstandings. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.

Emily woke up to the sound of her alarm blaring in her ear. She was curled up on her bed, on her side. Her blankets had fallen onto the floor, and she was close to shivering in the chill air. She slammed her hand onto her phone and fumbled until she turned off her alarm.

It was a dream. A vivid dream. She didn’t normally get those.

She stretched, her neck sore after sleeping at a weird angle. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the convoluted dream that was still clear in her mind. Somehow, even after all she had done to distract herself, JJ still was a key figure in her unconscious brain.

Emily needed to move on from that, focus on school. She couldn’t dwell on what she couldn’t control. She was an expert at pretending everything was okay; she had held herself together through worse.

She stared out the window. Instead of the white snow that had been so crisp and bright in her dream, outside was grey and dreary. She couldn’t see any hint of precipitation, frozen or otherwise, just dead grass and wet asphalt. The trees were bare as the leaves had fallen and been raked up last month, and there was salt on the roads in anticipation of the freezing temperatures.

Emily methodically dressed, donning a pair of jeans and a dark green button up shirt, pulling a sweater on top to combat the chill. She then played some music on her laptop. She focused on the lyrics, allowing her mind to go blank.

She sat in front of the mirror on her desk, carefully applying her makeup. There was something about a swoop of liquid eyeliner that made everything feel okay. At least, more okay than they used to be. If she looked put together, maybe she would feel like it, too.

Emily rarely remembered her dreams and she really wasn’t used to having to think too hard about her subconscious. All that was very Freudian, anyways. She wrote the dream off as her sleep-deprived brain mixed with reading before bed.

She donned her warmest leather jacket, the one with sherpa lining on the collar and tugged a mustard yellow beanie onto her head. Then, she lifted her tote bag onto her shoulders, and put her headphones into her ears, turning the volume up high, hoping that she could drown it all out.

During her lecture, Emily didn’t retain a single word her professor said. She mindlessly typed her notes, completely zoned out the entire time. She wondered if the words on her screen made any sense, but decided that it must be an issue for a future version of herself. This was probably a bad idea, as it was just about finals season and her exams were fast approaching.

Her mind was elsewhere: thinking about the blonde who lived across the hall. At times, Emily thought about their kiss, or imagined holding her hand, or holding her body. Then, as her daydreaming gave way to reality, she remembered the anxiety as JJ ignored her texts. She remembered JJ ending it one day, then coming back from a hookup mere days later.

Every day that week, as Emily walked down the hall, a part of her wanted to knock on JJ’s door, like she used to, just to say hi. Beyond everything else, Emily missed JJ. She missed laughing over dinner, studying French, or even lounging in one of their dorm rooms, doing nothing and talking for hours. She missed the way she smelled and her soft touch and her big blue eyes. She missed JJ’s kindness, how she would remember little details about Emily, and how she would knock her shoulder against Emily’s to get her attention. Emily missed her friend.

But the hurt was still there, and it overpowered her longing. The hallway reminded her of JJ’s words, her breaking it off, the tears in her eyes.

Emily hadn’t seen her since, with JJ doing an amazing job at avoiding her.

As soon as her class was over, she walked off of campus, heading straight to her favourite cafe downtown. It was usually busy this time of day, but she hoped the crowd would keep her from wallowing and make her focus on her work. Campus was inextricably tied to JJ. The field reminded her of JJ’s soccer games, the library of their study dates, the cafeteria of their group dinners and even the quad made her think of the time she almost ran JJ over with her skateboard when she was distracted.

Emily sat at the long sandy wood table and sipped her latte as she opened her laptop.

Members of the Prentiss family were extremely talented at pretending things were normal, that everything was fine, and Emily was no exception. She had tucked all the hurt, all the confusion, into a neat little box in the back of her mind. Storing it away until she could deal with it.

She typed away at one of her essays, only taking pauses to sip her coffee. She was busy finding sources and working on integrating quotes to develop her argument. She enjoyed the sound of her keyboard clacking, adding to the din of the cafe.

Her phone was tucked neatly away in her pocket. While there was a noticeable silence in their group chat—the one with both Emily and JJ in it—Emily’s phone seemed to be constantly pinging with messages. Derek was checking in on her, Penelope seemed to be trying to distract her, even Hotch had sent her a message to make sure she was ok. If Reid had a cellphone, she knew he’d be doing the same. Sometimes she got messages from Penelope’s number that was signed by the younger boy. Somehow, the whole world seemed to have known exactly what had happened between her and JJ.

The sun was setting faster and faster these days, and by five, it was creeping below the horizon. At this point, she had most of her essay drafted, so it felt like a good enough time to call it quits. Anyways, her back was starting to get sore from the minimalist chair and all she really wanted to do was curl up in her bed again.

Emily packed up her bag, depositing her empty mug on the counter, nodding at the barista before leaving.

She took the long way home, walking along the river and listening to her music, trying to clear her mind. She pulled her hood up against the cool air.

She walked for five minutes before slowing as she came upon a church that she had passed before. Instead of continuing along her way back to her dorm, something made her pause.

Lights lit up the facade: a red brick building that stretched up into the sky with a pointed bell tower in the centre. Columns graced the front, standing strong on either side of the large, wooden doorway.

Emily stared at it. It was simultaneously familiar and foriegn. Emily had spent almost every Sunday in church, be it Sunday school or mass with her mother. No matter where they were in the world, there was always at least one church in the city that they could attend.

In Rome, their visits had only gotten more frequent, as after school, she and Matthew would wander the Renaissance churches around the city, admiring the architecture and discussing theology and morality and free will.

Something came over her in that moment, and she found herself wandering up the steps, trying the door to see if it was unlocked. The door swung open easily, and for a moment Emily thought about walking in. She thought about kneeling before the cross and going through the familiar motions of prayer.

She thought about asking God about JJ, about what was going on, praying for guidance on what to do. She could picture the way the light would dance through the stained glass window, she could feel wooden pew under her knees, she could almost mouth the words of her prayer.

She thought of St. Georgia, her confirmation saint. She thought of her life of solitude, and how that almost sounded nice. Young Emily had thought the same thing.

She thought about the mass that she sat in her pew, with tears in her eyes, as the priest talked about how being gay was a sin. She thought about how her mother repeated those words when she came out at sixteen.

She let the door close without entering, before walking away, longing for the feeling of the wind on her face instead of the dusty smell of incense.

It had been years since she had set foot in church. The last time had been in Rome, the day she walked in with Matthew, before… well there was no before. It just was. Her pregnancy had triggered something in both of them, questions about the church that could not be prayed away.

Emily clenched her fists, her short nails digging into her palms. She remembered the way Matthew had held her hand at the doctor’s, and held her as she fought back tears, and walked arm in arm into the church in defiance of the priest.

After, their questions hadn’t subsided. Matthew read and read and read and the more he learned, the more the church transformed the place of safety and solace to something neither teen could stand behind.

Still, she missed her childhood certainty. She missed the feeling of a power greater than herself watching over her. She missed the singing—though she would never admit it—she had really enjoyed being in the choir. She missed how her mother would sit next to her, how it was often the longest time she got to spend with her busy mom.

Emily shook her head, fighting back the memories, and turned up her music and continued her walk home. She dug around in her backpack for a lighter and her pack of cigarettes. Fumbling for a moment, she lit one and breathed in the dark smoke.

The wind was biting and her leather jacket did little to keep the cold from creeping into her bones. As the sun was setting, Emily began to shiver.

After dragging her walk out as long as she could, she finally went back to her dorm. Her hands were iced cold and she was shivering. She dropped her backpack on the floor before collapsing onto her bed. She checked her phone to find a missed call from Derek.

She called him back, knowing that he was likely to pick up from only down the hall.

“Hey,” she said. She felt suddenly tired, and wondered whether he would pick up on that.

“Hey Prentiss,” Derek said. “How’s it going?”

“I’m fine,” Emily lied.

“No you’re not,” his voice came through the phone, and from the hallway, and he knocked once before opening her door.

Emily sat up, looking over to him in surprise. As if he owned the place, Derek walked over and sat down on her desk chair, letting it spin with the motion of his body.

“We’re ordering take out,” Derek said, “You can’t survive on coffee.”

“I can try,” Emily muttered.

“Pizza?” Derek proposed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding the cafeteria.”

Emily crossed her arms. Derek was good at making her feel better, pushing her to take care of herself without forcing her to talk about her feelings. He was a private person, and so he never went too far, knowing that there were lines that neither of them crossed.

“Thai?” he said with a sly look in his eye, he knew she couldn’t refuse.

“Ok fine,” she gave up, “You know what I like.”

“That I do,” he said, dialling his phone and calling the local family-run Thai restaurant for delivery.

Forty minutes later the two of them were eating curry and watching The X-Files on Emily’s laptop. They were sprawled out on the floor, both scooping rice into their mouths as they discussed the plot of the episode—aliens—and whether or not they actually believed in them.

Emily didn’t realize how hungry she had been and struggled to remember the last full meal she had eaten.

After she had finished, she felt slightly more human, slightly less out of it. Still sad, but being sad on a full stomach, sitting next to her best friend and watching her favourite tv show was a bit more bearable.

“I just don't get it,” Emily blurted, surprising herself as the words fell out of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Derek replied, “What’s the point of probing? Don’t they have good enough technology that they could just scan someone and know what’s up?”

“I mean, yeah,” Emily said with a laugh, “But I was talking about JJ.”

She paused.

“Did I push too hard?” Emily mused, “Was it my fault?”

Emily didn’t plan to vent to Derek. She hadn’t really told him the details yet, as she was still embarrassed after Thanksgiving weekend. Telling Derek’s entire family about how she had a girlfriend and then immediately getting dumped was not great for the ego.

She learned early that it was safer keeping things to herself.

Emily had done just about anything to fit in when she was younger. She was desperate to be normal. To be someone that wasn’t the weird queer girl that moved around a lot. She learned languages, learned cultures. She learned how to wear the right clothes, say the right thing. She tried so, so hard to be normal, and yet she never seemed to do it right.

In her senior year, Emily finally gave up. She dyed her hair, did her make up in a way she knew enraged her mother, and dressed the exact opposite of what the other kids did.

Since then, Emily was trying to focus on being herself. Derek was her first friend to really accept her for her, and over the past year and a half, she felt herself beginning to relax around him. In her second year at college, she was no longer the new kid.

She had started to feel comfortable with him, and all of their new friends, so she was kicking herself for letting things with JJ blow up in her face. She should have known this was all too good to be true.

“Em,” Derek said, “You can’t blame yourself. There’s definitely more going on with her that we don’t know.”

“Did Pen say something?” Emily said hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Derek said, rubbing the back of his neck, “She hasn’t said anything outright, ‘cause, y’know it’s all so complicated. We’re friends with both of you. But she made it seem like it wasn’t just you.”

Emily gulped at the guilt she felt when she thought of how all of this with JJ must be hurting her friends. They had all gotten so close this semester, and she hated the thought of ruining it for everyone.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Emily said with a sardonic laugh.

“Essentially,” he said.

“Look Prentiss,” Derek said, “I think this is just a hiccup. You’ll figure it out. You two just need to talk and stop running from each other.”

“How do I get her to stop running from me?” Emily asked, her dream vivid in her mind once again.

“Wait it out,” he said, “She’ll come back to you eventually. For now, eat some mango.”

He offered her the dessert, some mango and sticky rice that they had gotten to share. Emily took some with a grin.

She could wait. JJ was worth waiting for.

———

Emily was almost ready for bed when she heard a knock at her door. Derek had stayed for most of the evening, watching tv and talking for hours to keep her mind off of things. He had wandered out around nine, as he had an early practise the next morning.

She was just about to get undressed after brushing her teeth and washing her face. She stood in the centre of her room with her fly half undone as she heard the sound. She zipped her pants back up and walked to her door, unlocking it, expecting to see Derek returning for something that he had forgotten. Instead, she was face to face with Jennifer Jareau.

“Hi,” JJ said. “Can we talk?”

In JJ’s hands was a large tin filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were piled high in the tin, perfectly baked with picturesque chocolate chips still warm from the oven. On JJ’s face was a nervous expression as she held out the gift for Emily to take.

Emily stood and stared at JJ, wondering if she was real or if she had finally snapped and was hallucinating.

A moment passed. JJ smiled nervously at her, big blue eyes boring into Emily’s own.

Emily took the cookies.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jemily cm #jj x emily #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #fanfiction #fanfic #jemily fanfiction #gravelyhumerus cm college au #my post #my writing #sweater weather au #sorry for the delay!!!!#life got in the way

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xo-gossipwitch · 3 years

Note

remember that list ranking the boys? well here are the girls. the snakes may finally fight some lions when they are done here.

Attention Hogwarts: You didn't think I forgot about the wonderful witches of Hogwarts, did you? The witches have been ranked using the following criteria: book smarts, drop-dead beauty, sparkling personality, and of course, just like the wizards, snog-ability.

Hogwarts Most Bewitching Witches

Cho Chang

Astoria Greengrass

Luna Lovegood

Padma Patil

Daphne Greengrass

Lavender Brown

Pansy Parkinson

Pavarti Patil

Ginny Weasley

Hermione Granger

I don't know about you all, but I can't wait to see what happens next.

You know you love me.

~xoxo, Gossip Witch

"At least I ranked above Granger," Daphne grumbled, scanning over the list once more. She shook her head in disgust as she noticed Astoria's name in second place. What did Tori have that she didn't? Absolutely nothing. "But how the hell do I fall below Chang and Patil? Lovegood must be better in the sack than I gave her credit for."

"What are you fussing about over there?" Astoria asked, glancing up from her book to see Daphne staring intently at the piece of parchment in her hands. Astoria rolled her eyes and closed her book on her finger. 'That list doesn't mean a damn thing. Just look at Malfoy and Granger - they couldn't be happier."

"They both came in dead last," Daphne huffed, shoving the piece of parchment into her pocket. She pushed herself up from her bed and grabbed a jacket off the back of her chair. "Of course, they are fucking happy. Loveable losers, after all."

"Where are you going?" Astoria asked, watching as Daphne stormed toward their bedroom door. She shook her head as she glanced at the list lying beside her on the bed. Her heart was giddy at the fact she was ranked second of the most popular witches in the castle.

"Wipe the smirk off your face," Daphne hissed, pulling the door open. "The fact that you were ranked second is a fluke. Hell, the only damn reason you are on that list is that you're on Nott's arm. No one would even know you existed if it weren't for him. You're just known as my little sister."

Astoria's jaw dropped as the harsh tone in Daphne's voice. She knew Daphne was pissed about her ranking, but if she was going to be foul with anyone, it should have been Gossip Witch, not her loving sister.

"I'm going out. Don't send anyone after me," Daphne replied, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips at the upset expression on Astoria's face. It serves her right. No one needs to get cocky about Gossip Witch's opinion.

~xoxo~

Hermione reached for the next book off the top of her pile and began skimming the pages. She needed a distraction from the latest blast. The ranking of witches was the last thing she wanted to read, especially when it was solely based on the opinion of some anonymous stranger who was afraid to show their face to the rest of Hogwarts.

As she made her way to the library, Hermione had heard her classmates whispering about the list, so she knew her ranking wasn't that great. But she wouldn't let her placement on the list get to her. It had taken far more convincing than she wanted to convince Draco that the list didn't mean anything when he had come in the last place, but that list meant more to her than she was willing to let on.

It was hard enough being a muggle-born witch, let alone having her heart belong to a pureblood wizard. She had to convince herself almost daily that she deserved to be with Draco, and he wasn't just stringing her along until another pureblood came alone. He loved her, no matter where she ranked on some silly list or what her blood status was. Or at least, that's what she told herself to help her sleep at night.

Sleep had been something that Hermione missed greatly. She had spent the better part of three weeks at Draco's side as he recovered from his accident on the pitch, and when she wasn't at Draco's side, she was keeping an eye on Harry. How both of them could have been so stupid to get hurt during a match was beyond her, but Hermione was grateful that she didn't have to spend any more nights in the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey was starting to ask too many questions about which wizard she was there to see.

"Apparently, we both managed to piss off Gossip Witch somehow," Draco laughed, pressing a kiss to Hermione's cheek before sliding into the chair opposite of her.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide as she glanced over at the piece of parchment sitting on the edge of the table.

"You haven't read the blast yet?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Why not?"

"I've been busy," she sighed, lifting her book up to show him before returning her attention to it. She refused to acknowledge the piece of parchment as she watched Draco pick it up. "What does it say?"

"It says that my beautiful girlfriend and I are two peas in a pod," Draco said, flashing a smile at her as he slipped the piece of parchment into his pocket. "Besides, I thought you didn't care about Gossip Witch's lists?"

"I don't," Hermione shrugged, closing her book once more. "I just didn't want to be last."

Draco sighed, pushing his chair away from the table and making his way over to kneel beside her. He cupped Hermione's cheek, turning her head to look at him. "You will always be number one on my list, Hermione Jean Granger," he said, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. "Do you understand me?"

Hermione nodded her head and leaned down to press a kiss to Draco's lips. "Thank you."

"I love you, Hermione," Draco replied, keeping his eyes closed.

"You what?" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes wide as she pulled away from him.

~xoxo~

"You know," Pansy mused, tossing the wadded-up piece of parchment into the fire of the Slytherin common room. "I almost wish she would have left me off the list."

Theo furrowed his brow and looked up from his notebook. "Why is that?"

"Because it would mean for the first time in weeks, I wasn't on her radar, almost like she forgot about me," Pansy shrugged, leaning back against the couch and tucking her feet under her arse.

"Gossip Witch doesn't forget anyone," Theo said, shaking his head as he returned his focus to his notes.

Pansy opened her mouth to reply but closed it almost immediately when she noticed Daphne storming through the common room. By the look on her face, Pansy knew better than to say anything to Daphne and to just stay the hell out of her way.

"Daphne," Theo called out, jumping out of his chair and leaving his notebook behind as he followed her out of the common room. "What's going on?"

Pansy shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "No wonder everyone thinks they are fucking," she laughed, closing her eyes.

It appears my little list is making quite the stir. Just remember, anything you do has a way of finding its way to me. So let's have a little fun. Who's up for a challenge?

The tip that creates the biggest fire will earn the right to meet me face to face.

Let's see what you can come up with.

I'm always watching.

~xoxo, Gossip Witch ~

Want to be a part of the Gossip Witch fun?

This story is meant to be slightly interactive. Submit anonymous blasts about the students at Hogwarts and you might find your prompt used as inspiration in a future chapter! Submit your blasts to the @xo-gossipwitch blog on tumblr.

Thanks for continuing to inspire this story!

#xoxo gossip witch #xo gossip witch #xo gossipwitch #dramione #harmione #thapne #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #theodore nott #pansy parkinson #daphne greengrass #astoria greengrass

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

Text

Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 3 (Blueberry Path)

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. Refer to this Masterlist for previous chapters and alternate paths.

Chapter 3: The Preparation (Blueberry Path)

Pairing: Thrawn x reader

Content: Light swearing, reader is an awkward pining idiot, no indication yet if your crush likes you back, but we’re just warming up here...

Length: 1.6k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

It really would be best for you to go to the gala with Thrawn. It made sense. He was an alien and you were the only girl at the Academy willing to be seen with him. And while Eli wasn't exactly popular, you could easily count how many girls would gladly be his date to a dance. It was just that plain and simple.

And yet, far beyond mere logic and tactics, you were so incredibly happy about it.

You were going to a dance with Thrawn.

It seemed like such a silly, juvenile thing to be excited about. Like you were in primary school with a crush or something. You shook yourself as you got ready in front of your little dorm room mirror, trying not to let those emotions show through your dressed-up appearance. You'd managed to find a decent dress on sale, and your hair cooperated with you for once. You definitely looked better than you usually did.

But you wished you looked more... more. You'd be on the arm of a tall, sophisticated, and, dare you say, strapping man for the evening. And even though you all had other duties to focus on - observing and possibly even manipulating your three targets - you still wanted to be a good date for him. Not some meek, homely person who had no business being anywhere near such a god.

You caught yourself in horror. Where were these thoughts coming from? Thrawn was your friend. A quiet, distant friend who was only going to the dance with you out of necessity. His focus was solely on the plan. You'd helped successfully get Arden and Eva to go to the gala together as dates, and already Commander Burdick was pissed about it. Thrawn had arranged a system for how the three of you would observe, and possibly even intervene, to ensure Burdick decided to pin his sabotage on Arden.

The plan. That was all that mattered tonight. Not how you looked or how Thrawn would look or whether he might ask you to dance.... You almost slapped yourself for thinking such nonsense, but there was a soft knock on the door that called for your attention instead.

Your heart stopped, thinking it would be Thrawn arriving earlier than he'd said, but after psyching yourself up to open the door, you found it was only Eli.

"Do you know how to tie a tie?" he asked with a sheepish smile, holding up a wad of navy blue satin. You suppressed a laugh. He had cleaned up surprisingly well, with a suit and cufflinks and everything. The only thing he'd missed was his hair, which was forever an unruly mess. You could take the the boy out of Wild Space, but you couldn't take the wild out of the boy.

"No," you said, but then you chuckled at his defeated look, opening the door wider for him to enter. "But I'll figure it out."

He heaved a sigh of relief as you let him into your dorm. Thankfully you didn't have any roommates; your old one had transferred out of the Navy halfway through the year, and no one seemed rushed to get you a new one.

Eli stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as you took the tie from him and tried to make sense of it.

"Thrawn was no help?" you asked to fill the silence between you. But also, you were curious how much the Chiss may or may not be getting ready.

"He's been out all afternoon. Somethin' about preparing for tonight." Eli rolled his eyes. "And I don't think he meant it the way you and I are."

You chuckled in agreement. Well, if he wasn't doing anything special to get ready, then maybe you didn't need to worry as much.

"You seem pretty excited," Eli commented.

You shrugged, finally getting the tie around his neck and under the collar of his shirt. "I just like dancing is all."

"You're excited to dance with Thrawn?" he wrinkled his nose at you. Not once had you given Eli any indication you might ever be interested in your mutual friend, mainly because you'd been good at hiding those feelings from yourself, too. You didn't want to give him any reason to start suspecting anything now, so you quickly tried to save face as you continued to fumble with his tie.

"I'm just excited to dance. I don't care who my date is. I'll even dance by myself if I have to."

Thankfully Eli took your words at face value and didn't add any more to the conversation. And by now, you were done trying to figure out this tie. You'd looped it around a couple different ways but nothing seemed right. You huffed and let the material fall against his chest.

"I give up. This isn't as easy as I thought it'd be. Sorry."

Eli shrugged as he pulled it from around his neck and rolled it in his hands. "Eh, it was worth a shot. I can go without it, right?"

He held his hands on his hips and did a playful little pose which made you roll your eyes.

"Sure, you look fine to me. Not sure what your date will think, though. What's her name again?"

"Sadie Amiko. She's in a few of our combat classes."

"Wait, she's not the girl who whispers yes after she punches someone?"

At Eli's awkward smile you started laughing, not having connected the dots before. He'd mentioned who his date was earlier that week and had seemed pretty pleased about it, but you had been too distracted by your own happiness to really pay attention.

"Yes!" you hissed with a little fist pump by your hip, in a perfect rendition of your classmate's ridiculous habit. Eli was trying not to laugh, but he'd mocked her for it before so you knew he found it funny.

"Okay, well, she was the only one I knew of who didn't have a date yet, so...."

"Ah, so she accepted out of desperation."

"You're mean," he pouted. "You better not embarrass me tonight. You never know, I could get lucky."

He started making his way toward the door but paused just as he reached out for the handle and gave you a mischievous look. "Maybe you will, too."

Your heart thudded forcefully in your chest. You weren't sure how you managed to keep your composure and respond so smoothly. "If you mean I'll be lucky enough to stop Thrawn from thinking about this plan for five seconds so I can dance, then yeah, maybe."

"That's exactly what I meant," said Eli in such a way that you knew it wasn't. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from completely freaking out. Where was this coming from? Was he just getting back at you from your teasing, or had he somehow detected the feelings you were having such a hard time controlling tonight?

"Anyway, you comin' with? I told Sadie I'd meet her there at six."

You glanced at the clock in your room, realizing how late it was and the fact you still didn't have shoes on. You dismissed him with a wave of your hand as you frantically looked for your shoes. "No, Thrawn's coming by any second. We'll see you there."

"Alright... well good luck with that dance!"

It seemed like the door had barely closed after him when the knock came, though realistically it had been a few minutes of you fussing with your appearance one last time. You took several measured breaths to try and get the blush out of your cheeks, before you finally went to open the door.

"Good evening," Thrawn said courteously, holding out a hand.

Whatever composure you thought you had left completely vanished. He was dressed in a sharp, immaculate white suit that made his blue skin so much more striking. He normally looked good, even in the unflattering flight suits, but somehow he was managing to look even better now. More elegant, more stunning, more beautiful.

You could feel his eyes boring holes into you expectantly. You hadn't meant to hesitate and make the moment awkward. You forced yourself to swallow and took his offered hand, hoping he wouldn't notice how clammy it was, or how quickly your pulse was racing. He guided you out of your room, turning to align himself next to you, and placed your hand over his arm. You wondered if he had looked into these gentlemanly customs or if they were similar to Chiss culture. Thrawn made everything seem natural, so it was hard to tell.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as he began leading you toward the gala.

Shit, you groaned internally. Of course he noticed how flustered you were. Your hand was resting on his bicep and you were fighting to not take note of how firm it felt.

"Oh yes," you said quickly, trying to save face. "Just worried about the plan, is all."

"I see," he said in his soft and careful tone. "There is no reason to worry. Our plan is solid, and I spent the afternoon putting a few final details in place. We need only play our parts this evening and it will all work out."

You nodded, though you didn't exactly feel better. Thrawn was only playing a part. You knew you shouldn't have expected anything different, but it still hurt to think about, especially now that you were both dressed up and walking so closely alongside each other. You would just have to get over yourself, you decided. Play the part. Get through the evening.

And it would surely be an interesting evening, if nothing else.

Next Chapter: The Party >

Blueberry Path | Thrawn x reader

Cowboy Path | Eli x reader

#star wars #thrawn #Mitth'raw'nuruodo #Thrawn x reader #Eli Vanto #Eli Vanto & Reader #choose your own adventure #friendship #romance #friends to lovers #idiots to lovers

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kumeko · 3 years

Text

Title: home isn’t a place (it's a person)

A/N: For A Lover’s Lullaby: @doropetrazine! I wanted to write some tender care during the war, with Petra helping Dorothea center herself in the midst of all the tragedy and bloodshed.

…

Dorothea had long mastered the art of post-battle self-care. Trapped in a war she’d never wanted, she had to. This wasn’t like her academy days, where the worst she’d faced was a menacing brigand, where her faltering attacks only had to maim and not kill. If she had failed then, her housemate or her teacher could pick up the slack. And if she killed, well, it was only a ruffian. There wasn’t any need to hold back.

Not that that made it any easier. The ever-stoic Hubert had treated those missions like another duty, just another item in his checklist to help Edelgard, and Felix had the strength to shrug off the blood like water off a duck. Dorothea had done neither of those things, the red staining her clothes too bright for her to ignore. A life was a life, no matter how corrupt. Back then, she would beg Ingrid to take her on a long, lazy flight, or borrow one of Hilda’s trashy romances for an extensive hot bath.

Those weren’t options for her anymore. The blood on her hands burned like a brand these days. Her enemies were her former schoolmates, old friendships gone wrong. Dorothea’s attacks were deadly, living in a kill or be killed situation. Any reprieve she’d find off the battlefield was a solitary one.

No, that wasn’t entirely right. Dorothea smiled softly as she stood in front of a plain beige tent, on the outskirts of the battle camp. Five years ago felt like an eternity sometimes, with how everything’s changed, but at least one thing remained consistent. No matter where she’d went the past year, Petra had been by her side.

And hopefully, no matter where she went after, that would still ring true. Ducking into the tent, Dorothea smiled automatically as her eyes landed on her paramour. It was hard not to. Petra stood out no matter where she was, and nowhere more than against the drab browns and greys of their standard issued tents and linens. As with all tents, there was a single cot on the side, with barely enough free room for a person to pace, let alone decorate. Despite that, Petra had managed to put her colourful touch on everything—her clothes strewn against her bed, the bags and pillows that covered her floor. Two lanterns hung off center pole, casting long shadows that did little to dim Petra’s natural cheerfulness. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her axe to her side. It gleamed in the flicker light. Humming off-key, Petra’s focus was entirely on the bow she was restringing.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait so long!” Dorothea apologized as she stepped further in, the tent flap closing behind her.

Surprised, Petra’s attention snapped to her. It took mere seconds for her serious expression to melt into a softer smile, her eyes lighting up as she took in Dorothea. Setting aside her bow, she leapt to her feet. “Dorothea! You have come much later than I was thinking!”

“Sorry, I had to…” Dorothea clasped her hands. After several rounds of washing, they were practically scrubbed raw but she could still feel the grime in her nails. “Clean up a bit,” she finished lamely.

Petra grimaced, no doubt remembering the muddy terrain they’d just crawled through. “I do not want to be experiencing that again. My weapons are very dirty.”

“I can tell.” Dorothea chuckled, gesturing at the polished weapons and then at Petra. “You still haven’t taken your armour off.”

“Of course.” Petra turned to her axe, her chest puffed slightly with pride. “These weapons are how I am being able to protect you.”

Her heart made a funny flip at the casual line, at how matter-of-fact Petra was about it all. Petra always acted like it was common sense, these small trinkets of devotion, these little declarations of love that Dorothea had never experienced before. “Petra…”

“Hmm?” Petra looked back at her and cocked her head. “Is something being the matter?”

“No, not at all,” she replied truthfully, her ears burning red. Reaching out, she tugged on Petra’s armour. “Here, let me help. It’s good to take care of your weapons, but you have to remember to take care of yourself too.”

“That is why you are being here,” Petra replied, her smile growing broader as she turned around to give Dorothea access to the many straps that kept her leather armour together.

The hide always felt too thin to protect Petra as she fought on the front lines, but it was lithe and flexible, allowing her to move as freely as she wanted. Dorothea would probably never stop worrying about it. Keeping her gaze firmly down, she calmed her beating heart she nimbly pried off the armour with a practiced hand.

It wasn’t long before Petra was free of it all and back to her usual bright outfit. She extended her arms above her, her eyes closed as stretched out her muscles. “Thank you! That is much better.”

Dorothea giggled as her girlfriend rolled her shoulders. “You wouldn’t be half as stiff if you’d just take this off sooner.”

“I will be keeping that in mind,” Petra agreed amicably, leaning backwards to realign her spine.

“Now the last part.” Dorothea sat down on Petra’s bed.

“Are you sure?” Petra asked, stepping closer. She leaned down slightly, her hand cupping Dorothea’s cheek as she studied her face. “You are looking tired.”

Reaching up, she covered Petra’s hand with her own. It felt like touching the sun. “Aww, you don’t want me to fix your hair?”

“That is not what I am meaning,” Petra replied softly.

“I know.” Dorothea lowered her eyes, leaning into Petra’s touch. “I know, I just…I need to fix your hair.”

It was her aftercare, though she hadn’t told a soul about it. She wasn’t sure she could even admit it to herself yet, just how much Petra had ingrained herself into Dorothea’s daily routine.

Petra frowned before pulling away. Dorothea immediately missed the warmth. “After this, you must be resting. You are tired, even your laugh is tired.”

Dorothea had appeared in several major productions, acted since she was little, and made it a point of pride that no one could tell when she was faking it. Somehow, Petra always saw through that. It was something she both loved and hated about her. Nodding, she agreed. “I will. Just after this.”

Satisfied, however reluctantly, Petra plopped on the ground in front of Dorothea. She leaned back slightly. “You could get hurt if you are tired.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, already reaching for one of Petra’s braids. It didn’t take long for her to unravel it, to take the thick strands and split them apart. Petra had spent weeks teaching her Brigid’s braiding styles and Dorothea’s hands had long memorized the steps.

For a second, she was transported to another time, another place, when the hair in her hands had been golden and the room they were in made of stone. Five years ago, she had carefully brushed Ingrid’s hair while Annette had worked on her nails. Hilda had gone through her closet, searching for something, anything, that could work for a ballgown. It had been a gossip-filled day, enhanced only by Ingrid’s constant flustered state. “We can’t do that again,” she muttered.

“Do what?” Petra asked, curious.

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud and Dorothea smiled ruefully. “Silly classmate things. If the war hadn’t started…we could have worried about balls.” Distracted, she stopped braiding. “If the only battle we’d faced was the Battle of the Eagle and Lion…I wonder what could have happened.”

Petra didn’t say anything, and Dorothea chuckled awkwardly. This was supposed to be her relaxing session, not deep, dark thoughts session. Trying to dispel the heavy mood, she went back to Petra’s hair. “Sorry, that was a silly question.”

For a while, there was only quiet. Her dress rustled slightly as she shifted in her seat. Petra’s long soft locks bound together easily, unlike her own silken mane. Outside, the sun might have set, people had their dinner, patrols walked the camp. Outside, a war raged on but here, in this tent, there was only peace. Only her hands and purple hair and more colours than she could ever name. The candles flickered, casting long shadows over them, and Dorothea wished she could see Petra’s expression right now.

“I am glad,” Petra finally uttered. Despite how quiet her voice, her tone was unerringly confident.

Dorothea blinked, not sure she understood. “You’re glad?”

“That even though war is happening, we are being together.” Even without seeing Petra’s face, Dorothea could picture the gentle expression on it. “I do not think I could be fighting you. Not ever.”

“Me neither,” Dorothea replied immediately. It hurt to imagine Petra on the battlefield, under the banner of a different army. Of them facing each other on opposite sides of the war. To have lost love before it could have even started, a world without these quiet evenings—she would have been infinitely poorer for that.

Petra turned back now, her eyes shining in the dim light. “No matter what will be happening, I am happy. You are my home.”

Dorothea swallowed and maybe it had been better when she couldn’t see Petra’s expression, couldn’t see the naked love that shown brightly for all to see. All those years ago, when she had worried about marrying for money, when she had pictured her future as an empty one as some noble’s consort, she could never have imagined she’d be here. Flustered, she reached into her purse, pulling out a small seashell. If there was ever a time to give her gift it was now. Pressing it into Petra’s hand, she murmured, “For you.”

“A shell?” It was Petra’s turn to be surprised and she held it up, admiring how the light reflected off the reddish-brown shell. “It is very pretty, but I am not understanding.”

“You can’t go ho—” You’re my home and Dorothea faltered, her skin too hot. Me too, lingered on her tongue, too heavy to say. “To Brigid for a while, right?” She held a hand to her ear, motioning for Petra to do the same. “It sounds like the sea. It’s a lot clearer than other shells, and I know it’s not the same but—”

“It is beautiful,” Petra interrupted, closing her eyes as she listened. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for, for…everything.” It had been a silly crush all those years ago. Now it was something far deeper than that. She tucked a lock behind her ear, her cheeks still flushed red. “You…you’re my home too. I’m glad I’m marrying love.”

At that, Petra opened her eyes, indignant. “It is better to be marrying love, but you are to be marrying me.”

Dorothea couldn’t help it, she laughed. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Petra and burying her face in her neck. Pressing a chaste kiss against her brown skin, she murmured, “You’re right, I’m marrying you.”

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #doropetra #dorothea arnault #petra macneary #fanfic

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winryofresembool · 4 years

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 27

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: The exam season is underway (yet somehow I don’t mention the exams all too many times...)

A/N: Yay, I'm back with this fic!! I think I can promise a bit more regular updates at least in the near future, but I will be starting to work longer hours possibly starting from next week so I will have a bit less free time then. I am still determined to keep up with my 500ish words per day goal so it should cause too much delay!

That's that, I hope you guys are as happy to return to this universe as I am! As usual, please let me know what you think :) This fic is about to take my longest fic position from Love Can Melt the Ice, so knowing that there are people who care about it really means a lot to me!

Words: 2393

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

Leo would have been lying if he had claimed that everything went back to completely normal after the talk with Calypso. Sure, they both really tried harder to act as neutral and friendly as possible around each other; whenever they were at home at the same time, they chatted casually about how things were going at work and at the university, their latest TV show or music discoveries, or some silly thing one of their friends had said or done recently. Sometimes they even watched something together or cleaned the common area together. However, the earlier confessions were never mentioned. On the surface things were ‘just fine’, but the unspoken words and lingering looks spoke for itself. Leo knew things were still heating up under the surface and sooner or later they would have to make some difficult decisions. But until then, he wasn’t going to risk anything by disrespecting the guidelines that they had set during their ‘big talk’, even if it was hard to resist sometimes.

One evening Leo found Calypso studying for her upcoming exams on the common area couch. She was wearing a pink, tunic length sweater that matched her lip color, and black leggings that hugged her legs tightly (not that he’d ever tell her that he had noticed such things). She had also pulled her now medium length hair into a messy ponytail so it wouldn’t bother her while she was reading, showing her nicely shaped facial features better. Despite noticing all that, Leo’s thoughts soon went to the facts that he had recently learned about his flatmate. Now he knew more about the hardships she had gone through; a dead sister, an abusive, controlling father, being alone all those years and the nightmares she had mentioned while drunk. Yet, somehow there she was, having escaped her father’s grip and looking perfectly content doing something as boring and normal as studying for exams. The girl was way stronger than he had earlier given her credit for, and Leo admired her capability to stay so calm; he wasn’t so sure the ghosts of his own past would leave him alone that easily.

“Hi,” he finally said before Calypso noticed that he’d been standing there just watching her far too long despite the rules they had set. “What are you reading?”

Calypso showed him the book. If she was surprised to see him, she hid it well. “A collage of Frenchmen’s experiences at the front lines during World War II. I know. A very cheerful way to finish the day.” She grimaced.

“Huh? I thought you were mostly focusing on older history? I didn’t know you study that stuff too,” Leo noted, shifting from one foot to another.

“Well, they do require us to have a good enough understanding of the newer events as well,” Calypso replied, now looking at him directly. For some reason that one look managed to make chills go down Leo’s spine. “It is true, though, that I am more interested in ancient history. There’s so much we still don’t know about those times and I want to be able to discover more.”

“I see,” Leo said. “I think I understand what you mean. I am constantly hoping to discover new ways to create things that will be useful for all of us. Flying dragons that use energy drinks as their energy source? How epic would that be?” Excitement surged through him when he simply thought about it.

“Isn’t that a bit out there?” Calypso asked, but Leo didn’t miss the amused glint in her eyes. “And what if everyone had flying dragons and that would cause horrible air accidents? I don’t know about you but to me they don’t sound very safe.”

“Sunshine, what’s life without some danger?” Leo questioned.

“Hmm, let me think: safe?” Calypso retorted.

“Ouch. Well, I don’t think I have time to invent flying dragons any time soon, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Leo reassured her, but now that the idea had been planted into his head, he decided to return to it some day in the future. Hopefully when he would be able to handle fire.

“That’s a relief,” Calypso replied. “Speaking of your inventions… have you decided what you’re going to do about your studies? The last time I asked you said you haven’t been in contact with your professor yet.”

That was a question Leo had been dreading for. He preferred to not talk about that topic unless he had to, but the truth was that he was still quite unsure about being able to continue. However, he hadn’t made any final decisions yet.

“I’ll… I’ll keep working to overcome my fear,” he responded vaguely. “I think I’ve made some small progress during our sessions. If I can keep that going, I may be able to retake the test next year. Small steps, you know.” In reality, so far he had managed to stay close to a small, burning candle for a short period of time without freaking out, but he still didn’t want to try the matches whenever Calypso suggested it. There was still a long way to go before he’d be able to use all the machines he needed during lab classes and at work.

“Okay,” Calypso said, but to Leo she sounded a bit unconvinced. Her voice got more reassuring, though, when she added: “You know that you can ask for my help any time you need it.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Leo nodded. “And same right back at you. I mean, you can ask me. If you need anything.” For some annoying reason he managed to only get stuttering out of his mouth at that moment. “Even if you simply want me to make you a miniature dragon in the middle of the night. It’s fine. I’d totally make it.”

“And why would I want you to make me a miniature dragon in the middle of the night?” Calypso looked at him questioningly. Before Leo managed to answer, her face softened into a smile and she added: “I really appreciate the thought, though. It feels so different… in a good way… to have people in my life who genuinely support me. I haven’t had that, well, since I got separated from my mom.”

She sat a bit straighter on the couch, her gaze going back and front between Leo and her book, and Leo wondered if she was debating if she should reach for him and touch his shoulder or something. Maybe even hug. One side of him wished she would just go for it. But that would have violated their newly made rules and neither wanted to make things even more complicated than they already were. They simply kept staring at each other for a while, as if trying to read each other’s thoughts, but finally Calypso sighed and turned her focus back on her book, closing it.

“I didn’t realize it’s already this late…” She said, adjusting her hair a bit with the hand that wasn’t holding the book. “I still need to finish an assignment for tomorrow.”

She stood up and started walking towards her room, but when she got past Leo, her arm briefly touched his. Leo’s arm was still tingling after Calypso closed the door behind her.

…

A few days later, Leo was still thinking of that incident when he almost fell over a big rock that was standing on his road. He and Jason were currently having a well deserved evening off after finishing their last exams of the semester earlier that day (Leo felt like he had at least succeeded with the calculations but his essay writing was a bit sloppy) and in honor of that they had decided to go for a long jog and after that have a big, unhealthy meal in one of their favorite pizza places. While they were on their way there, Jason had been explaining something about his holiday plans when Leo had zoned out, and Jason had to grab his arm so he didn’t fall.

“Hey, man, you OK?” Jason asked, frowning. “What just happened there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m OK.” Leo brushed some dust off the sleeves of his coat. “I was just… thinking. And didn’t notice the rock on the road.”

“Hmmm, what got you that thoughtful?” Jason inquired. “I bet you didn’t even hear what I just said.”

“You know I have a pretty nasty case of ADHD, sometimes I just zone out randomly,” Leo said defensively, not wanting to admit aloud that recently he had been even more distracted than usual because of a certain flatmate of his. “And no, I didn’t hear you.”

“Alright,” Jason shrugged. “I was telling you that Piper’s dad has invited us to visit him over the break. I’m not sure yet if we are going, though. Piper didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it. Sure, she wants to see him, but she suspects he’s still working most of the time so it would be the same to just call instead of traveling all the way to LA.”

“Mmmh,” Leo mumbled, trying hard to stay in the present moment. “I’m going to be at Waystation during the break so if you guys decide to stay, we can still hang out.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know what we decide to do. That wasn’t all, though…” Jason continued, his face becoming concerned. “I think Piper has seemed quite distant lately, and not just when we’ve been talking about that trip. Sometimes I worry that she’s gotten bored of me, or something.”

“No way, man!” Leo exclaimed. “I’ve seen you guys together often enough to know that she loves you. Maybe she’s just going through a rough phase or something.”

Jason didn’t seem quite convinced. “I guess so. It’s just that usually she tells me directly what’s bothering her. This… keeping things inside her isn’t like her.”

“Maybe you just need to give her some time,” Leo suggested. “It’s like me with Cal; I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut more often and in exchange she has slowly started opening up to me more recently.”

“She has? That’s great!” Jason cheered up. “How is it going with you two anyway? I heard some things about the Halloween party aftermath…”

“Nothing happened after the party!” Leo yelped, raising his hands. “Whatever Piper has told you, all lies.”

“Really? So you two wouldn’t have kissed if Piper hadn’t interrupted you guys?” Jason raised his eyebrow.

If Leo’s cheeks hadn’t already been red from the jogging, he certainly would have blushed. “Um… well… the point is that we didn’t. Besides, we’ve set some rules that we’re supposed to follow because we don’t wanna make our co living too complicated.”

“So there is something going on between you two and you are acknowledging it,” Jason teased. “You wouldn’t need to set any rules otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo muttered. “If you must know, we did admit that we like each other after the party.”

“But that’s great!” Jason exclaimed.

“It feels pretty crazy,” Leo replied. “Sometimes I wonder why she likes me, but maybe the Bad Boy Supreme’s magic is stronger than I thought.”

Jason snorted at his comment. “I don’t know Calypso as well as you do but I doubt it’s the so-called Bad Boy Supreme side that she cares about. You pretend to be all cool and try to seem like you don’t care about what’s happening around you but I think you do that only because you care too much. Maybe Calypso has noticed that as well.”

“Dude, you’ve been hanging out with Piper too much.” Leo shook his head. “That’s something she would say. ” “Well, she’s not wrong. Anyway, what happened after the big confession?”Jason asked curiously.

“We’re not together if that’s what you’re asking, ” Leo denied immediately. “I just mentioned the rules, remember? We wouldn’t need them if we had decided to go down that road.” “Ouch… but why? Why didn’t you just decide to do it?” Jason wanted to know.

“For some stupid, noble reasons,” Leo grunted. “I’m not gonna go into the details because it’s up to her to talk about it, but long story short, she thinks it’s safer that way. I think she’s afraid of hurting one of us.”

“And do you think she’s right?” Jason inquired.

“I… No! I’ve told her I can handle it. But I’m not gonna push it - believe me, Jo and Emmie have given me long lectures about respecting women’s boundaries. If Cal and I wanna keep living together, I have to let it be.”

“Yeah, I can see your point.” Jason nodded.

“Besides…” Leo added after a moment, his face falling as he thought about his past. “Bad things tend to follow me. Who is to say that I wouldn’t be the one getting her into trouble?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because when have I ever been successful with anything I’ve done?” Leo asked in return.

Jason seemed to finally understand what event Leo was really referring to. “You’re still beating yourself for things that happened years ago?”

“Why do you think I’m not capable of going to some of the lab classes? Because I simply think that skipping is fun and I don’t care whether I pass it or not?” There had been a time when Leo hadn’t cared about his school success, but back in those days he hadn’t cared about much else either. Now that he had dreams and things to live for, he hated the idea that anyone would think he’d throw it all away just because he could. His new family deserved better than that for what they had done for him.

“No, no, I was not thinking that! You just never talk about it so I assumed… whatever.” Jason didn’t want to make Leo even angrier so he decided it was better to change the topic. “Maybe we should talk about something else. I still hope that you and Cal will work it out eventually.”

“Yeah. I hope so too. Same for you and Piper.” The friends had gotten close to their destination, so Leo exclaimed quickly: “Hey, I’m smelling the pizza now! Whoever is last at the door pays!”

“That’s a bad deal because you know I’m faster than you. I train every day!” Jason pointed out but soon sprinted after him.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

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ellewritessometimes · 4 years

Text

It’s a Gift

Summary: Cas and Dean have become very close. Dean develops a crush and is afraid to say anything. He continues to fall harder as the days go on. As the Valentine's Day party approaches, Dean wonders if he'll share the secret he's been harboring.

Ships: Dean/Cas, Crobby

Word Count: 3,552

TW: Mentions of violence and Homophobia, Swearing

Notes: This is a work from an abandoned Valentine's Day group writing project. I decided to post it still because I worked hard on it and I wanted the original intended recipient to get their fic as planned. I want to thank Luc for allowing me to reach out to them and @kermit-drinking-tea-dot-jpg for betaing this fic.

Link to read on AO3

The smell of greasy tater tots and dry nuggets wafted through the cafeteria as I walked in and took my seat at the table. The rest of the team sat down as well.

"Does anyone have a date for Valentine's party tomorrow?" Garth asked.

"I'm sure Sam will be my date," Gabe smirked. The guy was kinda obsessed with my brother.

Garth rolled his eyes and continued to take a bite of his chicken patty. I turned the page of my notebook, trying to decode my notes from last week.

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath.

"What?" Gabe asked with a mouth full of french fries.

"I can't read my notes, and the test is next period," I said in frustration. I had scrawled them down distractedly during the class.

"Would you like to borrow mine?" Cas asked.

Of course, I would like to borrow Cas's notes. He was a great student, always crazy organized.

Cas slid a spiral-bound notebook with perfect notes written in blue gel pen. The lettering looked like a font. I could never be like this. I could never sit still for that long. Oh, to be like Cas; Quarterback, Captain of the Football team, debate mentor, NHS, he really had it all. I was just a linebacker struggling to remember physics. God, Dad, is gonna kill me.

"Thanks, man," There was relief in my voice. Maybe I'd pass. A.P. Physics is not the move when you're a dumbass.

Cas smiled and picked up his book, On the Road. I've never seen him eat during school. He's always reading, helping us with homework, or keeping Gabe and Garth out of trouble.

The bell rang, so I handed Cas his notebook back. He winked, and I felt my heart pound. I'm sure he was just saying ‘you're welcome’.

* * *

Mr. Crowley handed out the test, and I inhaled deeply. I can't do this. I can't do this.

Cas looked toward me and mouthed, "Are you ok?"

I shook my head. The little shit winked again and raised his hand.

"Mr. Crowley, I think Dean is going to be ill," Cas fibbed, "I should take him to the nurse just to be sure."

"We wouldn't want that. Take him to the nurse," Mr. Crowley gave him the ok.

Cas and I walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. Cas gestured to me to follow him. He led me into an empty classroom and shut the door.

He set his notebook and pencil down on a desk and bluntly said, "Sit."

I did as I was told. I watched him write a kinematic equation on a fresh sheet.

"What do you know?" Cas asked.

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that."

"I'm a dumbass," I shrugged.

He tilted his head, and I noticed a change in his eyes.

"You don't believe you deserved to be helped," He stated and quickly changed the subject in an attempt to take what he said back. "Let's start easy."

I leaned my head over to see the problem he wrote. A hair fell on my face, and Cas pushed it away. I jumped. Cas jumped as well, startled by my reaction. His disposition changed.

"I'm sorry, I…" His voice trailed off.

"It's fine, Cas." I made an attempt to reassure him.

We moved along with the problem like it never happened. But it did happen. I would feel the touch on my forehead the rest of the day. The way his hand felt, soft and warm against my rough skin.

We must have done at least 20 problems until I finally felt comfortable doing it independently. The bell rang, and I thanked Cas. He really didn't need to do that. I wasn't shocked that he did though, he always tried to help the guys somehow. The dude's a friggin angel.

* * *

I was distracted all of the football practice. I was preoccupied thinking about Cas.

"Winchester, get your head in the game!" Coach Bobby yelled out.

I had known Bobby my whole life. He'd been more like a dad than my own blood. He was always there when Dad was deployed, on a hunting trip, or just drunk, unable to take care of Sam and me. Dad was never the most stable person.

I nodded to Bobby and tried to focus. I'd been meaning to talk to the school counselor about getting me to see a therapist or something to get diagnosed. Bobby and I suspected I had ADHD but we wouldn't know for sure. Unfortunately, I knew that Dad didn't believe in therapy. And anyway, the doctor can't fix it if I'm distracted by Cas. God, the dude can move. His passes are perfect, he makes almost every goal, and his touchdowns are so impressive. God, I sound like I have a crush.

Practice finished, and we all headed to the locker room. Bobby gave a speech.

"We've got an away game tomorrow, folks. I expect the best behavior from you all, or you will not go to the sports Valentine's Day party. I mean it." Bobby continued, "I know that this year has been hard with the Superbowl being delayed due to extenuating circumstances, but I still need you idjits to be good."

"Yes, coach," We deadpanned in unison like cult members. We started exiting the locker room.

"Dean, I would like you to stay," Coach said sternly.

Oh shit.

Bobby led me to his office and motioned for me to sit in a chair.

"What's up with you, son?" Bobby questioned, "You've got that look, is it a girl? You're not back with Jo, are you? Lisa? Or is it a guy or an enby? You know that I don't care…"

"No, it's no one," I'm such a liar. I've had a crush on Cas since he moved here in fourth grade, and Bobby can see right through my bullshit.

"Bull," Bobby raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged. I couldn't even imagine what dad would say. Actually, I could. It would be to get out of his house and never come back.

"So that's it, you just wanted to be nosey? Besides, it's no one, and dad would never let me." I sighed.

"Don't worry about your old man. I'd take care of it. Mr. King and I always have a place for you and Sam anyway." Bobby was dating Mr. Crowley, no one but Sam and I knew.

I thanked him and left to go pick up Sam from the middle school. Boy, he had grown up so fast. I remembered when he was born. And when mom died.

* * *

I pulled up at the school, music blaring. Sam rushed to my car and opened the door.

"Can you drive me to Jess's house?" Sam asked.

"No, tonight's family dinner night." Dad's A.A. sponsor told him that it was a good idea to start trying to be more of a part of our lives. That started with dinner, I guess.

* * *

Dinner with Dad was painful. Sam and Dad bickered back and forth about every single little thing. Sam wanted to go to college, Dad wanted him to keep up with the family business, then Sam said that hunting and the military don't count as a legacy. I hate it here.

"Sam, give it a rest." I dropped my fork into Cambell's chicken noodle with stars.

"You're not siding with him, are you?" Sam's face was defensive.

"I'm the adult here." Dad slurred.

"A half of one at best," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, boy?" Dad's face had that look I didn't like.

"Nothing, sir," I was trying not to get killed.

Creak. Dad slid his chair back and walked over to me. As he hovered over my head, my heart dropped to my stomach. He held his hand out and swung.

I could feel the tingling on my face as he said, "Say something else, and it's gonna be somewhere else."

Sam got up from the table and ran to his room. I hated when Sam saw this. I knew it would hurt him more, but I still spoke anyway. It's hard. I knew Dad loved us. He just didn't know how to express it.

I walked away from the table as Dad drank more beer.

"Sam, you know that…" I couldn't think of an excuse, so I said, "Open the door, please."

Sam opened the door. His eyes were red, stress hives had formed on his arm. I wanted to hold him and tell him I would get us out here. I tried to protect him. I wanted him to always be safe. I just wish he knew Dad before Mom died.

"Why?" Sam asked, "Why do you just sit there and take it."

So he won't come after you, I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged as he closed the door in frustration.

* * *

I woke up early to go on a run to clear my head. As I ran, I saw a familiar face. It was Cas, walking a fluffy golden retriever. There was a redheaded girl next to him. I didn't know her, but she was pretty. I stopped jogging and stared for a moment.

"Hey!" I waved.

"Oh hey, Dean!" Cas's face brightened. He turned to the girl, "Anna, this is Dean Winchester."

Anna threw up a hand shyly. I smiled in response.

"Catch you later, I guess," I said as I walked away.

It was nice to see Cas, and he looked happy to see me. His sister was nice as well. I thought of the interaction as I strolled to the abandoned house on the end of the street. Sam always asked why I liked that place so much, but I don't know why. I just like creepy things. The house feels almost supernatural.

* * *

"Hey!" Someone hit me in the back. Jo.

"Hay is for horses," Jo grinned. "Got a date for the party?"

I shook my head. I was planning on asking Lisa but Jo was a fun party person. This could pose an issue, but I decided to ignore it.

"Well, you do now, silly goose," Jo said snarkily.

I always took Jo to parties. She was indeed the life of them. We'd go, she'd flirt, I'd scope out the crowd, we'd both be disappointed, then drunkenly make out in the Impala. Maybe grab a milkshake. It was tradition, but I had never taken Lisa before. Jo and I were more like flirty friends; I really had something with Lisa.

"Same as always?" I asked.

"Yup, come get me at five, and I'll bring the refreshments." She was referring to the whiskey she would steal from her mom's bar.

Jo walked away, and I turned to see Lisa standing at her locker. She was grabbing a math textbook and a copy of Gatsby.

"Hey Lis," I started.

"What do you want, Dean," She seemed annoyed.

"Are you ok?"

"I thought you've been ignoring me," Her voice had little emotion.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't realize how distant I was," Now was not the best time. I decided to say nothing about the party.

"Also, I'm not going to the party. My mom is making me watch my sister." Lisa was disappointed.

"Aw man," Score. This would work out.

We departed from the hallway, and I went to class.

* * *

School could not end fast enough. I couldn't wait for the game.

"Winchester, come see me," Mr. Crowley ordered me to his desk.

I hesitantly got up. He seemed pleased. I could not think of what this could possibly be about.

"Dean, your make-up test is perfect," His voice was enthusiastic. "I'm very proud."

Wow. I could not believe this. I thought for sure that I had flunked. As I breezed by, Cas gave me a thumbs up. I would have to thank him later.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by like cake.

The team gathered in the locker room before entering the busses. Coach Bobby gave us one last speech.

"Alright, boys, remember what I said yesterday. Be polite and respectful but kick butt," The team cheered as soon as he said it.

We filled into the bus like sardines. This would be unpleasant on the ride home. I made sure I sat next to Cas to talk about science.

"Hey man, thank you so much," I patted his shoulder.

"Of course," He didn't even look up from his book.

"What's it about" I pointed to On the Road.

"Oh, it's not your kind of book. You wouldn't like it," Cas muttered assertively.

"I'm sure I would"

"When I finish, I'll let you borrow it," Cas clearly was uncomfortable.

"Ok," I decided not to press.

We sat in awkward silence. It was painful. I tried not to stare while he read his book, but he's all I wanted to pay attention to. I noticed the way his eyes glowed, the way his lip curled when he read something funny, the way he brushed his fringe away from his face.

"Dean...Dean...Dean," I finally noticed that Cas was talking to me.

"Huh?" Shit.

"You're staring,"

"You're a pretty picture," I tried to laugh it off, and I guess it worked because he smiled.

He titled his head in surprise at the comment, but he didn't say anything about it, just turned to his book again. I stared more this time, making it very obvious. He looked up again and grinned. This time, I scooted closer. Now, we were only inches apart. Without looking up, he put his head on my shoulder and continued reading. His hair was soft against my cheek. His arm fit perfectly next to mine. I felt so warm and fuzzy. I never had this feeling before.

* * *

"Hut, hut, 67," Bobby was yelling out commands, "Let's go, boys!"

The bright lights lit up the dark field. It was the fourth quarter, and things were looking good. Tried to keep my head in the game as I made a pass to Cas. Cas fumbled the ball, and another player tackled him.

"What are you doing, Novak?" Bobby yelled. Fumbles were out of character for Cas.

I noticed that the opponent was on top of Cas. This was more malicious than just a tackle.

"Hey!" Gabe tried to break them up but got lost in the mix.

Finally, a ref noticed and threw up a flag, "Fifteen-yard penalty!"

Cas stumbled up, his lip was bleeding, and a bruise formed around his eye. We cleared the field to regroup. Cas would most-likely be evaluated, and that player, Azazel, would be suspended. Bobby took Cas to the medical station and, after, walked to the refs and the other coach. You could see them conversing. Bobby's face was solemn.

"So, after talking to the other coach and the refs, we've decided to end this game. The behavior was unacceptable, and we want to prevent any other incidents from happening." Bob said, disappointingly.

"Ugh, I want to kill this kid!" Gabe yelled. His face was red hot.

"Exactly," Cas spoke up from the bench. No one even noticed that he walked over. "This is what we want to prevent."

Gabe crossed his arms. He's quite the drama queen.

Bobby told us to gather our stuff and meet him outside to get on the bus. Most of the team was able to grab their belongings quickly. I was about to leave the locker room when I heard someone grunt. They sounded frustrated.

"Dean! Are you still in here?" Cas called out.

"Um...yeah? Why?"

Cas walked out from behind a row of lockers, shirtless. I tried to contain myself, but the sweat against his skin, the ruffled wet hair, the smile, he looked hot. I must say.

He looked defeated, "I can't find my bag."

I nodded, and Cas continued, "Can you tell Coach Singer that I'll be late? I need to find my bag."

I ran to Bobby, "Cas can't find his bag. I'm gonna stay and help him. I'll call for you to pick me up later."

"Sounds good, kiddo," Bobby gave me two thumbs up.

I ran back to Cas just to find him with his head between his knees on a bench. I didn't know what to do, so I just placed my hand on his back and left it there.

The room smelled of old sweat and mud. The smell was so overwhelming, I don't know how I didn't notice it earlier. There are lots of things I haven't seen, I start to think about what I've actually paid attention to.

"Cas?" I question. "Are you ok?"

He shook his head. He didn't even move from his position, so I got up to look around. The lockers didn't have locks, so I opened all of them. Nothing. I checked under benches, in stalls; I even looked by the toilets.

"Man, I can't find it," I sighed.

Seconds after I said those words, the lights went out, and I heard the twist of a key.

"Damnit!" I'd never heard Cas curse before, "What are we gonna do?"

"Cas, I don't know," I said as I tried to think.

I opened my phone to see that it was dead. I couldn't use the flashlight, and if Cas didn't have his bag, he didn't have his phone with him. Thankfully, I had a charger in my pocket, but it would take at least an hour for my Motorola to charge. Damn, that phone takes forever.

"We're gonna miss the party, and it's all my fault," Cas started sobbing.

"No, don't cry," I don't do well with tears. I sat back down on the bench.

"Dean…" Cas scooted away from me.

"What?" I moved closer so I could hear him through the sobs.

Cas turned and kissed me. His soft lips against mine felt like heaven on a platter. He ran his hands through my hair as he swung his legs over onto my lap. I lay down on my back as he leaned into me. I began kissing back but still letting him lead. This is what I wanted. I've been yearning for this. He moves from my lips to my neck, and I run my hands across his muscles.

"Dean?"

"Cas?"

"God, I love it when you say my name," He says as he undresses me faster.

* * *

After we finish, I check my phone to see if it is charged. The time says 7:15. It's only been an hour since the game ended, so we're not too late.

"So what do we do now?" Cas was lying on the bench, looking at the ceiling.

"Call Bobby to pick us up, I guess?" I ran out of solutions, "I think someone stole it."

"You're probably right, but how do we get out of here?" Cas questioned.

I did not think about that. We were in a locked locker room after school hours with no way of getting out or seeing.

It took me a moment, but I came up with a solution. There's a window high up in the back, so I slid another bench towards it so I could reach it. I flicked the lock on the window, and it budged. It was a small window, but I could climb up and slide my torso through without issue.

"Cas!" I yelled as I slid downwards out of the window, back into the locker room.

"What?"

"I found a solution."

* * *

Bobby arrived quickly to pick up a poor freezing shirtless Cas and me.

"No bag?" Bobby questioned.

We shrugged and told him we couldn't find it. Bobby said that we were never playing this school again. Cas and I were content with that. I looked over to Cas and smiled. He smiled back and giggled. I held out my hand, and he took it. I felt the warm sensation through my body again as he touched me.

"What's up with you guys?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," I smiled but quickly pulled my hand away from Cas. I wasn't ready to tell Bobby yet.

* * *

We arrived at Valentine's party, and Jo was the first to greet me.

"Did you forget about me?" Jo wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Sorry, I was looking for Cas's bag." I'm not lying.

"Well, I found another date." Jo turned to a girl, Lisa.

"Hey Dean," Lisa waved and pointed to a redhead, "Meet Charlie!"

"Hi! I'm Jo's girlfriend!" Charlie stuck out her hand enthusiastically.

I laughed—what a wild night. I strolled over to the drink table and grabbed some punch. Cas found me through the crowd. He was shy now.

"Dean? Are we going to talk about this?" Cas insisted.

"Sure."

"I like you."

"I get that." I wondered what the problem was.

"And?" Cas seemed unsure.

I moved closer to Cas and hugged him.

Cas told me that Gabe had grabbed his bag from the locker room because he knew that Cas was hurt. Gabe was goofy but kind at heart. Cas was thankful that he did, and no one stole it.

That reminded me that I had something to give Cas. I opened my bag and handed Cas a mixtape with some Zeppelin favorites.

"Dean, I can't take this," Cas was in awe.

"It's a gift; you keep those." I smiled and took his hand to dance.

#spn #fic #destiel crack #crack fic #request #fanfic #this is not my usual style lol #userroadhouse

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

Text

fuck, marry, kill

aos!leonard mccoy x female!reader, who’s a nurse on the starship enterprise.

word count: 5885

rating: explicit (workplace sex, at the end, for fun.)

part one of more than a game, you and me.

A silly game from your academy days gets interrupted, leaving you to think over how you really feel about the great Dr. McCoy.

“Goddammit, bastard, son of a fucking bitch,” you hissed, shaking your hand after yanking it back from the control panel next to your shower. It had the gall to shock you, one that rippled down your arm and almost made your other hand drop the towel you clung to for decency. Somehow the same steady hands that could wield a pair of hypodermics and a tricorder without thinking about it managed to break every other piece of equipment on the Enterprise.

A year since you got transferred, a year since the last major headache, and you had managed to build up a routine. Waking up to beta shifts until the six-month mark when you transferred to alpha shifts that gave you more to do without the headaches of fighting artificial daylight. Crew physicals and routine exams for viruses carried onboard from earth until all the crew had been cleared. Lunches six hours in, dinner six hours after that, followed by a jog, some yoga, a shower, and then… repeat.

It was a good routine. One that made you friends with other nurses in blue and engineers in red and a few on the captain track who came in more often because of their proximity to the action. You could now say “hello” to Sulu and “good morning” to Chekov and other niceties to a couple other officers. And they’d smile back, and all in all nothing was disrupted. Your routine kept you going.

But now, that routine was stopped in its tracks.

With a little huff, you shook your head. Fortunately for you, your connections through routine hypos and the occasional healing after a scuffle gave you one particularly good friend. One who was very good at fixing up the Enterprise in any state she was in. And because of your clumsiness and tendency to get shocked, that friend was simply a comm unit away. Decency first, of course.

“Y/N to Scotty.”

“Aye, lass, Scotty here.”

A sigh of relief that he wasn’t on break, or worse, sleeping. That’d been a bear you wouldn’t want to disturb more than once. Your fingers tapped away, allowing his voice to fill the room rather than sound tinny coming from the communicator and your hands to hunt for a shirt.

“Yeah, we’ve got a situation. My shower isn’t working?”

“Is that right,” the chief engineer replied, and you could tell by his voice that under the amusement there was distraction. Your problem was not the only one on his plate, then. Or at the very least, not his main focus.

“Yeah, that’s right. Shocked me, as a matter of fact, when I tried to get it going.”

“Mmm.” Make that a lot of distraction.

“Scotty?”

“Yeah, lass?”

“Can you come fix it?”

“Fix what?”

With a soft sigh you pulled your shirt over your head, shaking out your hair before pulling it up into something passable for company.

“My shower, Scott. Y’know, again, the one that shocked me. That’s not turning on. That shower.”

“Shocked you? Well, this is the first I’m hearing about it,” he scoffed, indignant, and your eyes went wide with disbelief before you heard his chuckle.

“Oh, so I’m the entertainment for this evening, then,” you muttered with a scowl, scrounging around for the pants you just had on and the regulation zip-up you could walk around the halls in.

“Of course, Y/L/N,” he retorted. “I was wondering when the next time you’d call was. After all, it’s been, what, almost a week since our last incident with the replicator, hasn’t it been?”

“Two weeks, thank you,” you snapped, the pants snatched off the floor and shaken out with a vengeance. One foot began making its way inside the leg of the pants, the other hopping on the floor. “Monty, please, I just got off shift, I’m tired, and I’m sweaty, and there were three cases of Takarian bronchiolitis that we had to treat with airborne precautions. Never mind next week’s also Christine’s birthday, who I love with all of my heart but the party I got roped into planning for, of fucking – agh!”

“Y/N!”

Bouncing on one leg could only last for so long, of course. Your head thankfully did not contact anything with a hard surface. Your ass, however, got the brunt of the blow, specifically your tailbone.

“Y/N?”

When you groaned, you heard the relief, as well as the stifled laughter.

“Can you just please come fix my shower? I think there’s an analgesic hypo with my name on it back in the med bay.”

Of course, you weren’t one to completely bypass the rules. The Enterprise had enough of that in places other than the medical unit, and your chief medical officer, Dr. McCoy, was a stickler for right and wrong and lines that shouldn’t be crossed. So, your hypodermic needle was checked out by Christine, administered by her, and all logged and dated with a note about the situation. And, because your appointment didn’t technically end for another fifteen minutes, there was enough time for a little bit of gossip.

Your type of news always was the kind of shit that got the whole crew talking. The next adventure, who was sleeping with who, the drama that came out of confessions when the ship was falling apart. Anything to work through the monotony. But Christine’s favorite topic was almost always you, much to your chagrin.

“You know I don’t have a love life,” you said with a roll of your eyes, sitting up on the biobed and letting your feet dangle off of the edge. “That hasn’t changed in the three days since you asked me last.”

“I do know you’re at the very least no fun about it,” she responded with an eye roll, fingers tracing over your vitals the bed collected and reported. “There’s hundreds of people on this ship, and you’re telling me that none of them catch your eye? What about the chief engineer?”

Immediately your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the laugh that left you. “Scotty? No. No, no, we’re just friends, aggressively friends. He keeps me around because I’m the only one who gives him stuff to do during the night shifts. Without me breaking lightbulbs it’d be too dull.”

Of course, her eyebrow crept up in suspicion, but when your gaze held steady, she dropped her eyes, waving a hand like the idea was preposterous anyway.

“All right. So, no Scotty. Any ensigns?”

“No.”

“Lieutenants?”

“No.”

“Cadets?”

“Oh, my god, Christine,” you gasped out with a laugh, jumping off of the biobed, smacking her on the arm. “Stop it.” Your eyes glanced around the med bay, but just like every beta shift began, it was pretty damn quiet. Not a soul in sight besides the two of you. “There’s no one.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” she sighed, pushing off of the wall to meet you nose to nose. “But there’s gotta be someone who at least catches your eye, right?”

“Chris…”

“Someone on this ship you’d be willing to fuck – “

“No, we’re not – “

“- marry, maybe – “

“Christine, I swear to god – “

“- or kill?”

Again, your eyes darted around, but at that point the game had been called. A throwback to your time in the academy, when your classmates would find the local bars and a booth to heckle each other in. When passersby would be unknowingly subjected to a game based on nothing but good fun, and usually a whole lot of booze.

Simple premise. Three names called out. Each gets a label, and the rounds continue until the players decide they’ve had enough. Called anywhere, at any time, and Christine had thrown the gauntlet.

“You’re on duty,” you pointed out, but you leaned back on the biobed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And if there’s a patient I’ll tend to them. But you’ve got nowhere to be, and if I have a say we’re finding someone on this ship for you,” she pointed out, before swiping your scans away from the vicinity and joining you on the bed. “Three rounds. I bet you I can do it in three rounds.”

With an eye roll you proceeded to glare at her, but her grin did not budge once, and with a sigh you just nodded.

“Perfect. Why don’t we start with a throwback? Old classmates? Harrison, Twyla, and Betty.”

Your smile crept up on your face, and without a second thought you rattled it off. “Fuck Twyla, marry Harrison, kill Betty. Obviously.” Considering that two of the three weren’t even on the ship, you knew that it was more a warmup than anything. Lots of pretty people at the Starfleet Academy.

“All right. And then… oh, what about the bridge crew?”

“Christine,” you groaned, hand smacking over your face. “We’re in public.”

“There’s no one here, and you can’t chicken out of the second round! Look, we’ll do… Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant Uhura, and Ensign Chekov.”

Your jaw clenched. Forget about saying hi to Sulu ever again.

“I would… I would…”

“C’mon. You can say it, Y/N.”

“Fine, fine!” But you couldn’t help your laughter as you shoved Christine’s arm again. “I would… I would fuck Uhura, marry Sulu, and – “

“And kill Chekov? He’s got a baby face! You’re gonna kill him where he stands!”

“Christine, this is not real life,” you reminded her with a hiss, shaking your head before beginning to walk towards the door. “I’m leaving before I end up having to resign.”

“Oh, no! We’ve got one more go.”

“I’m walking. My tailbone doesn’t even hurt anymore. The miracle of modern medicine.”

“Y/N!”

“What?”

“Captain Kirk.”

“No, Christine.”

“Commander Spock.”

“Stop!”

“And Dr. Mccoy!”

“What about me?”

Your heart stopped.

“Nurse Y/L/N, is that right?” Dr. McCoy, the man himself, stated, raising a brow as he moved into the med bay, boxes stacked up in his hand. Christine did the smart thing, moving forward to help the doctor carry them inside, but your feet were cemented to the floor, mouth a little agape, color flooding your cheeks.

“Y-Yes! Hello, sir, I was just – uh, I was just –“ you stammered, turning to follow them both with your eyes as their load was dropped on one of the biobeds. “Well. I was just leaving, really.”

“She had an appointment,” Christine offered, her best and most polite smile on for your shared boss, who seemed too tired to do more than nod. “And we were just discussing… shifts?”

“Shifts.” Again, Dr. McCoy’s brow raised, and with skilled fingers he reached to slide them along the seam, a hiss sounding out as they opened up, bearing unloaded hypodermics, some bandaging supplies.

“Shifts.” Your voice was weak as you confirmed it, but while his eyes were down Christine gave you a subtle nod, winking even as you scowled at her. “You see, I was just – I was just wondering if I could take the beta shift next week, and… well. That’s a change I need you to sign off on. Dr. M’Benga and dr. Olson didn’t have a preference when I asked them.”

“Uh-huh,” was the gruff response, and as his fingers reached up to scratch at his chin, something like amusement seemed to play in his eyes. Although, thinking about it, you reasoned it was probably just the exhaustion and the lights in the med bay you saw instead. “So, you scheduled an appointment with Christine and my medbay, takin’ up one of the biobeds here, to talk about shift changes?”

“No. No, no, it wasn’t just about that,” you got out, more heat rising to your cheeks, and thankfully your feet were moving backwards, towards the door, as their hands slid into gloves and prepped the new cargo for treatment.

“She… took a spill in her quarters. Needed an analgesic. I did a scan to make sure it wasn’t anything more than a bruised tailbone and then gave her a dose of lidocaine for the area and acetaminophen for the pain.” Of course, Christine could chime in, sounding composed, while you had just managed to regain motor functioning.

“I see,” McCoy responded, and there was a brief moment where you were sure he was gonna call your bluff. You didn’t even remember right away that there was a hypo-stick in the first place, and the lidocaine definitely did not happen, right? But then, something, almost like a smirk washed over his features. They relaxed, and those eyes lit up again, deep and dark and warm. It was like taking a shot of whiskey, the sour leaving behind something that made your breath catch.

“You know you could just say you fell on your ass, Nurse Y/L/N.”

The stories about Dr. McCoy in a nutshell. No southern charm, just a sweet Georgian gut punch. Humor hiding in the comment, of course, but at that point your embarrassment made it taste pretty damn bitter.

Thankfully, though, the moment was gone. The smirk vanished, the exhaustion seemed to settle over him like a blanket, and his eyes glanced toward you once again before shrugging. “beta shift works for me. Just don’t let it screw with your head too much and find someone who’s willing to trade.”

“That’s… yes. Well - good night, sir,” you got out, biting your lower lip, bowing your head before shooting another glare at Christine. “Good night, Nurse Chapel, and I’ll see you both… when I see you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Christine called out, and the good doctor managed a hum of acknowledgement, his attention already pulled away from your retreating form. And if there was a second glance at you, it was nothing more than confirmation that the night was back to peace and quiet.

“I am never going to recover from this.”

“Mmm,” Scotty ground out, his arm elbow deep into the guts of the Enterprise.

“I mean it, Monty!” You cried out, back flat on your bed, arm thrown across your face but leaving your mouth wide open to complain. “Jesus Christ and now I’ve gotten myself roped into beta shifts, ready to be bored out of my skull for a whole damn week. He thinks I’m an idiot. An idiot and insane!”

“D’you think?” Was the reply, but the lack of attention didn’t bother you one bit. You were barely paying attention.

No, your head was running wild, with the fear that the greatest job you had, the job you were best at, was now at risk because of some dumb game you played with Christine. What if Dr. McCoy had heard all of it? What if he had just walked in because he had heard enough, and then you’d get called into his office, not a smirk in sight, and request your resignation? Could he do that? Off of a conversation?

“Y/N!” Scotty called out, and that’s what finally broke your spiral downward, your body shooting up to a sitting position, looking up to see Scotty staring out of the bathroom at you. Your water was running, you could hear it, and Scott was grinning from ear to ear, some kind of tool tucked behind his ear.

“All fixed,” he crowed with joy, brushing his hands off on his uniform. When he leaned on the doorway, his eyes were gazing around the rest of the place, as if it was just waiting to break on him, too. “computer, shut down the shower. Now, what were you saying, lassie? Somethin’ about our chief medical officer, yes?”

And as Scott smiled at you, no recognition of your crisis in him, you just smiled back, standing up to give him a hug. Even without saying anything, he had the best ideas.

“Nothing, Monty. Thanks for the fix.”

He was hustled out a few moments later, after a playful argument taking bets on what piece of machinery in this poor room would fall apart next (he was a fan of the faulty replicator, but you had a gut feeling it’d be the temperature control). But soon he was out of the room, and you knew that ignoring the whole thing would be the best option.

Except with Christine, ignorance was never an option for bliss. When your padd beeped, and then your communicator, you were forced to answer the message, looking to see a little smiley face emoticon with a message that left your heart falling to the floor.

“Your answer? :)”

Your answer? For the game? After all of that and Christine had the gall? But you could see her smile, even from this far, a smile that made you smirk.

But they were the rules, and so the question was left in your head. What was your answer? What were the options?

You thought about it as you started to get ready for bed, t-shirt set on the counter in the bathroom, hot shower started. Your hair was put up before you stripped, your face splashed with water and a towel as steam began to fill the room.

“Captain Kirk.” No personal experience with him, but you, like everyone on the ship, had seen him around. Had heard the legends. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t seem stricken by the love bug when it came to him, blond hair perfect, smile bright, blue eyes startlingly, well, blue. Friendly, quick, brave. He was the perfect man. But not everyone knew Christine. Christine, who’d had the lovely interaction with Cadet Kirk, at the time, who ended up kicking him out of your shared dorm room after a bad argument gone bad. The air was cleared enough that he managed to get polite smiles from her, but after that captain kirk never had the appeal. He was a playboy. His nature, his right, you supposed. But not for you.

“Commander Spock.” Tall, handsome. But very Vulcan, and very taken. Now, you knew he had to have some kind of sweet side, and there was something, you guessed, about the confidence that his reliance on logic seemed to convey. After all, you’d heard him lecture a few times, and if you were honest that would’ve been when you were most attracted to him – using his knowledge and logic and proud spirit to lead others on the path toward serving the federation. But there was only so far that logic and a lack of emotion could go, and even though you’d heard of outbursts occurring where his emotion made their mark? No. Arguments aplenty.

And who did that leave?

“Dr. McCoy.”

At that point, you still hadn’t entered the shower, and the computer was telling you that the water was about to automatically turn off to preserve the function of the ship’s supply, but your head was no longer in your bedtime ritual, instead thinking about the mysterious Dr. Mccoy, the infamous Dr. McCoy.

The Dr. McCoy that made nurses cry every so often from his outbursts – never violent but fierce, always due to the protectiveness he had for his patients. The Dr. McCoy who was a doctor before he even became a cadet, with enough knowledge to fill a few books. The Dr. McCoy who had smirked at you with those dark and deep eyes, brown and full with some kind of life as he... Well, teased, southern accent lilting just a bit, maybe? That Dr. McCoy? The Dr. McCoy who saved lives and healed and always, always, always fought for more healthcare, for more hypos, for more protections for the nurses who somehow, even in the 24th century, managed to get pushed to the wayside?

When you stepped in the shower, it took a second for your fingers to bang at the control panel, your legs held together, and with a quick setting manipulation the steam quickly cleared, the water’s temperature dropping to ice cold. You were in, and you were out, but by the time you had dressed and brushed your teeth color had crept on your cheeks again.

All you could see were those eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Ah, Nurse Y/L/N,” the doctor said, eyes barely looking up from the singed hands of the red-shirt in front of him. “I need dermatological regen started here and a full body scan initiated on the biobed two over.”

Like nothing had even happened. Like your nightmare interaction two weeks ago hadn’t resulted in you unintentionally taking night shifts, resulting in a fucked up circadian rhythm and bags under your eyes, not to mention hours bored out of your skull.

Christine wasn’t here, and for once you were grateful. The last thing you needed was her eyes on you as you maneuvered around the doctor for a new shift while exhaustion lingered in the back of your mind. But it also meant that there was no one to offer a united front. Just you.

“Nurse Y/L/N?”

And you just spent the past minute mulling all of that in your mind. Making yourself look like a dumbass in front of the doc and his patient. The patient hadn’t noticed, staring at his own hands in horror, but Dr. McCoy seemed like he was regretting letting you back on to handle days.

Shit.

“You got it, doc,” you managed with a kind smile at the engineer, whose face you could now see as you walked past him toward the wall. Your hands expertly manipulated to storage system, and with the tricorder kept at your waist you gathered the necessities.

The great thing – you were damn good at what you did. Especially when you could focus on it. Your face was bright, uniform neat (until it wasn’t due to fluids of some kind), and your hands were steady. And no complicated patients came in that day, especially since no away missions were sent out and nothing malfunctioned horribly deep within the ship’s bowels.

And yet, no matter what you did, no matter how competent you showed you were, no matter how many laughs or smiles or even nods from the most stubborn of usual patients? Eyes were on you. Dark, deep eyes. The whole day, no matter where you went, a furrowed brow and focused tailed you, watching your interactions.

All in all, a good day. A great day, even, as you injected your last hypo and the padd reported a normal set of vitals, no reaction to the medication after fifteen minutes.

The shift was over, now. It was a good shift, one that required no personal defense. You gave report to the next nurse, said goodbye to the others on-duty. Your jacket put on, your hair pulled down and back up after the frizz of the day had ruined it. Nothing really to note.

So why did the doctor not let you out of his sight?

The rest of the week, the same routine. The flow you had gotten into on alpha shifts returned, and your week of off nights was left behind in favor of much better mornings. Back on track, the same old, same old. And yet with every shift there was a new weight, those eyes on you. It felt like if he wasn’t tending to a patient, and he wasn’t in his office in the back of the bay, he was watching you. Critical of every injection and admission. You were starting to go a little crazy with it, your mind going a million miles an hour, second guessing the simplest stuff just so you wouldn’t fuck up in front of the CMO.

But after a while, the fear of failure turned into anger.

What right did the doctor have to analyze like that? You were a great nurse! You treated your patients and coworkers fairly, with respect and compassion. What was there to complain about? You knew your shit, and here was McCoy, looking like the Enterprise regretted your assignment there in the first place. By the end of the week, that anger had built up, and once the weekend rolled around, and your two off days in a row loomed, you decided you were done.

“Is there something on my uniform, Dr. McCoy?” You asked, terse as you organized the vaccine cart, the new year meaning new yearly injections to follow up on.

His fingers had been steadily scrolling through files of crew members, but their nimble work paused at your question. His eyes had taken a break from tearing you apart, but now they were focused on you once again.

“Excuse me, Nurse Y/L/N?” He asked, his face looking almost pinched.

“I was just wondering if there was something on my uniform. Or in my teeth, perhaps. Something in my hair, maybe, too.” Your hands kept chugging along, automatically rearranging the colored liquids, but there was a tightness you couldn’t shake, a tension.

“Something in your hair?” The doctor repeated, and at his tone, somewhat amused, you finally turned to face him, your brow raised in a mimic of his.

“Well, there’s gotta be something, considering that you haven’t gone five minutes without staring at me like I’m your least favorite sight in the world. So, what is it? Uniform out of regs? Did I administer a medication wrong? Did a patient complain?”

At that point, the amusement had turned to indignation, maybe even anger. His jaw was clenched, and the padd in his hands had been abandoned on the desk in favor of crossed arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, nurse,” he ground out, eyes flicking around the med bay. But there was no one to look at. No one to distract or overhear.

You couldn’t help your laugh. “Oh, I think you do,” you snapped, and almost mocking him, your arms crossed as well, a hip cocked, your eyes like daggers. “Ever since I came back on alpha shift, you’ve been doing all you can to catch me in a fuck-up. Well, it’s not happening! I’m damn good at what I do, and no amount of posturing, even from the CMO, would ever change that!”

His scoff was hard, arms uncrossing so a hand could pull through his hair in disbelief. “darlin’,” he said, slowly, as if you were dense, “There’s no posturing going on. Your abilities aren’t being doubted. Hell, I don’t even know your first name. Whatever story you’ve got going on in your head? It’s a story!”

His frustration showed through his accent, a southern drawl that got thicker as his sentences rambled on. But that couldn’t distract you from calling him out on his bullshit, no matter his position.

“I’m not senile,” you huffed, eyes rolling hard, and your steps closer were unconscious, crowding him against the desk he was leaning on now. “And I’m definitely not blind. So, tell me what your problem is with me, so I can go back to focusing on my job, and you can go back to focusing on yours!”

“There’s no damn problem!” His voice was almost a yell now, but you had no fear, and you sure as hell weren’t backing down. “It’s nothing. Hell, there isn’t anything to be nothing.”

And then it clicked, it clicked, as you stared into brown eyes that wavered for a second, that scanned you top to bottom in a split second. A break, a tell, whatever it was, the pieces were put together, and you stood tall, not letting his height on you intimidate.

“You overheard me and Christine, didn’t you?” It was low. “Is that what it is?”

“Overheard.” The clench in his jaw hadn’t loosened, but you watched that brow tick upwards again, his arms uncrossing so his hands could rest on the desk.

“When you walked in on us, last week,” you clarified. “You overheard our game.”

The anger was gone now. Now that everything had slotted into place, you weren’t angry. A little bit embarrassed maybe, but not angry. Frustration felt like it was leaking out of you, but the tension wasn’t gone. The standoff wasn’t broken. And after all of what, you had just yelled at your superior officer.

“Dr. McCoy,” you started, uncrossing your arms, and holding them up to offer a truce. “I apologize. For yelling. That… well, it shouldn’t have been my first move. But. I can explain, if you want me to.”

There was no verbal reply, but his exasperation came through with a huff, and he simply lifted a hand, gesturing for you to go on.

“It’s just a game we’ve played since the academy. It was inappropriate to play while Christine was on shift. I apologize for that as well,” you told him pulling back to glance once more at the sliding doors, which mercifully stayed closed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Just a game,” he repeated, and at first you didn’t catch the shift in his tone. Didn’t connect it with the glance toward the doors, or the way he stood from the desk, so that you were almost close enough to brush against him. “Just a game… using the names of your captain, commander, and chief medical officer?”

“Yes,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry for that, as well, that definitely won’t be happening again.”

“A game talkin’ about who you’d rather have in your bed.”

Your eyes shot back to him, color flooding your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

“Well, that’s the game, isn’t it?” He said with a shrug, and as he leaned forward you could feel your breath catch in your throat, looking up into a face you imagined in your own quarters in the dead of night, as you let steaming water hit your skin. His jaw wasn’t clenched anymore, and his voice was a low rumble.

It wasn’t a threat. But it gave you goosebumps all the same, that the bass of his words, and you managed to nod, swallowing even as you kept your chin lifted.

“That’s the game. Is there a problem?”

And God, there was that smirk. Warm like whisky, it made your hands clench, your legs shift as that warmth rushed through you.

“No problem at all,” he hummed, and as he leaned close those lips brushed past your cheek. You could smell his cologne now, spice flooding your nose, the antiseptic of the day fading away. The chill in the air that always seemed to linger was gone, nothing but heat on your mind. Right in your ear you heard him, after a low chuckle that made you want to scream, beg him to get on with it. “I guess I’ve just been wondering what you would’ve answered, had I not… interrupted.”

Lunchtimes were surely coming to an end. Any second a patient could come in, could see the both of you crowded against the desk and know exactly why the whole place felt like an oven. But something possessed you, then, to bring one of your hands to his shoulder, the other to his hip, and lean just as close, almost pushing up on your toes to whisper right back.

“Give you one guess.”

Matches. That’s what that kiss felt like, a box of matches all lighting at once – the spark and the flash and explosion of heat as Dr. McCoy pulled back just enough to press his lips against yours. Nothing gentle, nothing kind, just a ferocity that made you moan against his mouth. His hands, broad and hot, began to roam on your back, settling just enough to pull you ever closer, so that your bodies were flush against each other. Your hand ended up twisted in his hair, the other fisted in his shirt. And just like matches, it was the start of a fire, one that had you both stumbling towards his office, the door sliding behind you with a quiet hiss.

“You were teasing me,” he ground out, directing you between kisses until the back of your thighs were against his desk. His hands gripped you then, around the waist, lifting you so you could sit. “And you didn’t even know it. Your voice over and over in my head, thinking about how it’d sound with my name.”

“So, you stare at my ass instead of asking me, hmm? What a southern gentleman,” you laughed, and for that you got teeth against your neck, a hand shoving your skirt up. The tips of his fingers seemed to skate over your skin, tickling your inner thigh. But those slow circles never quite got where you wanted, just left burning trails in their wake. “Talk about teasing.”

“At’s what you get for having a smart mouth,” he chuckled, face still against your neck. But soon he was back to kissing you, making your head spin.

“That I know how to use,” you shot back, once again between presses of lips and gasps of air. “I’m – I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Never said you were,” he purred, and this time both hands lifted your skirt high, reaching for the panties that did a poor job of hiding anything. “But why don’t you let me use my mouth first?”

“What an offer.” One you certainly wouldn’t refuse, especially since he looked hungry for it, for you.

There was a brief moment’s hesitation, his finger curled around the elastic and so close to ripping them off. But while his body was begging for it, his pants more than a little tight, his eyes met yours.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, his tongue running along his lips as he got to his knees.

Your gaze didn’t waver, a grin coming over you. “That’s a fucking yes, sir.”

His grin matched yours, sharp and wily as he rid you of your underwear, hands on your knees so he could pull them apart. You were bare to the cool air, and your teeth caught your lower lip as he leaned forward with a hot gasp on your inner thigh.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

The first thing you felt was the swipe of his tongue, a furious push against where you were wettest. A taste, almost, before he licked a line through your folds until his mouth enveloped your clit. You were swollen, desperate for it, and your gasp was thick as fingers once again tangled in his hair. If you said anything, it was a “please,” a “yes,” a “god, right there” as he worked.

He took you apart with his mouth, no hesitation as his tongue worked you over, swirling around your clit as a finger began to tease your entrance. It was with a gasp you came, his hand spreading you open with two fingers inside of you, and when you were able to see straight you saw that grin again, his chin wet, his lips red.

“Holy shit, Doc,” you huffed, your hand falling from his hair to his chin, thumb swiping across the mess and bringing it up to your mouth so you could get a taste of yourself. He did you one better, leaning forward to kiss you again, and the taste of him and you made you smile.

“Leonard.”

“Leonard,” you repeated, and when you pulled back his smile was softer. Almost… vulnerable. “Suits you.”

“Well, I hope so,” he laughed. “It is my name.”

“And it’s my turn,” you pointed out, reaching for his waistband. “I think you should move to the chair.”

#reader-insert #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy #christine chapel #montgomery scott #scotty #bones #fanfic #my fic #star trek: aos

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vanchlo · 4 years

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The Partner / Chapter Eight, "The In Between"

Word Count: 6.1k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N' Roses (click to listen)

P.S. - Next chapter will be coming on March 23rd, but I only know this because I've written it already :P Otherwise, I know that they are pretty random which I'm sorry for. Thanks for reading!

"People live with things they don't talk about hidden in their heart."

- Un-Go アンゴ

There, I stop, because I realize what I’ve done. I hear it in my words and in her weeping, the step that I shouldn’t have taken. Without knowing, I spoke in present tense, and knew that I’d only made it worse. It reminded us of what we couldn’t have- what we wouldn’t have. What should’ve been. Should be.

Her head shook from side to side, although belatedly. Her cries had quieted at moments too, that is until her head dove back against my chest, and they returned. I held her there, pressing my lips to her head and closing my eyes, being sucked back into my thoughts. The should’ve-beens made a regretful comeback, and as each one paid a reminder to me, so did a tear down each cheek.

Two Weeks Earlier

Despite the sunshine pouring in through the window, the sight of the glittering snow outside my window chilled me to the bone. Wrapping my arms around myself didn’t help as the cold seeped in through my cardigan.

“Cold, again?” somebody chuckles from over my shoulder.

“Yeah. God, can you turn up the heat in this place, or what?”

“I dunno, you’ve already had me turn it up three degrees t’day. Not sure my Dad brain will allow me anymo.’ Yer gonna make me heatin’ bill skyrocket here soon.”

“Harry,” I giggle, looking behind me to catch his face just in time for him to surprise me with a hug from behind. “Come on, the baby and I are cold. You better soon, or else I’m buying a space heater for my office.”

“Yer gonna be usin’ that kid as an excuse fer ev’rythin.’ Arentcha, Becks?” a shiver runs down my spine at the feeling of his beard against my temple, but it doesn’t compare to his freezing hands on my stomach.

“Yes, because are you trying to make me turn into an icicle with those hands of yours?”

“What, I jus’ got back from lunch. ‘s winter outside, don’t y’know?”

“Wow, I had no idea,” I reply snarkily with a nod to my window before us.

“Watch it, sassy pants, or ‘ll keep those churros fer myself.”

The scoff is already curling my lips when I turn around, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” Harry contests, raising a brow at me until it all dissolves into his wheezy laughter. “Hey, put that pout away, sweetheart.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, mister,” I mutter, turning away from his waiting arms. His tongue clicks in response but I ignore it, starting for my phone that rings.

“Becks, I was only kiddin.’ Y’know I wouldn’t take away yer churros, love, they’re yer favourite,” he begins, but for some reason that really annoyed me. It doesn’t help when he takes hold of my hand, rooting me to the spot. “Hey, Crabby Pants, yer phone can wait. They can leave a message, but I wanna talk t’ my fiance.”

“What?” I mumble, facing him at last. The corners of his lips lift, and his contagious happiness is hard to resist.

“‘m sorry fer teasin’ you. ‘ll see ‘bout turnin’ tha heat up on this side, and yer churros are waitin’ in me office. ‘d never deprive my baby’s mum o’ her favourite food. No, not my wifey.”

“You better not,” I sigh, giggling against his lips when they press to mine. The gold flecks in his sage-colored irises catch the light when he looks down at me. Sometimes, I still wonder how the sunshine on his face could all be for me.

“I won’t,” Harry hums, reminding me of his own little ray of sunshine when his hand comes to my belly. “Ya should be careful with those churros, I think yer startin’ t’ show.”

“Am not.”

“Are to. Ya had a li’l bump this mornin’ when we were gettin’ ready. I saw it in tha mirror in tha bathroom when you were changin.’ Cutest thing I ever did see,” he coos, painting my face in thick strokes with that radiant smile of his. “Boobs are gettin’ bigger and bum too. ‘m likin’ this whole pregnant thing on you mo’ and mo’ ev’ry day.”

“Of course, you are,” I whisper, feeling the smile drain from my lips when the light catches it. The doctor said they’d fade with time, but three months on and the pink lines still won’t let me forget that nightmare I can’t escape. I saw them every day, in the shower with him or when I watched him get dressed beside me in the bathroom. The mornings when I woke up before him and dragged a finger across his tattoos. He was lucky that none of them were ruined by the numerous stitches, but they got by unscathed. I just wish I could say the same for everything else, for me.

“Hey, where’d that pretty smile go?” Blinking, I focus my gaze back on the dimples that fall into his cheeks.

“Your scars, they’re still . . ,” my train of thought disappears, because it’s nothing that I haven’t said before.

“Still there. I know, they jus’ don’t go away, buggie.” Frowning, his words sink in, but for maybe the fifth time. With a huff, I distract myself with the cream tie dotted with blush flowers that he picked out today. “Hey you, dontchu roll those pretty eyes at me.”

“I’m not.”

“But you are. ‘s it ‘cos somebody hasn’t had her churros yet this week?” his whiny voice grazes my ears from above. It’s difficult, but I control my lips and busy myself with picking a loose thread from his tie. “Becks, I see that smile,” he continues in a mocking tone, and soon I’m giggling against his neck as his nose drags along mine.

“‘Kay, baby, ‘m gonna go and grab yer lunch befo’ my meetin’.”

I whisper a ‘thanks’ against his lips before watching him disappear into the hallway. It’s not often, but my office is quiet, absent of the constant sounds of keys clicking, phones ringing, and a certain somebody being quite good at distracting me. Crossing the room, I plop down in front of my computer. The new messages showing on the side jump at my attention, but what grabs it is the picture frame beside it. With a smile that makes my cheeks ache, I pick it up to admire for the tenth time today. I’m sure that I’ll hit one hundred here, sooner or later.

“Think I like yer frame better, y’know.”

“Really?” I respond, lifting my eyes to Harry who sets down a greasy taco bag on my desk, a protein shake on the side. Don’t even get me started on how he’s already the nagging Dad.

“Ya, like the color and phrase better,” he notes, making me squirm from his hand on my side. It’s forgotten when it travels over to my belly, the exact place I hadn’t realized I’d laid a hand on too. “Can hardly believe it’ll be four months in two and a half weeks. We’re almost halfway there.”

“I know, it’s crazy to me.”

His mumbled agreement comes as I trace the lines of our baby’s profile over the frame’s glass partition. The same frame had sat on my desk for a while now, often updated with the newest sonogram picture after our latest ultrasound. One similar to it sat on Harry’s desk too, both a present from him. Several more occupied our fridge, phone lockscreens at times, and I’m sure in similar forms at both of our parents’ houses.

“Me too. I can’t wait tho,’ t’ be a dad.”

I didn’t think that my smile could get any bigger, but when I tip my head up to look at Harry hovering there, somehow it does.

“You’re going to be the best daddy.”

Sunshine fills every inch of his face, especially in the dimples caved into his cheeks. I hope our baby has those. Please.

“Why thank you. I feel rather lucky my kids get t’ have such a wonderful mummy too,” he notes with a quick wink, sponging a kiss to my forehead warmly. A few moments pass of admiring the picture until his voice interrupts my thoughts again. “Yer sure ‘s okay ‘m helpin’ My’ with that case in Bedford comin’ up?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Won’t miss me too much, will you?”

Now, I don’t even bother to hide the way that I roll my eyes at him, accompanied by a sound of disgust. His nose wrinkles before his face creases in annoyance.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I almost retort with a joking tone, until I melt at the way he rubs his nose against mine in what some call a kiss. “We’ve been over this, Harry, it’s fine. Skye can stay the night with me if I get lonely, or something. I know an opportunity to have another win against your arch enemy can’t be passed up.”

This time, I really stumped him. It brings a song to my lips, because it’s not often that I get to surprise him anymore. Sometimes, I miss those days, but I’d never go back to them. No, we didn’t have the sweet honeymoon period of first meeting, it was the total opposite. I’d never give up where we’d finally gotten to now, engaged and expecting a baby in a little over five months.

“He ‘s not.”

Still, the crease between his eyebrows remains and I only want to laugh more, “Is too. Malakai Watters is your arch enemy, Harry. You’ve been griping about him since I first met you, no excuse about it is going to work on me.”

Shaking his head, I already hear the argument coming my way, “Watters ‘sn’t my enemy, you silly one, he never has been. ‘ve never had any enemies.”

“Lies and more lies. I’m pretty sure we were enemies once, but you’ll excuse that one too.”

“Eh, I think I can agree with that one,” his face has relaxed and so has his shoulders that rise and fall softly. The green in his eyes lights up when he cracks a laugh from above, despite still being upside down for me. At last, he spins me around and pins me with his hands planted on my armrests. He always has to hog those, at movies and in the car. “Enemies? I dunno ‘bout that word, but you drove me bloody mad in the beginnin,’ so much so ‘s a wonder ‘m marryin’ you now. Wouldn’t have believed anybody if they’d told me back then you’d become my bride. Snotty li’l Holte, me personal assistant.”

“Harry!” comes my exclamation, and like always, followed by his innocent giggle. Innocent, my ass.

“Hey, you were jus’ as guilty, Becks, don’t go denyin’ it. You did everythin’ in the fuckin’ book t’ push me buttons.”

I’m laughing before him and unsure of how to stop until grabbing hold of his neck to press my lips to his. His laugh buzzes against my mouth, cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. That little churro thief. The gold in his eyes is sparkling when we separate, my cheeks aching once more.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” my question comes in a mumbled sigh, eyes darting between his reddening cheeks and glistening eyes. Wait, what? “Harry, why are you crying?”

“Have I ever told you how lucky I am t’ have you tho’?” Giggling for a reason I don’t know why, I lose myself in those neverending greens for the hundredth time.

“Perhaps, but another time wouldn’t hurt my ego.”

A wry titter escapes his lips for just a second when the first tear glides down his cheek. One that I immediately catch with the pad of my thumb.

“No, I mean it. We fought like cats and dogs when we first met, and we hated each other,” he goes on in a voice leaking of that molasses once more. Mine begin to part until his terse shaking head tells me ‘no.’ “Hush you, don’t you lie either. I know we hated each other’s guts nearly, but outta nowhere, you became my best friend. A few hundred hiccups between then and now, and look at us, gettin’ hitched and havin’ a baby.”

“Yeah,” is all that I can come up with. More like the only words I can shove past my lips. Ones that already tremble from the emotion spilled from his sunshine eyes. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Reckon I have you t’ thank that fer, and loads mo,’” he corrects with wrinkled brows and a rub to my belly. Memories swim behind my eyelids as I kiss him back, hoping that if this is a dream after all, that I never have to wake up.

I wasn’t sure where I was anymore. No, this place I had never seen before with my two eyes, visited in my dreams, or travelled to in a book. Looking around me for some clue as to where I was, all I could see was golden trees, robin blue cloudless skies, and sunlight pouring in from every corner. It shined on my face and filled me with a warmth, one that I felt underneath my bare feet. When I peered down, my hands habitually went to my stomach but I found that it was completely flat once more.

A question filled my head instantly at the discovery, one that joined the many others of where I was, and everything that was around me. It all fell away instantly when something else took place inside of my head. I could never describe it to anybody or put my finger on it, but that feeling of mine told me that I wasn’t alone. Still with my hands on my stomach, I looked back up and found a young girl walking towards me. Sunlight shone down on her, following her as she walked through the kneehigh grass dotted with flowers. For a reason I couldn’t name, I didn’t want to look away from her in case she disappeared, but my attention was drawn to the beautiful field we were suddenly in. Wild flowers tickled my legs, reaching up to the lilac dress that fell to my knees and hugged the curve of my shoulders.

At the sound of rustling nearby, I glanced upwards once more to find her stopping a few feet away from me. There it was still, that feeling of mine, and as I stood there looking at her beaming up at me, I felt the way it filled my insides. There was something about her that I couldn’t figure out, but I feel like I should know who she is. I tried as I looked into her olive green eyes that sparkled with the secret she knew and I didn’t. A divot fell into one of her freckled cheeks as they rounded from her spreading lips. It sat there on the tip of my tongue as my feet led me forward, as if she was calling me to her. I didn’t know why or how I could, but I felt as if I knew her. This is what brought my hand forth to cradle her cheek, and thumb at the dark ringlets tickling her heart-shaped face.

She couldn’t be more than seven, a few years older than Harper. The second the thought appeared inside of my head, I wanted to shake it, knowing it couldn’t be. But as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around me, I felt the wetness descend onto my cheeks as she surrounded me with her sunshine like warmth. It felt as if I was hugging my younger self, because she was a spitting image of what I looked like, save for those green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my dress where she nuzzled her head into my chest.

“What are you sorry for?” I asked in return, rubbing circles into her shoulder where the sleeves of her green dress ended, the same shade as her eyes. She didn’t offer an answer, only squeezed me tight before pulling away to look at me with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?” the words spilled out when a tear raced down her cheek, her smile disappearing.

Again, she didn’t answer me, only hastily encircling me once again with her arms. Once more, questions danced around in my head, chasing answers that wouldn’t come, subconsciously or from this little girl. Somehow, I knew her and felt close to her, but I didn’t know how or why. She was beautiful and so sweet, I already knew but I wasn’t sure how.

An ache filled my chest when the next words left her lips, ones that I couldn’t begin to understand. “I’ll miss you.”

Instead of uttering another question that would go unanswered, I held onto her tighter, trying to make out what she had called me at the end there. It was a name, but not one I could remember now. The songs of birds flying overhead surrounded us, as did the trickling of a nearby stream, and a hummed song that I knew from somewhere. One he would always sing to me, but for some reason, I couldn’t recall who he was now.

“Who are-,” my long awaited question came, but it was torn away when I looked down to find my arms empty. In a confused blink, the grassy field decorated with flowers and sunshine was gone.

At my feet, sat cold tiling and the birds were no more. So was the sunshine and warmth. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around me, feeling very cold all of a sudden. Belatedly, I looked up and at my surroundings, wondering where I was now. A dimmed, empty room stared back at me, quiet from the sounds of the world until one broke through the silence.

A cry pierced my ears, and made me spin around. A door stood across the room to my right, where the sound came from. Without knowing what I was doing, my bare feet padded across the chilly floor, and I twisted the handle. Another room awaited me, but this one wasn’t empty. Nor was I alone.

Rows upon rows of hospital cribs stared back at me, little bundles of blankets sat in each one. Babies. They all were quiet except for one. My feet led me in that direction without me knowing it, because there it was again. My feeling. It guided me towards the sound, one that grabbed hold onto something deep inside of me. I knew what it was and what I heard, it was clear as day.

A smile shot up into my cheeks when I stopped at the cradle that held a squirming, crying baby. Its pink face was pinched from wailing, a blush colored hat covering its head as a striped blanket hid its body. But as I reached out to pick them up, I blinked and they were gone. Stepping back, I stumbled and righted myself. Where did they go?

Where’s my baby?

Tears clung to my eyelashes, blurring my vision as I stared at the empty crib. A divot in the miniature mattress stared back at me, and so did something else. My bottom lip wobbled as a briny tear ran over it, but it came to shake harder when I read the name card stuck to the inside of the rolling crib.

Annie S.

Before me, my hand trembled as I reached into the crib, feeling the corner of the card before-

“Becks, lovebug,” a voice murmurs, and the image is ripped away from me. With a jolt, I feel the warmth of a hand on my shoulder, rubbing a line down my back. I’m glad to have been woken up by him and torn away from that nightmare, but at the same time, I’m not. I wanted answers. “It’s time to get up and have a shower, my love. It’s six-thirty, you have to wake up soon so we can go to work.”

Gulping, nothing will go down as a ball sits in my throat. Peeling my eyes open, Harry and I’s familiar bedroom materializes before me. With a ragged breath that races to fill my lungs, a wetness paints my cheeks.

“You can sleep for a little longer, bug, but I’m going to hop in the shower, if you want to join me,” his whisper comes against my temple. Hastily, I turn to bury my face into the pillow, hiding my wet eyes. “Okay then, but you have to be up in half an hour,” Harry finishes, pressing his warm lips to the top of my head.

As I listen to the sound of his parting footsteps, I grasp onto the covers tightly. Only when I hear the spray of the shower and him close the door behind him, do I let loose my sobs into the pillow. I lie there, wondering, why the tears and what is that dream supposed to mean? I’d had weird pregnancy dreams before, vivid ones even, but nothing like that. No, never.

Who was that little girl, and how did I know her? And where had my baby gone, I think to myself as I rub at my belly, worrying away.

“Ree, what do you mean you’re not getting married?”

Rolling my eyes could not begin to convey the thoughts racing through my head, born out of her exclamation.

“Of course, I’m getting married, Skye. What, are you daft? That’s not

what I’ve said at all, if you’d been listening,” I tut with an unruly shake of my head, snapping the cap back onto the honey bottle. “You asked when the wedding was, and all I’ve said is that Harry and I don’t know with everything that’s changed. We had a date for August but cancelled it after we found out about the baby.”

The sofa sighs when I plop onto it, leaving my steaming mug on the table. My best friend of over twenty years tsks beside me, biting off the side of a cookie. Her faux disappointment is all but lost on her when her eyes brighten, cookie crumbs soon falling from her hands.

“Speaking of, let’s see that bump. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” she nearly squeals, reaching forward to lift my shirt.

“Goodness, Skye, assault me much? All you’ve got to do is ask, don’t need to be undressing me now,” my response comes in a giggle, one that soon falls away when her hands fly to her mouth. My lips soon slide into a smirk that I find hard to control at the sight of her, after lifting my shirt the rest of the way.

“Bloody hell, you do have a bump, and it’s getting big! Fuck, I wish my boobs were as big as yours. Totally unfair, that is.”

“I dunno what you and Harry are on about, I hardly see anything,” I remark with a shrug, the smile staying when her hand comes to rub my pale stomach. “I just look bloated.”

“Ree, come on,” she scoffs with a tilt to her lips that to my surprise, remains quiet as she stares at my stomach. “It’s more than just bloated, you idiot. You’re pregnant, you’re having a baby. Sure, it takes a while to show, but you’re starting to!”

“Hardly,” I chuckle, dropping my blouse once she leaned back against the pillow with her cup of joe. “It’s weird being at this awkward stage where I’m pregnant but I don’t look pregnant.”

“I can imagine, but hold on. Take a few steps back to the ‘not knowing when you’re getting married’ part. Do you and Harry really not know?”

“How are we supposed to?” it comes out in a laugh, not as I’d expected at all. “I’m due to pop this baby out around the same time we had it planned for in the first place.”

“So,” she begins whilst blowing on her coffee. Something clicks inside of me when that happens, along with the raise of her brow. “You’re just happy with waiting, and not knowing when it’ll be? That doesn’t sound like you, Ree.”

“Thanks for being depressing, Skye,” I try to say with a laugh, but it doesn’t go over well, because I can’t find one. No, if there was anybody else in the world who could read me like a book, it’s my first grade best friend. “No, I’m not really happy about waiting, but I’m excited about this baby, and what is being married besides vowing to date each other forever? No, it actually is okay. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll randomly go to the courthouse one day- don’t worry, you’ll be invited, if we do. Or just wait and make it grand- you know, once I lose the baby weight or something.” I sip from my peppermint tea with a hand on my bump, knowing that I couldn’t be happier, but still wondering how we’re going to do all of this.

“Don’t be so sad, Ree, my god!” she exclaims with a playful swat to my shoulder. I laugh along with her, but as I stare into my tea, it doesn’t remain for long. She’d hit a nerve and with a cautious glance her way, I can tell that she knows it. “How’s about the house? The six bedroom and three bath with a grand yard, covered porch, marble kitchen island, fireplace, walk in closet, and dare I say, a pool?” she blabbers on in a posh sounding voice, making me laugh this time.

“Good, it’s um, good. I dunno what else to say, Harry’s the one who talks to the contractors and all,” I offer with an outstretched hand, unsure of my words.

“Come on, Ree, you’re building a bloody house!” her boisterous laugh comes. Her eagerness shows, as well as the three glasses of wine she had with dinner. I’m not sure the one cup of black coffee is going to help her much.

“I know, but I dunno- I more so just go over the plans with Harry and approve them, I guess?” I say with a large shrug of my shoulders. “There’s not much to update you on since you last asked about it. It’s a house, they take forever to build. I won’t get to have much fun with it until it comes to like, picking wallpaper and tiling.”

“Well, will it be ready by the time the baby comes?”

“I doubt it, but Harry keeps insisting it will,” I muse aloud, watching the ripples in the brown liquid when I blow on it, feeling the steam grace my cheeks. “It’s fine if it isn’t.”

“Your response to everything is ‘it’s fine,’ since when are you like that?”

Pressing my lips together, I lift my head to meet her curious stare, a tired one after that wine, “I’m just going with the flow, Skye. I’ve found it’s better than being upset about plans being changed. I wanted to get married, then build a house, and then have a baby. But it’s okay, we get to do the baby part first. It’s like dessert before dinner, and I can do that. It’ll be fun,” I tell her, feeling the truth in them as well as the grimy half-lie.

Should I tell her or will she brush it off, as if it’s nothing? It wasn’t nothing to me though, that dream this morning, it’s bothered me all day. I’m not sure how much longer I can go without telling somebody about it, but it scares me to have to recount it, and being afraid they’ll tell me it means nothing. Because that’s the last thing it meant to me, and something inside of me keeps telling me that I shouldn’t just forget about it.

“If you insist,” she sighs, clucking her tongue. “Are you two still meeting Asher and I tomorrow night?”

“Y-Yeah,” I answer shakily, too deep in my thoughts to notice the way the tea burns my lips. What if I can’t figure out what that dream meant, will it be okay?

A cacophony of sounds pelted my ears the second we walked in the door. Apparently we weren’t the only ones with the good idea of trying the new pizza and arcade place on a Friday night.

“Well, this place ‘s neat, innit?” Harry comments as we approach a table tucked into the corner, between skeeball and some flappy bird looking game.

“Yeah, it looks great. Loads of games,” Asher comments when we pull out chairs to sit across from them. “No, don’t sit down. We just ordered the pizzas, but they may take a little while. Let’s go and get started on the games. I saw Pacman and a Supermario game when we came in,” he continues emphatically, already getting up from his seat. Skye laughs beside him, joiningAsher as I let go of the chair.

We pass parents and children, teenage couples, and a few others like us on our way to the front. There, we find the machine that’s replaced the coin contraption back from our day. No, you no longer had to feed coins into each game and have paper tickets spit out at you.

“’s kind o’ sad, dontchu think? ’s all digital now. Ya don’t have tha fun anymo’ o’ counting tha tickets and yer coins,” Harry muses while sliding a card from his wallet.

“It’s easier to keep track of.”

“I suppose, but that’s no fun. It made me day findin’ a lost coin or line o’ tickets on the ground,” he hums with a shake of his head, pressing buttons on the touch screen. “How much should we do, you think?”

“I dunno,” I answer, forgetting the screen showing different dollar amounts and a description of how some games cost more than others. Instead, my attention is pulled to behind me. I’d seen her on our way in, but now, I look again at the mum sitting in the corner feeding her young baby, watching on as the dad holds up their son to shoot basketballs.

“Hey, ’m talking t’ you,” somebody says, nudging my shoulder with theirs. Turning back around, I find Harry’s green eyes waiting for me with furrowed brows. “Right now, we’re kids again with their friends, playin’ arcade games on a Friday night and stuffin’ themselves with pizza. We still have a ways t’ go on that, five and a half months actually,” he notes softly, nodding his head towards the mum.

“Yeah,” I murmur sheepishly, crossing my arms and looking back at the screen.

“I didn’t mean it rudely, Becks.”

“I know. A tenner should be fine, let’s just do that. We can always load more money onto it,” I insist, lifting my feet and clicking them together, like I’m Dorothy and wanting to go back home. Because, well, I do. It’s loud and my stomach hurts, I’m not sure from hunger or nausea, or both.

I’d been excited when we’d agreed to come here with Skye and Asher earlier this week, but no matter how much I tried to push it away, that stupid dream couldn’t be forgotten. Especially since I had it again last night, and I dreaded going to sleep tonight, in fear I’d see that mysterious little girl and that empty crib where our baby should be. It-

“Becks?”

“Wh-What?” I stammer, looking up quickly to find Harry waving a plastic card at me.

“We’re all set,” he announces, stepping to the side so Asher and Skye can buy theirs next. I follow him, moving out of the way for a little boy and his big brother to come through, rushing to the bathroom behind us. “You okay? Not feelin’ sick or anythin’, are you?”

I think about shaking my head, but when I look back into his eyes, I get The Look. The Harry Styles Look. The Look of all Looks. No, it wasn’t the killer stare I’d first familiarized him with when I sat at that desk at the end of his hall. This one came not soon after though, and it’d stuck. Ever since then he could read all of my tells, including how uncomfortable I am right now, or maybe just how I’m overthinking. He knew that look too.

“I’m probably just hungry.”

The curl hanging over his forehead is knocked loose when his head bobs up and down, but I reach a hand up to set it back in place.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get some pizza in that belly soon. I know how you’ve been craving it,” his dimples once again hide under his beard, one that had been growing thicker as the winter carried on. I feel its length when his lips sponge a kiss to my temple, his hand caressing my bump only a few seconds later.

“Thanks.”

After a few games, I found myself getting into it more and laughing at Harry’s competitiveness. I’d learned a long time ago that laughing about it was better than getting mad about it, and also that going to play games with Skye turned out better, watching the boys play from the sidelines.

“You doing okay, Boops? Tummy not good or are you tired?” the question came as I watched the little screen rack up my tickets from a Scooby Doo version of Whack a Mole. Instead of a red button marked with ‘25 cents’ a touchscreen with a card swipe sat there.

“Both, but what’s new?” I murmur, following her past Ring Toss, some car racing game that doesn’t give you tickets, and Space Invaders. At last, we found Air Hockey open and decided to have a go.

“So, what is it really?”

“What’s what?” I replied with an air of faux stupidity, pretending to focus hard on hitting the puck back her way.

“Why have you been acting weird lately? Just because I had some wine last night doesn’t mean I didn’t notice it.”

“Oh, that. You noticed,” I comment, avoiding her eyes even when she gets the puck past me. Bending over, I pluck it from the holder and hit it over to her, following it.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Whatever it is, which by the way, what is it again that’s bothering you?”

“You don’t sound very smart when you’re drinking. You do know that, don’t you?” a laugh is close to my lips, but it disappears almost as soon as it’s thought. As if to spite me, she picks up the glass of the pink hard cider she’d ordered. Sometimes, I missed drinking and how it made nights like these all the more fun.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” she sighs, tsking when I make the puck into her goal. Groaning, she slams the rest of the cider before dropping the puck onto the glow in the dark table. “But really, what is it?”

“God, are you and Harry stubborn,” I remark with a near groan, taking her cue when she hits it hard my way, deciding to do the same. “Fine . . so I had this dream the other night, like a nightmare almost and . . . ,” I carry on, detailing the entire thing to her, almost hoping that maybe if she says it’s nothing, her inebriated mind won’t remember it.

“Good game, glad you could get some rage out on that one, seeing as how you nearly gave me a bruise that one time.”

“Sorry,” the word drops carelessly as we walk away from the table and through a loud pack of kids. She makes a comment about never wanting kids, only to turn to me regretfully with the same word on her face. “It’s okay. I’m probably worrying for nothing.”

“I know you and don’t want to say that myself, but it was just a dream, Ree. Aren’t they like, manifestations of your thoughts and all that jazz? Maybe you saw the little girl once or see yourself in her, and want to protect her. It’s the mother in you coming out, I’m sure. I wouldn’t worry too much about it and what it means, it’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, it’s just a dream,” I agree aloud, more grateful than ever for Harry and Asher stepping in our path, telling us the pizzas had arrived. Sitting down beside Harry and arguing with him about Hawaiian pizza whilst our hands sat on the other’s thigh, this had once been a dream to me too.

But the one about the empty crib and the mysterious girl, no that was almost a nightmare, and I’d had enough of those.

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