#i left the third book at my house so i have to wait more than a week to finish ts. ugh

[chiistarri]

can someone who's read every single book i have appear rn

[moonlightspencie]

This Ain’t for the Best

Description: Mutual pining. Classic hunting scenarios. Sharing a bed. Wearing the other’s clothes. Confessions. Friends to lovers. Tswizzle title. Need I say more?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x gn!Reader

Warnings: a little bit of violence, me cramming in every cliché i can because i love the classic fanfiction tropes more than i love breathing

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: i was kicking my feet and giggling as i wrote this, especially when i snuck in criminal minds AND taylor swift references. i love writing and never beta-reading or editing what i’ve written. catharsis.

Crashing at Bobby’s had its benefits.

First, we had the comfort of knowing where we were going to sleep at night. It was good to have a bed waiting that wasn’t in a motel room.

Second, there was almost always good food around. I had a knack for home-cooked meals, and it was much easier to be appreciated for it when I actually had a stove to cook on.

Third, there were boundless opportunities for Sam, Dean, and I to kick back and actually relax.

That’s how I ended up in the kitchen, laughing with Dean over old stories we’d told a million times before. He reached in the fridge, pulling out two bottles after we’d come down from the most recent remembrance of an old case. He cracked open the top of his beer, then my drink, sliding it towards me on the counter. Sam and Bobby strolled in st that moment, pausing when they saw us.

“You both woke up like an hour ago,” Sam said, unamused.

“6pm somewhere,” Dean and I said in unison.

We looked at each other with a small laugh, leaving Bobby and Sam rolling their eyes. I took my drink and stood a few steps away.

“We should really get going, though, Dean,” Sam stated.

“Where?” Bobby asked.

“We were planning on doing a run to the grocery story. I don’t want us to eat up all your food without repaying you, and we’re almost out of beer,” Sam said, pointedly looking at his brother.

“This one needs more of those little fruity drinks, too,” Dean teased, nodding at the bottle in my hand.

“Hey, it’s still a malt liquor. Just one that I like,” I said with a laugh.

They said their goodbyes, and I started walking into the front room. Bobby watched the door for a few moment after the boys left, then turned in the archway and locked his gaze on me as I sat on the couch.

I looked at the bottle in my hand. “I know y’all are all about beer, but I can’t help if I prefer something with a little flavor.”

“That’s not why I’m looking at you,” he grumbled, fed up with me already. “What in the world is goin’ on with you and Dean?”

“Huh?”

He furrowed his brow. “Don’t act all shy, now. You two have been flirting nonstop lately.”

“What’s new? We’re both pretty flirtatious in general.”

“Not like this,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know the last time I saw that boy blushing, or you getting all flustered like a teenager.”

“I am not,” I scoffed. “Nothing’s happening, Bobby.”

“I’ve known your for five years, now, and I’ve known those boys since they were kids. You stayed in my house for a year, too. You can’t hide this kind of thing from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m an open book.”

Now, he scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m running for president.”

I rolled my eyes, taking another drink. He came closer, sitting down next to me.

“If you keep denying all this…”

I swallowed, finally resigning. “There’s nothing to do about it, Bobby.”

“Yes, there is. You could tell him.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. You know how he is, he doesn’t want to be tied down. If we don’t make any moves or promises or whatever, a lot less doesn’t get broken.”

He raised a brow. “I do know how he is. For you, he’d make an exception.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, it’s all just flirting for him. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Are you blind?”

I looked at him, brows raising. He shook his head, picking at the label on his bottle.

“Sorry. I just— I know what I’m seeing, and I really don’t think it’s just a little friendly flirting for him, either,” he said, looking at me again. “I really think you should speak up while you’ve got the chance to. We don’t often get good things with lives like ours.”

“I know. I just don’t want to screw things up.”

“You’re gonna end up screwed if you keep pushing it down, anyway.”

I sighed. He took that signal as a time to change the subject, and for that I was thankful.

“Well, let’s find you the next case, huh?”

The next one was an easy find, and it would’ve been great to break the news to the boys when they got back, if not for a very clumsy Sam walking in the door with a twisted ankle.

“You what?” Bobby asked, incredulous.

Sam sighed, pouting. “I rolled it when I stepped in a pothole.”

Dean shook his head, clearly hiding his amusement as he helped his brother hobble towards a kitchen chair.

“So, no case, then?” I asked.

Bobby perked up. “No, you and Dean can still go. I can take care of Sam.”

“Bobby…” I warned, seeing through him instantly.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Dean said, cutting off my death stare. “When was the last time we went on a case, just you and me?”

I looked at him.

“Seriously, you guys can go without me,” Sam said. “It might be good for you, Y/N. You seem a little restless.”

“I am not,” I defended.

Bobby chuckled. “Sure, you’re not. But I’m not suggesting, I’m telling you. Get out of my house.”

I glanced at him, offended. “I am a delight.”

“You are, but I still want you out. You become much less delightful when you’re antsy.”

Dean laughed. “Come on, it’s only a state over, right? If we start driving now we can make it by sundown.”

I took a moment.

“Alright,” I nodded, heading towards the stairs to gather my things.

The case was a hot mess, to say the least. We couldn’t figure out what we were hunting to begin with, and the only true consistency is that the deaths were messy, leaving each victim with a missing liver. It wasn’t until we were at the most recent site of the death that things took a little bit of a turn.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, leaning in my direction.

I shrugged, looking around the house.

“It seems… clean.”

“I mean, I guess. We haven’t found hex bags or EMF readings—”

“No,” I cut him off, gesturing around the living room. “Like physically clean. Nothing is out of place. Look at the mantle.”

I walked over, using my gloved hand to wipe along the surface. I showed him my hand.

“Clean. Not even dust.”

He raised a brow. “And that matters because…”

“Because we’re supposed to be looking for some monster-unknown that never cleans up their messes. Every other scene we’ve been to has been a wreck, so why is the only thing out of place the blood stains on the floor? This is also the first time it’s been in the victims house.”

He paused. “You’ve been watching Criminal Minds again, haven’t you?”

I rolled my eyes, taking off the glove.

“That’s not important right now,” I shook my head, standing next to him again. “And, for the record, it’s helping our case.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, profiler, why don’t you tell me more about what you’re gathering from the scene.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I said with a laugh.

He smirked, placing a hand on my back.

“Let’s get out of here and figure out why things changed.”

We followed dead-end leads all over town, until we hit a lucky streak.

“Check this out,” Dean said, calling me over to the table in our room. “Remember that dive bar our last vic was seen at? Look at this dude’s last social media post.”

I walked over, resting a hand against the table as I leaned in. I looked at the laptop, raising a brow.

“Same place.”

“Same place,” he confirmed. “Wanna check it out? See if anything suspicious is up?”

“You sure you don’t just want to hit the bar?”

He looked up at me with a quirked brow.

“What do you think I am? Drinking on the job. I’d never,” he feigned innocence.

I snorted. “Right. So not you.”

“Leave in ten?”

“Sounds good to me.”

We hit the road soon after, winding up at the bar with our eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. There was plenty for us to see in a seedy town like this, but there was only one interaction that truly piqued our interested. I nodded at the man who was paying a little too much special attention to a woman, drawing Dean’s gaze in that direction. He was equally skeeved out. We kept an eye out for another hour or so before the weird activity took another step into the creep category.

We followed out the man who we caught following the woman, all the way to a neighborhood just outside the city. We made our move as soon as the man walked up to her house.

I followed Dean up to the house, and we started to slink around, waiting for any sign of trouble. I first checked through a window near the front of the house.

“Nothing,” I said, motioning for us to move further.

He took the lead, and we came up on a window that looked into the dining room. He slowly looked inside.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” Dean mumbled, pulling his head back from the window.

“What?”

“Well, do you want the chance to play out your little crime show fantasies?”

I raised a brow. He sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s not— well, it is a monster in there, but not our kind of monster,” he said, tilting his head.

“It’s a human?”

He nodded. “Looks like it. Nothing supernatural that I can see. She’s passed out now, but let’s get a move on before he starts in on her.”

He started walking towards the back of the house, but I stopped him before we got to the door.

“Can— How do we do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a human. We can’t just chop his head off or exorcise him.”

“We could still stab him.”

“But should we?”

He gave me a very unamused look, waiting for me to make my point.

“Can we attempt to just— Kick his ass and leave him to deal with life in prison? Only go for the shot if it’s necessary.”

He softened. “He killed people, Y/N, does he really deserve mercy here?”

“Do you really think the prison system is mercy?” I asked, earning a slight chuckle. “I just feel weird about killing humans unless our lives are in immediate danger.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. But if anything goes sideways—”

“Then you feel free to shoot him.”

He nodded curtly, then we continued to the door. He opened it carefully, and we stepped inside, checking our surroundings before we headed towards the woman in the dining room. We saw the man first, his back to us as he sat across the table from her.

“Playing house? Really?” Dean quipped, causing the man to whip around.

My gun was pulled before the man had a chance to stand up and react. He looked between us, obvious annoyance on his face.

“You’re not cops,” he stated.

Dean smirked. “No, we are much worse news for scumbags like you.”

“Now,” I started, “you can try and fail to fight your way out of here, or you can sit still while my partner here makes sure you’re sitting nice and pretty for when the cops do show up.”

Dean moved before he had a chance to formulate a response, dragging him out of the chair. The man tried to put up a fight, but it was pretty quickly silenced by means of a fist to the face. Dean left him on the ground after a few minutes and a roll of duct tape.

“Nice,” I commented, then put away my gun.

I moved to the woman at the table who was still passed out. I checked for a pulse, and when I was sure she was still breathing, I started undoing the binding that kept her to the chair. Dean called in an anonymous tip to the police station as I finished up clearing her of everything. She started waking right as I was about to try and move her to the couch.

“Hey, hey,” I said quietly, trying to give a little comfort before her panic set in. “You’re safe now, alright? You’re fine.”

Her eyes opened, and she immediately clung to me when she saw the man on the ground incapacitated.

“What happened?” she asked with a quivering voice.

“Me and my friend Dean saw this guy creeping around your house. We wanted to make sure everything was okay, and when we found out it wasn’t, we found a way in. The cops are on the way now.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Both of you.”

I glanced back at Dean with the ghost of a smile on my face. He raised his brows at me.

“Why don’t we get you to the couch?”

“You’re not staying?” she asked, still in shock.

“No, we gotta leave,” I said, helping her to the couch. “We’ll stick around for a few minutes outside till the cops get here, though.”

“Okay,” she nodded along absentmindedly as she laid on the couch.

I walked back to Dean, motioning for us to go outside. He looked back down at the man for a moment who was still passed out, then followed behind me. We got back to the Impala and waited.

“Weird to be thanked,” I said, watching the house.

He hummed. “Doesn’t happen often, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t believe we were accidentally hunting a serial killer.”

He snorted. “I’m surprised there’s not more crossover when we hunt.”

I hummed in agreement. “I also wonder why things changed so much. From the murders messy and public to being more confined in the homes.”

“Who knows,” he said, shaking his head. “Monsters make a hell of a lot more sense than people do.”

“You got that right.”

Soon enough we saw flashing lights coming down the street. We watched some officers step out of the first car, and a few more get out of an SUV.

“Is that FBI?” Dean asked, looking intently.

“I mean, we just found them a serial killer. They’ve probably been on high alert,” I said.

He nodded, and we watched for another moment as they prepared to go inside.

“Man, those vests are cool as hell in real life, too,” I commented.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he wrapped up the conversation with a laugh.

He pulled off the sidewalk at that, and started driving in the opposite direction of the cops. We decided to stay the night at the motel, neither of us awake enough to get back to Sam and Bobby. He pulled into the parking lot, and we trudged inside.

“At least we aren’t covered in monster guts this time,” I said as I fell onto the mattress.

“Right?” He chuckled. “Cool if I take the first shower?”

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

He shut the door of the bathroom, and I let out a sigh. All of the teamwork bull crap we’d been doing certainly didn’t help my case, but I could at least be thankful he didn’t want to go the bars and find a hookup. I threw my arms over my eyes and sighed.

“Hey,” I heard Dean’s voice call out, his hand on my knee.

I uncovered my eyes. “Sorry. Must’ve dozed off.”

He smiled. “Go take a shower.”

“You sayin’ I need one?” I asked with a quirked brow.

“Yeah. You’re a mess,” he replied, a playful glint in his eye. “I don’t know how I sat in a car with you all day, to be honest.”

I scoffed, getting up. He moved enough for me to get by, but didn’t let me get far before he started talking again.

“Movie tonight?” he asked.

I rustled through my bag, pulling out my pajama shorts.

“Sure.”

“Any requests?”

“Uh,” I started, still looking for a clean top. “Maybe a comedy. We could use something funny.”

“Good point.” He stared for a moment as I kept digging. “You missing something?”

“I can’t find my t-shirt. I thought I packed three in here.”

“Do you want one of mine?”

I paused, considering the offer. One one hand, I wouldn’t have to wear a cami to bed and risk accidentally flashing him in my sleep. One the other, I’d be wearing his shirt and that would be a sure way to get me in my own head. The risks of the first definitely outweighed my lack of self control.

“That would be awesome.”

He walked to his own bag, pulling out a shirt that matched the one he wore and handing it to me.

“I still think wearing our outside clothes to bed worked just fine.”

“Did you ever feel rested doing that?” I asked.

He sighed dramatically. I laughed.

“Exactly my point,” I said. “Most of your well-being has to do with mindset, Dean.”

He grumbled to himself as he settled into bed, and I took that as my chance to get in the bathroom. My shower was quick, especially since Dean used up most of the hot water. I knew I should’ve gone first, but it forced me not to stay in forever. I pulled on his shirt and my shorts, trying not to let myself smile when I saw myself in the mirror wearing his clothes. I walked back into the room before I allowed myself to think too hard.

He looked at me as I walked out, a smile creeping on his face. I fought back my own to raise a brow as I lingered at the foot of my bed.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Funny seeing you in my shirt.”

“Looks better on me than it ever did on you,” I sassed with a smirk, crawling into bed.

“Can’t argue with that,” he noted, still watching me. He cleared his throat a moment later, looking at the TV screen. “Uh, I found something, I think. They had Step Brothers on demand.”

“Oh, perfect,” I said as he clicked play.

We settled into a comfortable silence for a while, and I cuddled into the duvet. After we were halfway through the movie, I gathered the blankets around me even more.

“Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?” I asked, looking over to see Dean still sitting above the covers.

“It’s a little cold,” he shrugged, then looked at me. “I can check the heater.”

I nodded as he got up and crossed the room. He held a hand out, a puzzled look on his face after a moment. He smacked it with his hand, and still felt nothing.

“Hm. Hang on,” he said, moving to the phone. “Hi, I think the heater in here’s broken.”

A pause.

“Ah, great. Okay, thanks.”

He hung up the phone, looking to me apologetically.

“They said the heating’s down in the whole place.”

I sighed. “That sucks.”

He sat back in his bed, looking at me for a moment before he spoke again.

“I know it’s been a while since we had to, but do you wanna come sleep in my bed tonight? I run hot, it might keep you warm.”

“I know. I had to sleep next to you in the summer, and it was like roasting in an oven,” I chuckled.

“See? It’ll work perfect when you’re cold,” he said, standing again.

He pulled the covers back, getting underneath and patting the mattress next to him. I cursed myself for finding this case in the first place.

“Just don’t complain if I kick you in my sleep,” I said, getting out of my bed.

He chuckled. “I’m not worried about it.”

I got into his bed, and he threw the covers over me. He then reached over top of me to grab the remote, pressing play and slinging an arm around my shoulders. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, leaning into his side.

This position put me in a delicate spot, and I found that to be true more and more with every passing minute. Every time he laughed, I felt it reverberate in his chest. Every time he talked to me, I’d look up to see his face inches from mine. Every time he moved, he held me a little tighter.

In short, Bobby was all too correct about me being screwed.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice soft. “You okay?”

“Mm?”

I looked at him, once again trying not to think about the proximity.

“You always laugh at this scene. You didn’t make a sound this time.”

“Oh,” I chuckled, looking towards the screen. “Sorry, I must be exhausted.”

“Is that all? Seems like there’s something on your mind.”

“Alright, Dr. Phil,” I joked.

“Seriously,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I think I just need some sleep,” I replied, glancing at him again with half a smile.

He quirked a brow, clearly not believing me, but willing to drop the subject.

“Okay. You know you can always talk to me?”

“I know.”

He smiled softly, then looked back at the TV as he shut it off. He settled into bed, still holding onto me. I snuggled into his side, using his chest as a pillow. I felt him breathe deep before he shut off the light.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Dean.”

I woke up the next morning before he did, and decided there was little harm in remaining there. I shut my eyes, letting myself enjoy the fact that I was still snuggled against him. It gave me a moment to pretend he was mine, at least for the morning. I listened to his breathing, and wondered if he ever dreamt about me in the same way I did about him. As if on cue, his arm tightened around me a little as he stirred. His thumb brushed against my shoulder where his hand had snuck under the sleeve of the t-shirt, though I couldn’t tell if he was really awake until I felt a soft kiss against the top of my head.

At that moment, I decided it was probably best to continue pretending I was still asleep.

He stayed that way for a little while, his hand still against my shoulder, making little patterns with his thumb. It took everything in me not to move when I felt him brush a few stray pieces of hair away from my face, and even more when he let his hand linger against my cheek for when felt like a few seconds too long to be purely friendly.

I wondered if he was always like this when I wasn’t awake. Extra attentive, and sure not to wake me. Maybe that’s why I somehow remained asleep every time I fell asleep in the car that normally jostled me around like a rag doll with his driving. I wondered even more if Bobby was right about something else he’d said days ago: the unrequited feelings might not be so unrequited after all.

I nestled my head against his chest, trying to give him a warning that I was about to open my eyes, and he quickly pulled his hand away from my face. I took in a breath, blinking slowly as I let the light seep in for the second time that morning.

“Morning,” he greeted quietly, his voice still soft and raspy from tiredness.

I smiled. “Morning.”

“You hungry?” he asked, drawing my attention to him.

I nodded, leaning back a little to see him better.

“Very, and I saw a café on the way into town that looked good,” I said.

He smiled softly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, he yawned, finally sitting up. He turned and looked at me as I stayed laying.

“How’d you sleep? Warm enough?”

“Thanks to you, yeah,” I replied, stretching. “I’m scared to get out of bed, now, though.”

He patted my leg over the covers, “If you want food, that should be motivation enough.”

“Good point.”

I reluctantly climbed out of bed as he walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was cold, but not unbearable. I decided to throw on some clothes in the room since he always took a while in the bathroom. By the time he was finished, all I needed to do was wash my face and brush my teeth, then we were off.

Breakfast was short and sweet, and we made it back to Bobby’s in record time. We strolled in the door, seeing Sam gimping around the kitchen as soon as we walked in.

“Still letting that ankle beat your ass?” I asked immediately.

He laughed. “Trust me, if I had any control over it, this wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“Maybe you just wanted out of the hunt,” I said in reply.

“Oh yeah, I loved hanging out and making Bobby bring me ice packs all day. Dream vacation, actually.”

Dean shook his head with a smirk. “You didn’t miss out on much anyway.”

“How’d it go?” Sam asked as he took a seat.

I looked to Dean who was already glancing in my direction. I shrugged.

“We stopped a serial killer, actually,” I noted.

Sam gaped. “And I ‘didn’t miss much’?”

“Just knocked him out and called the cops. Not much fun, anyways,” Dean shrugged. “Oh, we did find maybe the best pancakes I’ve ever had, though.”

I hummed in agreement enthusiastically, nodding.

“They were freaking incredible,” I said, then looked back at Sam. “And they had like, real, fresh maple syrup.”

“Unlimited stacks when you bought the platter, too,” Dean chimed in with a gleeful smile.

“You two sound like an old married couple,” Sam scoffed out with a laugh. “What, did you fall asleep together after reading the newspaper, too?”

“After watching a movie, actually,” Dean corrected, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Then, he looked at me. “Did you want anything?”

“I’m okay.”

Sam looked between us, a raised brow and an amused look on his face.

“You two actually fell asleep together?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

He smiled mischievously, then looked at Dean.

“Making moves on her, now?”

Dean swallowed, glaring at his brother with wide eyes. I furrowed my brow, about to see if I could prod Sam for information, but Bobby walked in before I had the chance.

“Hey, you two. How was the hunt?”

Dean let out a breath. “Not real eventful. I could use some sleep.”

He started walking out of the room, all of us watching as he left. Bobby turned to me first, a questioning look on his face.

“Don’t look at me,” I said with my hands up in defense. “I think Sammy pissed him off.”

“Real smooth, Sam,” Bobby commented.

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Bobby merely sighed, going to take a seat across from Sam. I looked at them both, hands on my hips.

“Why do I get the feeling you two know something I don’t?”

“Did Dean not talk to you?” Sam asked, looking at me.

“We talk plenty.”

“That’s not what I mean. He said he was gonna talk to you when the next case was over,” he stopped, then looked at Bobby. “Case came and went, and still nothing.”

Bobby shrugged. “Out of our hands, Sam. Told you not to meddle.”

I sighed in annoyance. “You two are children, you know that?”

“Hey,” Bobby said, offended.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” I said finally, turning for the door.

The second I was halfway out, they started talking again, but I couldn’t bring myself to care too much about what they said. Clearing my mind sounded like the best option, and I was determined to do it.

I started walking around the yard, music blaring from my phone to keep me preoccupied as I watched the sky light up with a million different colors. I found an old car with a relatively clean exterior and decided to climb onto the hood. I leaned back, watching the sky as it turned darker, the stars slowly peaking out.

“Room for one more?” Dean’s voice asked from behind me.

“Come on up,” I said, scooting over a bit.

He came and sat next to me, looking up at the sky. He let out a slow breath, then looked at me.

“Taylor Swift?”

“You know it,” I replied.

He smiled, turning his head back.

“Stars are coming out,” he commented.

“They are. You should’ve seen sunset, it was gorgeous.”

He scooted closer, leaning his head against mine silently. After a moment, I let myself lean against his shoulder a little more.

“You okay, Dean?” I asked after a beat.

“Of course. Why?”

“I dunno. You just seemed a little off when we got back today.”

He sighed. “Yeah. It’s— It’s nothing.”

“You sound like me, now.”

He chuckled. “Guess we’ve got the same bad habit, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

We stayed there until it got dark enough to really see the stars come out, not moving even when the chill of the night started creeping in. I readjusted my head against his shoulder, preparing myself to speak again.

“Did you really follow me out here just to look at stars?”

I felt him still. Then, after a moment, I sat up a little straighter and looked at him. He glanced back at me, clearly feeling caught out.

“Thought you could use some company.”

I raised a brow, and he smirked, looking away.

“Alright, you got me,” he said, “What gave it away?”

“First off, I’ve known you for years,” I started, nudging him in the arm. “Second, Sam and Bobby were all uppity about the fact that you apparently told Sam you had something to talk to me about.”

“I swear, he can’t keep a secret to save his life when it comes to stuff like this,” he said, rubbing at his face.

“Well, try me,” I said, unable to keep my eyes off of him. He was extra cute all flustered. “I’m a good listener.”

He let out a breath, then looked at me, scanning my face for a moment.

“I know I’ve got a certain type of reputation—”

“You?! No way,” I exclaimed with a smile, my eyes wide.

He laughed. “Exactly my point.”

“You know I don’t care about that, though. Reputations are a one-sided story.”

He hummed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He sighed, looking back at the sky for a moment.

“I just,” he started, giving a shrug, “I feel like it— Like it makes people feel like I never want anything but a hookup, you know?”

“It makes people feel that way?”

“I’m that easy to read, huh?” he asked, looking at me again with a faint smile. “You. I mean you.”

“I gathered that much.”

He laughed softly, as did I.

“How’d you know?”

“I had suspicions fueled by Bobby. Then you kissed me and started being all affectionate when you thought I was asleep this morning.”

His eyes widened. “You were pretending to be asleep? That’s so not fair!”

“Hey, I woke up snuggled into my own personal space heater, I didn’t exactly want to be up and at ‘em.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging me into his side with an arm around my shoulders once more.

“How long has it been for you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t even know. I guess I started realizing it a year or so ago.”

“That’s embarrassing for me, then. I knew the second I met you,” he said with a laugh.

“Dean,” I said with surprise. “It’s been half a decade! No wonder Bobby got on my ass about it before we left.”

“Well, hey, Sammy’s been on mine for a couple years. You got off easy up till now.”

I laughed. “I guess so. To be fair, we were flying under the radar for quite a while, though. The incessant flirting the past few weeks is what got us in trouble.”

“Why did you start being extra flirty, anyway?” he asked, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

“I don’t know. I guess I was, like, subconsciously seeing a window. You haven’t been doing your normal bar hookups the past few months, so I thought maybe there was a reason for it,” I paused. “Though, finding out you’ve been crushing on me for five years kind of makes me question that.”

He snorted out a laugh. “Easier to keep my mind off you that way. That sounds terrible. I just— I never thought in a million years you’d think anything of me.”

“Well, when did you realize I might?”

He sighed. “You remember a couple weeks back when we were taking down that vamp nest? You easily could’ve died, and we hugged afterwards, but when I pulled back I… I saw that look in your eyes that seemed an awful lot like how I look at you when you’re not paying attention. I wanted to kiss you, and I didn’t doubt in that moment that you would’ve let me if I had.”

I paused. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. We’ve been friends for so long, and we practically do everything together. I didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that I was reading those signs all wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

He fell quiet for a moment. I looked up at him, and he looked back at me as I did. He quickly wet his lips, drawing my gaze downward before my eyes flicked back up to his. His lips parted momentarily. Then…

“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here,” he said quickly.

I nodded curtly, pulling away to let him get off the hood first. He gave me a hand, helping me down next. We walked back to the house quietly, saying soft goodnights before we went to separate rooms.

I was all settled in for the night, cozy in my bed with a book in hand. Then, I heard a knock on the door. I grumbled as I got up, annoyed that I had to leave the comfort of a mattress that wasn’t a sure cesspool of germs I didn’t want to think about. I flung the door open.

“Someone better be dying or I’m gonna kick some ass for—”

Dean’s lips crashed into mine, effectively silencing me from my rant. I melted after a few seconds of mental delay, my hands gripping onto the material of his shirt as his cradled my face. I felt him smile into the kiss, drawing my closer with arms that snuck around my waist, holding me tight. He wasted no time in deepening the kiss once he was sure that the signs were all giving him a positive response.

We finally broke apart a few minutes later, breathing heavy with pounding hearts.

“I figured I should stop letting opportunities pass me up,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, good thinking.”

His eyes scanned over me, his chest still heaving.

“You wouldn’t happen to need another space heater for the night, would you?”

“I run cold, what can I say?” I replied with a smirk, and a spark in my eye.

He smiled, walking me into the room with his lips on mine, kicking the door shut behind him.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

[whateverloomis]

Lick me like a lollipop ✒︎ Billy Loomis x GN reader

Warnings: SMUT, Infidelity, Stu is annoying (lol), oral (male receiving), edging, size kink if you squint, unedited.

Note: Afab or amab people apply for this <33

Readers POV | Word count: 1.4k / Part 2

-

It was Tatum. She had gotten me addicted to freaking lollipops after I told her I have an oral fixation. Apparently she did too, and Stu was very happy about it, if you know what I mean.

It was Friday after last period, I was at my locker with Billy, Stu and Sid putting away my books -- with a lollipop in my mouth, of course -- before we all left to Stu's house to get ready for movie night. It was a routine at this point. Every Friday night after class we'd go to Stu's house to wait for Tatum to get out of practice and bring Randy over from work. He'd bring a scary movie to watch and criticize all night long until one of us got too tired to continue the pointless debate.

"Stu, we watched that one last Friday!" I said for the third time, patience long gone. That was the fourth week he suggested to watch Halloween.

"But it's Jamie Lee Curtis, man! She's hot as fuck! I bet Randy would be on my side here, you guys are no fun." Stu replied with a huff.

"Yeah, because he has a weird obsession with her too." I replied, rolling my eyes as I pulled the lollipop out of my mouth, it releasing a soft pop sound.

There was a brief pause, Stu smirked at my actions and shamelessly looked at my lips when I pulled the sugary bulb out of my mouth. Billy was staring too, but he was subtle. His eyes raked from my own, down to my lips, lingering a tad bit more than usual before he took a deep breath and glared at Stu. "Shut up about it will you? We're watching Psycho. It was decided last Friday, dumbass."

"Can we all leave this argument for tonight? It's too early for this." Sidney said, closing her locker before we walked out of college and made our way to Stu's house.

-

Once everyone arrived at Stu's house, we didn't take long to settle and start debating about the movie, because Stu couldn't keep his mouth shut. His argument was that Psycho wasn't even that good because you couldn't see the red color of the blood, therefore it wasn't scary. Randy and Tatum were practically arguing about the topic while Sidney laughed at their unnecessarily serious discussion.

"All I'm staying is; what makes a movie scary is the blood, man!" Stu commented.

"Stu, it's a classic black and white movie. Plus, horror isn't all about the blood and gore." Randy countered, and Tatum agreed. "See? That's what I've been telling you doofus!" She told Stu, and he laughed at her anger.

I decided to pitch in and attempted to cut the conversation to continue watching the movie. "Guys, it's not that serious. Stu is clearly too basic with horror movies-" - "Am not! I bet you haven't watched nearly as many horror movies as me and Billy!" Stu cut me off, and I pointed at him with my third lollipop of the day. "Not fair! Two people versus one person's movie knowledge? That's not how it works, Stu." I countered and Billy placed his beer bottle on the glass table loud enough that it caught everyone's attention.

"You guys are being idiots and I need a refill." The boy said, and I quickly stood up from the couch as I put the lollipop in my mouth, following Billy to the garage.

When we arrived at the door, Billy opened it before me so I could climb down the stairs first. I pulled the lollipop out of my mouth before sending him a small smile of appreciation. His eyes scanned my lips before he caught my gaze and smirked at me. As I climbed down the stairs I could feel his eyes on my back so I purposefully walked a bit slower, adding a bit of swing to my hips.

When I opened the fridge and bent down to look for the beers, I felt one of Billy's large hands on my lower back. "Need help carrying those?" He questioned, following my gaze as I stood up to face him. Placing some beer bottles on the table next to the fridge, I took the lollipop out of my mouth again to answer "yes." He visibly tensed up at my actions.

"You really need to stop doing that." Billy said, voice lower than usual. I looked at him questioningly, and before I could pull the pop out of my mouth again, he did it for me, putting it in his mouth before pulling it out a second later. "This." He said.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked, took the lollipop out of his hand and repeated his actions before I discarded the candy in the trash next to the fridge. "Can't handle your urges, Loomis?" I asked teasingly and he took a step forward, towering over me. A tense silence washed over both of us before he closed the gap and kissed me softly, placing his hand on my hip as he pressed me against him.

"Billy, Sidney is upstairs. We agreed not to risk it like this..." I said, reminding him that our ongoing affair could've cost us a lot.

"I don't care... You've been driving me crazy all day sucking on that lollipop." He replied and kissed me again. This time more desperate and needy. It didn't take long for us to start playing with each others tongues, tasting the sweetness off the candy we had been savoring earlier.

I pulled Billy's hair softly with my left hand and grabbed his shirt with the right, pulling him impossibly close to me. We continued making out hungrily and then he broke the kiss. I leaned on the edge of the table and he pulled me towards him, parting my thighs with his leg so I could rub myself against him.

As I continued kissing Billy, he moved my head towards his neck and I knew what he wanted instantly, so that's what I did. I kissed his neck and made my way down his body, kneeling down in front of him. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans for me before pulling his throbbing cock out. I opened my mouth for him. Billy smirked at me and tapped the head of his cock against my tongue a few times before sliding half of his length in. I started bobbing my head up and down slowly, moaning softly around his length while looking up at him with the most innocent look I could give him. That drove him crazy, so Billy grabbed the back of my head and started to thrust into my mouth, slowly picking up the pace.

We moved together in unison, never breaking eye contact. I moaned and whined around him while sucking, pushing him closer to his orgasm. As I felt him getting close, I slowed down my movements, edging him. Billy loved it. He hissed at the sudden change of speed and bucked his hips so his cock penetrated deeper inside my mouth. I pushed his length all the way inside and then pulled my head away, opening my mouth with my tongue sticking out. I licked the tip of his cock as if I were licking a lollipop, then I sucked, and licked, and sucked, and licked, and;

"Fuck, baby... Open up." Billy said and I did as I was told, sucking a few more times before opening my mouth for him, tongue sticking out for him to cum inside me. I chuckled at his attempt to keep quiet while the orgasm washed over his body. I swallowed his load in front of him, licking my lips and biting them afterwards.

"Oooh fuck..." Billy moaned. The sensation of his most sensitive spot being overstimulated was enough to get him close again. I noticed the tension building and giggled at the neediness he was displaying. Taking him all the way inside my mouth, I continued bobbing my head like I was before and looked up at him once more observing how he panted and threw his head back in pleasure.

Standing up in front of him, he kissed me and tasted himself on my lips. "You're so good at giving head, my God." He said and chuckled, before zipping his pants up along with his belt and fixing his hair.

"I know." I said, smirking at him before pulling another lollipop from my pocket and putting it in my mouth.

"Leave your window open tonight, we're not done here." He said and kissed me one final time before picking up the beers from the table and joining the group as if he hadn't gotten the soul sucked out of him a few minutes prior.

[harrygoeswest]

Infatuation On A Mutual Level

You and Harry are housemates and are both secretly quite fond of one another.

A/N: Woooo she’s here!!! I loved writing this one shot a lot and I really hope it shows. I haven’t had motivation to write for ages and this year I’ve really come back to it and I’m so happy. I hope you all love it as much as I do. She’s special to me. Special mention to the only person who ever wants to read for me @all-things-fic​ <3 Please come tell me what you think afterwards!! Katie x

Trigger Warnings: sexual content, brief mentions of loss, nightmares

Word Count: 18,777

~.~.~.~.~

Now

Every morning was the same.

The creak from the only bed on the first floor began the day. Then the gush of the tap in the shared bathroom. The kettle in the kitchen on the ground floor. The door closing when George left for the day. Then again 15 minutes later when Rhys did. Abbie starting the shower immediately afterwards now her boyfriend was gone. And then the only thing that ever made your skin prickle:

Harry’s door opening.

Every morning you would roll over at the sound, away from it. God forbid the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ ever pinned you with that warm, green-eyed stare first thing in the morning through the open gap of your own bedroom door. No, you might never be able to survive such a thing.

Living in a shared house was hard. Not least because you felt responsible for the place itself; owned by your single dad who would do anything to bring in what income he could, including taking more rent off his eldest child than he’d like. An argument arose regularly over your living situation but it was hard enough filling the fourth bedroom with a tenant. Living in the third was the least you felt you could do. The building was in dire need of some TLC but it wasn’t exactly an affordable fete. Sometimes the ceiling leaked on the second floor when it rained thanks to some shabby scaffolding work a few years back; the main reason why it was so hard to let the fourth bedroom. Part of you didn’t want to.

It was also hard in a house share because people were messy and you had a horrendous phobia of general mess. If you could quit your job and play full-time housekeeper you absolutely would. But your dad wouldn’t allow that. “Not in my lifetime,” He’d say with the gentlest scowl.

But the hardest part, by far, was being in such close proximity to the man who rented the bedroom across the hall. You weren’t sure why you were so terrified of him. Scarred by your original encounter with him, perhaps, but he wasn’t actually scary. He was, rather annoyingly, the nicest person in the house. Constantly aloof, yes, but still the poster boy for gentlemen everywhere.

Maybe if you spoke to him you’d learn he’s just a normal bloke, your inner voice trilled.

“Shut the fuck up.” You hissed into your pillow.

You waited for the inevitable sputter of the shower starting up again, and then rolled out of bed, threw on the clothes you’d hung up on the wardrobe door the night before - clean white shirt and grey trousers, ironed within an inch of their life - and scurried downstairs to arrange your usual to-go breakfast. Coffee in a reusable cup and a cereal bar. Hair and makeup could be fixed at work. You were always thirty minutes early anyway.

~

Harry wasn’t sure how you managed it. How every day you managed to evade him to avoid a puffy-eyed “good morning” or a potentially awkward conversation over breakfast.

As he stood in the hallway between your bedrooms towelling his hair dry in nothing but a pair of boxers and a damp t-shirt, he stared into your bedroom and marvelled yet again at how you seemed to have managed to keep it tidied to a borderline compulsive degree.

A large king bed sat against the left wall with ironed white linens and a plush sunflower yellow throw draped across the foot. One lone bedside table tucked against the right side with a tasselled muted green 60s velvet lamp and a book resting atop. A picture hung above the headboard - some vibrant canvas of abstract art. Every morning he wondered if you’d painted it yourself. Against the opposite wall stood a tall regal-looking cherrywood wardrobe next to a matching dresser with a sleek TV on top. It was the most modern thing about the room. In the window overlooking the garden a dream catcher hung in the dead centre. It was the only nicknack you seemed to have, and part of him hated that it seemed like something negative. Something to catch nightmares, to ward off evil.

Did you have bad dreams? And if so, why?

As always, the window had been opened two inches to let in fresh air. You never closed your door, not even at night. You never had clothes left out. Clutter didn’t exist in your vocabulary. Dust wasn’t permitted in your room. Or the bathroom, or kitchen, or living room, he’d deduced. You took Wednesdays off in the week and cleaned when no one else was home to bother you. He doubted the others had picked up on these things about you, but he’d noticed.

Harry had noticed a lot about you.

Especially that in the mornings, you waited until he took his bathroom time to get ready for work and leave without having to run into him. Some chaotic part of him wanted to change his routine so you’d have to. He wanted to know what you looked like straight out of bed with puffy eyes and linen marks on your cheeks and hair in disarray. The other part of him, the gentleman, told him not to. Who knew what might happen if he threw your routine off kilter.

Distress, probably?

No. He wouldn’t be having that.

Shaking his head, he wandered into his own room and shut the door behind him. One day the puzzle of you would finally form a complete picture. Today, he settled for the tethered, jumbled segments he’d managed to collect this far.

~

You stared at your phone, face a picture of bewilderment. Deciphering text messages from the housemates was starting to get increasingly difficult, no thanks to the fact that you were shit at it and everyone else seemed to excel.

Blackpool Tower

🌚 👰🏼❌🧽🍽️🔄

🌝 🙈🖕🏼

👰🏼 😕

Translation: Abbie George didn’t wash his dishes again.

Rhys Oh for fuck’s sake.

George Whoops.

You were on a roll with the emojis. It had started as a joke because George had said he hated people who only used emojis to text each other rather than actual words, so for a week the four of you had sent every text using only emojis. Then it had turned into a bet: how long could all of you go without using words, and who would be the first one to crack. You all knew that, without a doubt, Rhys would crack first, even though he was the one who’d proposed the bet in the first place. It had been two weeks and no one had cracked yet.

🍉 🤔👰🏼🥄🥄🍱🔄

👰🏼 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😠

🌝 😒🙄

🌚 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

👑 ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

Translation:

Harry Maybe George should cook dinner again…

George HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no.

Rhys Yeah right.

Abbie No thank you.

You Absolutely fucking not.

Why did all of you have such ridiculous headers?

Abbie and Rhys were the twin moons because that was the look they always gave each other when they thought something was cute, funny, interesting, or otherwise. They’d moved into the house as a couple and had remained in said couple for 3 years. Sharing a room was their way of saving money to buy a house. It made sense.

George was a blonde bride because he was the most outwardly gay man any of you had ever known and often acted like an utter madam. Madam was actually George’s nickname to his friends now thanks to the house’s light ribbing. He had also chosen his own emoji.

Harry was the watermelon because we were never without it thanks to a frankly concerning obsession. If there wasn’t a watermelon in the fridge, or slices, or packaged chunks, something was very wrong.

And you were the crown because you’d refused to pick an emoji and the house had affectionately bestowed the title of Tower Queen to you. You’d pretended to hate it, but they all knew you viewed it as the highest compliment.

Oh, and the group chat was called Blackpool Tower because you lived together in a tall, two-rooms-to-a-floor townhouse at the top of town. The Eiffel Tower had been suggested but George immediately pointed out that we were not a classy enough bunch to live in such a fine establishment. I’d told him to speak for himself.

The talk of food made you hungry, and it hit you like a landslide that you hadn’t had any dinner. You rolled off your bed and sent a text to Blackpool Tower, then shoved your phone away.

~

Multiple things happened at once. The shower turned on in the bathroom; your bedroom door opened with a quiet creak (which would not happen again since you went through WD40 like a bee in pollen); Harry’s phone vibrated with another text.

Blackpool Tower

👑 👩‍🍳🍝 … 🌚🍝🌝🍝🍉🍝➡️🧊 … ❌🍝👰🏼

Harry snickered.

Translation: You Making dinner. Leftovers in the fridge. None for George.

It wasn’t unusual you’d make enough food for everyone. Harry had learned that you’d picked that trait up from your dad. Sometimes no one would stop you, especially since there was never anything wrong with a meal you’d cooked. In fact, if there were a restaurant with food cooked by you, Harry would dine there every night. But he also knew that letting you cook for all the other housemates all the time wasn’t fair.

🌚 🍉➡️🍉❌🍉➡️🍉❌👑

👰🏼 🚫🚫🚫🚫

“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered.

Rhys must have been in the shower. If George or Abbie were home they’d have rugby tackled you to the floor given the chance.

Harry abandoned his phone and lurched out of his room, down the stairs to the kitchen. He nearly stacked it twice but he made it, with panting breaths to accompany him.

You turned your gaze on him with a startled look, giving him a once over. “What are you doing…?”

“Don’t you dare cook for everyone else.”

You blinked twice and then rolled your eyes. “It’s fine - I’ve got plenty.”

“It’s not fair.”

“If I don’t cook it today it’ll go off. So might as well.”

Harry looked at the produce you’d piled on the counter and back at you, then back again. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You bought enough for everyone.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.

You spluttered and scoffed for far too long. “No.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t stop me.” You scowled at him.

It was the most emotions he’d ever seen on you. If he’d known all this time that all he needed to do to get a conversation out of you was wind you up a bit, he’d have done it much sooner.

“Yes I can.”

You put a hand on your hip. Christ. “How?”

He stared at you, statuesque and cursing himself for challenging a bet he couldn’t win. You were right. How would he stop you? He wasn’t going to drag you away from the kitchen and up the stairs without your permission. Hell, he didn’t want to do anything without your permission, threats begotten. He hadn’t thought this through.

You let out a breath, a mocking one, and turned away from him and picked up a knife to start chopping. “Didn’t think so.”

“You can’t do this forever.”

Chop.

“Do what?” You challenged, refusing to look at him again.

Chop chop.

“Look after every person that comes in here because you feel like you owe people something. The world will take advantage of you. Is that what you want?”

Your shoulders visibly tensed over the words that tumbled out of his mouth. They weren’t even spoken with malice. They were soft and cautious.

CHOP.

“This feels like a very deep conversation to be having on a Tuesday evening.”

He growled, frustrated. “Stop babying everyone.”

Chopchopchop.

“If they didn’t want me to baby them they simply wouldn’t let me. And maybe I like babying people. Sometimes it’s nice to have a responsibility.”

“That’s just it, though. They’re not your responsibility.”

You smacked the knife down on the chopping board and turned to face him, an unfamiliar anger in your eyes that muddled with something else murky and grey. Hurt. “Will you just let me cook my fucking dinner in peace?”

Harry stood, tense, staring at you with his fists clenching and unclenching. Finally, he said, “Fine. But you’ve got to let me help you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry.” Your head lolled back.

“Two different people, but I appreciate why you might get confused.”

You stared at him for an indecipherable length of time. Or gawked might have been a better descriptor. And then you snatched the tea towel off the side and smacked it in a whip-like movement against his arm. “Git.”

~

Two weeks later and you and Harry had begun a sort of ritual; you would cook with each other every other night. The distinct difference was that when you bought food, you bought enough for everyone. When Harry did it he only bought enough for the two of you.

You hadn’t quite figured out yet if being in this new… friendship with Harry was better or worse. Cooking together four nights a week versus blissful ignorance towards him and his attractiveness? The now near-constant proximity to him was making your head spin for stupid reasons. Namely said attractiveness.

His biceps for one. No one should be allowed arms that had the ability to make one’s mouth water. Pair his strong muscles with the litter of tattoos that were drawn down his right arm and you’d found yourself sweating even on the coldest day. A man’s body should not have such a strong effect on a person, yet here you were - a swoon personified.

Then there was his face, which was worse. Eyes mouth jaw. Those three things individually on a man were the first thing that always drew you in, but Harry had a triple threat. Seaglass green, blush pink and the perfect 100 degree angle. Not too square. And to top it all off, a wispy mop of chestnut waves atop his big head.

The perfect man?

“Aye,” Harry took the knife off you before you started chopping an onion, “thought we established that needed sharpening. A blunt knife is more dangerous than a sharp one.”

A man who cared about your wellbeing?

His bedside manner could use some work.

“Fuck off.” You whispered to your inner voice.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, cheeks burning. Great, he probably thought you were crazy.

You silently passed Harry the stone out of the drawer. He could sharpen it if he was going to make such a big deal out of it.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, and started swiping the edge of the knife along the full length of the stone.

Chalky noises. Sharp noises. Furrowed brow. Biceps flexing. Obscenely attractive. Abort abort abort.

You busied yourself by turning on the hob and drizzling oil into a pan. Basically looking anywhere but at Harry and his arms. Sexy arms.

Sex on legs.

Your legs were wobbling. A flame of burdened heat licked its way between your thighs and you had to lean against the counter to stop from buckling. It had been a long time since a man had touched you.

Yeah. This was worse. Definitely worse. Hyper-awareness of everything going on around you wasn’t unusual, but being hyper-aware of everything Harry did was like some unfound form of torture. There was being attracted to someone and then there was whatever this situation was.

Ridiculous?

It was ridiculous, but at least you could suffer knowing that your inner voice had been wrong. Harry was not a normal bloke. He was some kind of enigma.

~

For the past couple of nights Harry had kept his door open. He’d learned that you did indeed have nightmares regularly so the dreamcatcher you kept in your bedroom window was doing little for your unconscious mind. He’d debated buying a bigger one for you but wasn’t entirely sure how appropriate that would be.

You weren’t loud. In fact, if he hadn’t kept his door open he never would’ve known, because the ajar-ness of his door had come prompted for completely different reasons - that unusual urge to see you first thing in the morning. Now two nights in a row he had been woken up by your little yelp, followed with a hissed string of curses while shifting around your bedsheets to get comfortable again. As soon as he knew you were asleep, he wasn’t too far along after you.

He still hadn’t been able to decide if cooking with you nearly every night was a good thing or a bad thing. While he never failed to enjoy himself during your bi-nightly kitchen sessions, he hated separating from you afterwards. It wasn’t enough. The persistent nearness of you for an hour or so only to be followed by a later severance was almost painful. The bedroom door being left open was just another attempt at trying to get closer to you.

He knew it was you in the bathroom because you took longer than everyone else. Not because you were using up all the hot water but because you used it as an excuse to give it a thorough clean. Being able to hear everything going on in the house was both a gift and a curse, but Harry wasn’t attuned to all the tenants. Only you.

Five minutes later the bathroom door opened, and you plodded up the two flights of stairs. He knew the way all the stairs creaked, and you were going at nothing more than a leisurely pace. He caught a glimpse of you as you passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The scent of strawberries and jasmine wafted through the gap in his door after you.

Harry’s phone vibrated.

Blackpool Tower

🌝 Friends coming over tomorrow night for drinks 🍻 we’ll behave

👰🏼 You idiot

🌚 RHYS

🌝 NOOOOOOOOOO

🍉 Pay up dipshit

🌝 😭😭😭

A few minutes later Harry got a notification to say he’d received a £10 payment into his bank account.

~

Then

The cold had crept in again. Not from the weather - it was warm at night. This was a different kind of cold. The sweaty kind that kept you up at night. Medication had kept the nightmares away for some time but now you were locked in the house for the foreseeable future you couldn’t bear the idea of being constantly dimmed down by it in front of your housemates.

Last night was the first time you’d had a nightmare in close to a year and it was just as terrifying as it used to be. Some traumas just wouldn’t leave you be. You’d taken a couple of painkillers to numb your headache and they’d graciously knocked you out for another few hours and brought you right on through to 8am. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept that late. With everyone at home all the time now, it seemed no one wanted to get out of bed.

You had a job to do today, anyway. The room next to yours had finally been rented, so you’d been tasked with giving it a proper clean before the new tenant arrived this evening.

You did need to eat, but before that you wanted to get the window open in there to coax some fresh air in.

Hauling yourself out of bed, you meticulously tidied your room the same you did with every morning, dressed in clothes appropriate for cleaning, and took the short step across the hall to the other room.

The door was closed which was unusual. You always left the doors to the empty rooms open with a wedge so they wouldn’t get stuffy from disuse. Maybe you’d opened the window yesterday and forgot? Had the wind closed it for you?

Shrugging to yourself, you opened it anyway.

“Oh,” your eyes widened, “fuck, shit, sorry.”

Inside, collapsed face down on the bed dressed with only a sheet was a man, near-naked in only a pair of boxers. You couldn’t see much of his features bar a mop of chocolate curls, a heavily tattooed arm, and a particularly nice arse beneath his pants.

He lifted his head, complete with a gorgeous profile, and peeled open an eye. A very green, beautiful eye. He made a confused, questioning noise.

The room was full of belongings, so this must be the new tenant and not some homeless person who’d managed to sneak in without anyone realising. At least you hoped.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were moving in later today. Sorry.”

“Friday.” He managed. A sleep-coated, groggy and somewhat delirious voice. It was delicious. You wanted to taste it.

“What?”

“Friday was moving day.”

“Yes. Today.”

“No. Yesterday.”

You looked at your phone. “Christ. I’m sorry. Isolation is getting to me. You don’t care. I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your sleep. I’ll go. Sorry.”

You pulled the door closed before you could embarrass yourself any further, and then hid yourself in the bathroom out of sheer embarrassment.

If you never saw that marvellous-looking man again it would be too soon.

~

Now

Harry often thought about that first day.

Morning. Just after dawn. Early summer sun casting you in gold. Tiny shorts. Faded creaseless t-shirt. Sleepy face messy hair.

He hadn’t seen you anything of the sort since and he craved it like an addict did cocaine.

A pandemic had ruined many things for many people, and the most recent ruin back then had been Harry’s longest relationship. That’s what had brought him to a double bedroom in a shared house rather than a flat and his own fucking space. He couldn’t afford the latter.

It had been hot that night, moving into a new home in the darkness. He’d picked up the key from the owner, your dad it had turned out, and transferred his possessions from one place to another in the late night simply to avoid having to discuss his situation with people he didn’t know.

But yes, the heat is what had caused him to strip down to his underwear before passing out. The startled look on your face at the sight of him had absolutely been worth it. The sight of you had been worth it. Such a strong attraction to someone fresh after a breakup should be wildly inappropriate, but there you suddenly were, bare-legged and dangling yourself in front of him like a piece of string to a kitten. Still, the fact remained that Harry liked to think himself a gentleman. He tried to be a gentleman, and after living so close to you for so long, it didn’t take long to learn that you liked to keep to yourself. So he had done the same.

Until now, apparently.

“That housemate of yours here?”

Harry’s ears pricked up at the question like a cat’s would if it heard something interesting. He recognised the voice and hated the speaker. He always had. Today was no exception.

“Which one? I’ve got three of ‘em if we don’t include Abbie.” Rhys’s oblivious laughter filtered up the stairs to the sanctuary of the top floor.

“Well I ain’t talkin’ about the lads, am I?”

Harry shivered. He imagined if you could hear them then you would too.

“She’s here”, “Don’t bother,” came simultaneously from Rhys and Abbie. Abbie sounded almost defensive, and that pleased Harry to no end.

“Why not?”

“Because she isn’t interested.”

“Maybe you should let her decide that for herself.”

Unconsciously, Harry rose from the desk in his room and made his way across the hall to yours. The door was open, obviously.

You were sitting up with a book but you had earplugs in. Whether it was playing music or just to block out the noise from downstairs he wasn’t sure. As soon as you spotted him a small smile curved on your lips, and you pulled an earplug out. It was playing music.

Harry had never met anyone who could listen to music and read at the same time. There were surely plenty, but this put you in the Elite Tier in his head.

“What’s up?”

Footsteps began on the stairs, and Harry threw a cautionary glance over his shoulder before he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, sliding the lock across.

You were leaning forward now, a crease in your brow. “What’s going on?”

“Rhys’s friends are here.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“Yes but his idiot friends are here.”

You tipped your head. “I’m not following.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know… Gaz? The one with the teeth.”

“Oh. Right. Why not? He’s harmless, no?”

“Is he? I’m not so sure.”

Your name suddenly trilled from the floor below. “You home?”

You looked at the door as Harry moved to the side, dumbfounded. Harry shook his head at you when you began to move.

Why not? You mouthed.

Harry pretended to drink from an invisible glass and grimaced.

The idiot called your name again and knocked on the door. “Come on, come say hi.”

Harry was really scowling now. You flashed glances between him and the door multiple times.

“She’s probably asleep, mate!” Rhys hissed from outside the door. “She works early some Saturdays.”

That was not true. You’d never worked weekends, not even as a teen. It was Rhys’s smart ruse to get him to back off.

The door handle jostled. Harry suddenly looked more threatening than a mafia boss, and your jaw fell slack from shock.

“Oi,” smack, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What? Worth a shot.”

“No it fuckin’ weren’t, go downstairs.”

Some heated muttering commenced, but neither you nor Harry moved or spoke until you were satisfied they wouldn’t hear anything.

“Did he seriously just try and get in here?”

“While you were ‘sleeping’?” Harry air-quoted around the word. “Yes. He did. Hence the distrust.”

“What the fuck…”

He watched you for a moment and the look on your face said it all. You were upset, in a confused sort of way. Your mind was somewhere else, no longer in this room. Eyes glassy and breathing shallow.

Someone had tried to come into your personal space while they had the impression you were sleeping. If that had been the case there was no telling what would’ve happened. If Harry hadn’t come in you probably wouldn’t be any the wiser to Rhys’s friend’s real character, and that was what scared him. You had a tendency to put too much faith in people as just people. If someone was being nice to you that must mean that they are nice.

“What are you reading?” He asked into the silence, not only to break the quiet but to pull you out of the trance you’d been in.

“Oh, er,” you looked down at the book in your lap and turned it upwards, flashing the cover to him, “some daft romance.”

You put it aside after slotting the bookmark inside to keep your place. He smirked to himself. God forbid you dogear a page.

“Happy ending?”

You nodded, playing with your loose earbud. “Yeah. Has to be.”

“They’re my favourite.”

You gawked at him then. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Is that so shocking?”

You laughed musically. “I don’t know… I kind of assumed a guaranteed happy ending would irritate you or something.”

“Not at all. Sad endings are rubbish.”

“Aren’t they?” You patted the bed by your lap, suddenly animated. “I hate them.”

“Me too.”

“What are they for? No one wins, everyone is miserable, and someone has almost always died in the middle.”

He folded his arms, brows furrowed in a mock defence. “Now who hurt you? Tell me. Who do I need to beat up?”

“John Green.”

Harry scoffed. “He’s the worst.”

“Paper Towns? What the fuck was that all about?”

“Load of shit.”

“Exactly!”

He grinned, relaxing his posture. A commotion began downstairs, and he turned over his shoulder towards the door. Two phones dinged inside the room.

Blackpool Tower

🌝 🍻🍻➡️🌃➕👰🏼

You were being left alone. Thank God.

Harry met your gaze with a passive smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Wait…”

He raised a single brow at you. “Yes?”

“Why don’t we watch a movie? If they’re pissing off out…”

He was both surprised and elated by your suggestion. All he’d be doing otherwise was looking for flats to move into alone and listening to some murder podcast before passing out. Friday nights were raucous in one’s late twenties.

“Two movies.” He bargained. “One we can bitch about first, and then one we like to make ourselves feel better.”

Your returning smile was prizewinning. Priceless. “And… takeaway? I really don’t want to cook.”

He clicked and pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got yourself a deal, madam.”

~

This was a new low for you. Or perhaps it was a high - you hadn’t decided yet. Using the newfound common ground over a love of happy endings off the back of the fear of a mad man trying to let himself into your room to coax Harry into a movie night with you. In your room, no less. The house was empty yet you chose to suffer the shitty WiFi signal in your tower room because your bed was more comfortable than the communal sofa in the living room on the ground floor. The cold ground floor.

Now, after a shared pizza that was delivered in record speed, you and Harry lay parallel to one another as you batted bitchy comments between one another about the infuriatingly devastating plot of Atonement.

“I wanna smash her face into a wall.”

You nearly choked on your wine, and wiped a pre-existing tear off your cheek. “Harry,”

“What?” He whined. “Every time I get to the end and she tells the real story I see red. Why get people’s hopes up like that?”

His eyes were red around the rims.

You sat forward as the credits began to roll and looked at him with a timid smile. “Opinionated, aren’t you?”

He was draped across the left side of your bed closest to the door, legs crossed at the ankle and hands tucked behind his head against the headboard. He was close to slouched, but he looked so impossibly at ease you wanted to just nestle right into him.

You could do it. Nothing is stopping you.

You repressed a growl.

“Coming from you?” He retorted, amused.

Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him. “What’s next?”

He pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful look towards the ceiling. “Notting Hill?”

You gasped. “Fuck yes. Do you fancy dessert?”

“Always. What have you got?”

“I picked up a chocolate trifle on the way home from work.”

“That sounds dirty as fuck.”

“It is dirty as fuck.” You agreed and stood from your bed. “I picked it up on the way home with the intention of eating it all by myself, but… I’m willing to share.”

“How kind.” Harry chuckled. You felt his gaze on you leaving the room.

Two minutes later you returned with an unwrapped trifle and two spoons. Harry had already found Notting Hill on one of the many subscription sites you paid for and had it paused right at the start. He sat up straighter as you settled back down, pressed play, and then the two of you sunk into cake and gooey chocolate layered beneath sweet cream.

“Is Hugh Grant too posh?” Harry asked between mouthfuls.

“Yes, but it suits him?” Your question pondered. “Like, I couldn’t imagine him with a Scouse or Georgie accent.”

Harry’s returning laughter was delighted, magical. “This would be a very different film if he did.”

You gave a gutterall, mischievous laugh. “I would like to see it.”

Once you’d spoiled yourselves with trifle you settled back down, two parallel figures unmoving in the dim room, except to drink wine.

Harry was an ominous presence beside you. Warmth radiated off him in languid rolls, beckoning to you like an evil sea siren. Your hands fisted on your stomach, muscles tense. It really was taking everything in you not to lean into him and inhale his scent. Let it lull you to sleep like a safety blanket.

Occasionally you peeked glances at him. If he’d noticed you he never said anything, and it made you brave. After so long the film became background noise and Harry was the real star. A black t-shirt across a flat, muscular chest, steady breaths causing a rise and fall. Black jogging bottoms that rose higher up his legs with each slight movement, showing more scrumptious leg hair per inch. Big, boney, veiny feet with heinously long toes. Hair taken off his face with a tiny claw grip, a little greasy around the ears.

The overwhelming need to shove your face into his armpit finally gave motive to look away. Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts meant nothing anymore. There was a sexy man sprawled across your bed who ate your trifle and wanted to watch stupid rom-coms with you.

You fell asleep before the end.

~

Harry was sure he was dreaming. It wasn’t possible, the situation he found himself in. It was what he wanted, what he had really wanted for a while now, but the actual possibility of it coming to fruition had been next to none. Zero. Impossible.

He’d woken up in your room. That was the first tell that he was still dreaming. Then he found a warm body curled around him, and him around them in return. Your warm body. Leg draped over his thigh, arm slung across his torso, head tucked under his chin, his arms around your shoulders and inhaling your strawberry shampoo.

You were both still on top of the covers, neither able to finish the movie without passing out. He’d even noticed you had nodded off first but he didn’t want to leave you without making sure you’d lock the door behind you again in case Rhys and his idiot friends returned.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. That was too accurate and not nearly lucid enough for an unconscious mind.

He didn’t want to move in case he stirred you, but he was desperate to see your face. Your beautiful, sleeping face. He refused to believe you’d cuddled up to him while conscious. Because it had been that way around - you were parked up on his side of the bed. His lips pricked upwards at the corners with that knowledge.

It was raining heavily outside. It fell against the window in loud smatters, the room cast in a dull grey tone. It made him want to squeeze you tighter, to keep you from any harm. He still refrained.

Eventually you woke. He could tell from the way your body tensed and your breath caught in your throat.

“Don’t freak out.” He mumbled, voice thick from lack of use.

You took in a deep, obvious breath. “No? Why not?”

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Explain, please.”

You hesitated, wetting your lips, and took in another deep breath. “I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“How?”

“I’ve put myself into your personal space without your permission.”

“You were unconscious.” He argued.

“Doesn’t make it any better. You should’ve run for the hills the second my foot touched your lovely hairy leg.”

Harry chuckled. He tightened his arm around you and brushed his nose through your messy hair. “Maybe I don’t mind you in my personal space. Maybe… I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

He laughed again. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

You sat up and faced him.

Gah. There you were. Puffy eyes, cracked lips, scruffy hair. His stomach did a backflip at the sight of you - a dream he had nightly. In equal measure, he missed having the warmth and weight of your body against him.

“Don’t think about it too much.” He gave you a gentle smile. “Nothing needs to be complicated.”

You remained silent, either awestruck or dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure.

He stood, reluctantly, and pinched your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

That sorted you out. Your face rearranged itself into a scowl, gaze following him as he left the room. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but such a conversation felt too poignant for 8 o’clock in the morning. You needed space to let your thoughts take over.

~

Cooking dinner and movie nights. That had become yours and Harry’s thing. After he’d dropped what you considered a bombshell that he didn’t mind you in his personal space you’d had the longest shower of your life - accidentally using all the hot water - and then spent the morning face down on your bed trying not to scream into your pillow.

Since then you’d been obsessively cleaning, more so than usual by way of distraction from the man living across the hall. The house was spotless. You’d even cleaned the windows at one point, outside, with help from your dad and looked at a way to fix the leaking problem in the empty bedroom.

It still didn’t stop your mind from constantly drifting back to the other morning. Waking up curled around Harry like that had been both terrifying and utterly perfect. For a man with such a hard physique he’d been incredibly comfortable. Too comfortable. Then he’d said a number of things that threw your somewhat orderly brain into complete disarray and chaos.

“You’re cute when you’re in shock.”

Harry hadn’t seemed to take his own words lightly, either. He’d been more comfortable in closer proximity with you since that morning, in the little things like light touches to your arms and back while you cooked together, or a kiss on the top of your head before you disappeared into your room for the night. Some nights you would share a bed after a movie because it was just easier - you were already settled, and you always woke up cuddled against him like a fucking creep.

“This,” Harry said as he pulled the oven door open, a waft of heat filling the cold room, “is gonna be fuckin’ banging.”

“Mhm.” You quipped, shoving a tortilla chip into some salsa, and then into your gob.

It was a Saturday night. By a freak stroke of luck, all the other housemates had gone away for the weekend - George to his parents’ and Rhys and Abbie on a weekend break to Amsterdam. So, a dinner and movie night had been a given, but you’d stuck a portable heater in the communal living room downstairs, found as many blankets as you could and piled them onto the sofa, then queued up enough movies to last all night.

Harry’s carefully crafted pizza sat atop the stove, cooked to perfection with your favourite ingredients on one half and his on the other. Your mouth watered.

You carried everything into the lounge, set it all up on the coffee table, and pressed play on your first movie of the night.

It was civil while you ate, and you were admittedly starving. To Harry’s credit the pizza was delicious and you wished it was bigger because you could’ve eaten another. You filled the hole in your stomach with tortillas and salsa instead. He graciously took all the dirty plates back into the kitchen when you were done, and returned with two bowls of strawberries, raspberries, and of course, watermelon. It was a very healthy dessert but the watermelon looked seriously out of place.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me eat your watermelon.” You joked. “Feels like a sacred honour.”

He snorted but remained silent.

Eventually, after all the food and a couple of glasses of wine, you were horizontal, your feet in Harry’s lap. He had his hands locked around your ankle after you accidentally kicked him in the thigh.

“If you were in a rom-com, who would you want to play your love interest?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Hugh Grant.”

You giggled, turning your face into the sofa cushion. “90s or current Hugh Grant?”

“90s. Current Hugh Grant is into much more sophisticated roles that I don’t care for. Even if they are generally great films.”

“I see…” you mused.

He squeezed your ankle, a smile flirting on his lips. “No, I don’t know. Who’s queen of romantic comedies? Reese Witherspoon? J-Lo?”

“Oh my God, I love J-Lo.” Your voice was a dreamy, breathy sound.

“A fine woman indeed.”

“I love it when you talk like it’s the 1800s.”

He laughed so loudly it was almost a bark. “Noted. Who would you want to play opposite?”

“Sam Claflin.”

“The king of rom-coms.”

“Exactly. Very easy on the eye.”

Harry was smirking again. His hands were moving now, smoothing up and down your leg in easy strokes.

Thank fuck you shaved, you little scruffy bear.

You mentally flicked your inner tormentor behind her ear.

The film played on and held your attention for some time. You were possibly the most relaxed you’d been for a very long time. Not one muscle in your body felt tight.

Harry’s lackadaisical caressing continued, which you were still half-conscious of. It was nice to be touched that way - you don’t think you ever had been. You didn’t panic until you realised he’d been venturing just a touch further up your leg with every stroke; until his fingers tickled your thigh.

You gasped, grabbing his wrist, wrenched yourself upright.

Heat flooded your centre, slick and warm. It was so instantaneous it took you by surprise, and your cheeks burned, the tips of your ears warm.

His eyes were on you, wider than usual. “Sorry,” he tried to speak but it only came out in a whisper.

What is wrong with you, woman? You wanted this.

The inner tormentor was right. You had wanted it, and for quite some time. But the advance of it had taken you so completely off-guard that your body had reacted before your brain did.

“Shouldn’t have done that.” Harry muttered, a furrow between his brow. He was angry with himself.

Finally you managed to shake your head. You managed to manoeuvre yourself by taking one leg - the leg he still had his hand on because you were keeping it there - off his lap and tucked it under itself. You pressed his palm flat against your skin, smoothing over each of his long fingers in turn, and met his intense gaze.

You were much closer now, faces and bodies mere inches from each other. You could feel his breath against your face, and you knew he could feel yours too from the way his eyelids fluttered with each exhale. Shiny eyelids, you noted.

He slowly closed the space to brush his nose upwards against yours, and your next exhale was much shakier.

“What are we doing?” You asked.

“Whatever you want.”

You wanted many, many things. And 99% of them involved him.

You licked your lips, and his gaze dropped to them at the action. Your stomach squirmed and your inner voice squealed with nerves.

Harry placed his other hand firmly on your hip and tugged, and you spilled over his lap, straddling him with your hands using his shoulders for balance. Another gasp fell out of you at the feeling of a certain something between your legs. A certain hard something.

“Is this okay?” He asked, both hands tentative on your thighs.

“Mhm.” You managed.

His hands spread wider, and you grew wetter, breathing heavier

He swallowed thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

All you could do was nod.

You noticed the beginning of a smile before his mouth was on yours. That mouth you’d thought of many times, at all hours, on all days of the week. And it was finally on yours, and perfect too. Soft, big, spongy. It felt like heaven against your own.

He took his time, leisurely testing the waters with you. What you would allow and what you wouldn’t. What you liked and what you didn’t.

You liked all of it.

His tongue was reverent as it eased your lips open, but thorough once you’d granted him access to you. He tasted like strawberry and watermelon, a delicious combination. A lethal combination.

His hands still smoothed over your thighs, reaching for your arse but never quite making it there. He didn’t want a repeat of the previous reaction from you.

You held onto him tightly, hands squeezing over his shoulders in an accidental but welcomed massage. You wanted to touch him everywhere but weren’t sure if he was okay with it.

“I never thought I’d be able to do this with you.” Harry’s voice was gruff, strained. He spoke against your lips.

“Neither did I.” You said breathily.

“Thought about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

He groaned into your mouth, hands rising to your hips and waist, tugging on your loose t-shirt.

You continued kissing, mouths bruising with lust, skirting around the removal of clothes. His arousal only got harder between your legs and it made you wriggle. Your wriggling caused friction, and the friction caused whimpers.

“I won’t last if you make noises like that.”

This information gave you immense satisfaction. He practically ate the smile off your face, and you wriggled again over the top of him. More whimpers, more movement. Back and forth, back and forth until you were utterly soaked inside your pyjama shorts.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.

“Harry,” you moaned, fisting his t-shirt at the chest.

“Keep going.” He practically begged.

You gave a frustrated noise and did as he said, rolling your hips over the length of his clothed shaft. Over and over and over again. Tits began to bounce. Back began to sweat. Toes began to curl.

Harry stripped you of your top and buried his face in your chest. Kissing, licking, sucking, bruising. A canvas of vivid colour. He dragged his lips across any inch he could, leaning forward, arching you backwards, just to access more. More more more.

Rolling, dragging, rolling and dragging your dampness against his erection. It was your sole focus. You needed it - the release you hadn’t felt for some time. You were always too nervous to masturbate with only two walls and doors separating you and Harry. You needed this more than anything else.

He held onto your back with one strong arm, hand gripping your waist while his other cupped your breast, and he took your nipple into his mouth without any further hesitation. Lick, suck, lick.

You squealed at the sensation, grabbed his face and brought his mouth back to yours. Faster faster faster you moved your hips and devoured his mouth until-

“Harry!”

Heat burst through your body, crashing through every cell, corner and crevice. You were tense as you came, clinging to Harry as tightly as possible. Then, as breath left you, you fell limp against him.

Harry stroked your hair and kissed your temple. His nose drew circles on your cheek.

When you pulled back, thoughts catching up to you, you looked confused.

“What?” He asked, head tipped to one side.

“This doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t?”

“This,” you pointed between him and you.

“Why doesn’t it?”

“Because,” you gestured at him and then dropped your hands to your lap, “have you seen you?”

“Many times.”

You gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m serious, Harry. People that look like you aren’t interested in people who look like me.”

“What a horrifically outdated cliche.” He said in a flinchingly bored tone. “For the record, I think you’re bloody gorgeous. Have done since the day I met you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do! Life is too fucking short to let society dictate who is attractive enough to date who.”

You made a face, one where your eyebrows and your mouth stretched. “Yes, but-,”

“-No buts. I fancy the pants off you and that’s all you need to know.”

“Are you sure?”

He laughed. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have let you do what you just did if I wasn’t sure. Would I?”

“I don’t know… some men are pigs.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Look,” he took your face in his hands, “some men are indeed pigs. But I like you. A lot. And I’ve had fantasies a hell of a lot like what we just did together for a damn embarrassing amount of time. About you. That’s all you need to know. Ever since I met you, I’ve been all about you.”

You pulled your lips between your teeth and stared at his chest, unseeing. Giddiness filled your tummy and white noise flooded your ears.

Harry picked up your hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. He watched you closely as he peppered kisses to your skin. “You’re thinking too hard, but I get it.”

“I think too hard about everything.” You mumbled. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know but I’ve always thought about you more than I’d like to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re very distracting.”

“Sounds like a compliment to me.” He said, and pecked your nose. “Shall we finish our movies and go to bed?”

Involuntarily, and as if prompted by the suggestion, you yawned. “Probably a good idea.”

Harry smiled, wrapped his arms around your middle and squeezed you tightly to his solid frame. “Let’s do it.”

~

Harry worked late a lot over the next week or so. He hated it mostly because it meant less time with you. Less conscious time, anyway. For the first few nights he’d come home to find you asleep and couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally waking you up, but after sharing a bed with you for so many nights now, it had been a hard drug to quit.

It was late now, well past midnight and you’d probably fallen asleep hours ago. But seeing you curled up and facing the window, sheets bunched up to your chin and face buried in your pillow, he couldn’t help himself.

He quietly stripped out of his clothes, save for his boxers, shut the door behind him and slid into bed beside you. He surrounded you with his warmth - arms around your middle and his face pressed between your shoulder blades. He tugged you backwards until your bodies were flush together, chest to back, and sponged a wet kiss into your shoulder.

You did rouse a little, giving out a soft, sleep-filled squeak. “Hi.”

He smiled, leaving another kiss closer to your neck. “Hi.”

“Wondered when you’d be back.” You said around a content sigh.

“And me.”

You giggled. You took a hand that clasped around your chest and brought it up to your lips. “Tried to stay awake for you but failed.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

He littered more kisses against your skin, because he could just never get enough of you. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure.”

“Now go back to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

~

“You look different.”

You frowned, meeting your sister’s scrutinous eyes between washing a saucepan clean. You were washing, she was drying, like you always did. You didn’t trust her enough to actually clean the dirty tableware. Sometimes she didn’t properly dry things either, but you’d make the most of what you could.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “You’ve got a kind of… air about you.”

“Right…”

“Hey,” your dad appeared, nudging your sister’s arm, “maybe she’s got a boyfriend.”

Embarrassed heat filled your body.

“No, that’s not it.” Your sister shook her head. “Anyway, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“I don’t…” you didn’t know how to finish that.

Perhaps your many nights sharing a bed with Harry had been what she was talking about, but the label of boyfriend/girlfriend definitely hadn’t come up yet. You just liked each other. A lot. Add that to the fact that any night you shared a bed with him you didn’t wake up in cold sweats or choked screaming fits, it wasn’t exactly something you planned to stop doing any time soon.

“Oh my God, don’t overthink it like you do everything else. It’s a compliment. Take it.” She rolled her eyes.

“Aye, don’t be snotty.” Dad swatted your sister’s arm.

“I’m not!”

Your sister was younger than you, and for all eternity most definitely cooler. She was in school and that hadn’t changed into adulthood. It didn’t particularly bother you. Generally you got on very well, she just didn’t have a problem opening her mouth when she had an opinion.

“Anyway, don’t forget family dinner night. Next Friday?” Dad reminded you.

Ah yes. Family dinner night was not here at Dad’s house with just you and your sister. It was at the house with Dad, your sister, and all the housemates. George proclaimed it his favourite time of the month, because Dad, an ex-chef, always cooked. Harry, because of his often awkward shift work, was almost always absent.

“Okay.” You nodded.

After finishing your last dirty dish, you pulled your phone out.

Blackpool Tower

👑 ❌😃

Sometimes a text simply couldn’t be written exclusively in emojis, so you’d come up with a rule whereby if you needed to write one, you’d send a ❌😃 to alert them.

👑 Family dinner night next Friday. Be there or be square 💘

👰🏼 🤯🤩🤯🤩🤯

🌚 🎉🎉🎉

“You’re still doing the emoji thing?” Your sister asked with a narrowed gaze.

“We have another bet running to see who’ll crack first.”

“Right… will everyone come?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s me asking if Harry will be there, by the way.” She said with a smirk, nudging your arm.

If you didn’t know any better you’d be hot under the collar thinking she was onto you. The mention of his name got you flustered anyway, but you did know better. As any sensible woman would, your sister had a little thing for Harry that she’d never shied away from.

“I don’t know.” You repeated, somewhat irritated.

“Well, find out! Do I need to make an effort or not, you know?”

“I mean… he doesn’t usually come. So probably not.”

“Double check. To be safe. Or give me his number.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Bore.” She scoffed, and swished away.

~

Sundays were laundry day. Harry knew this, which is why he’d never do his on the same day. Everyone in the house knew that first thing on a Sunday morning you would head down to the basement with a book and a basket full and sit there until everything had been through the tumble dryer (unless it was delicate in which case you’d air it in your window for the day).

Today, though, Harry travelled from the top of the house to the very bottom and slipped inside the utility room, closing the door behind him before any of the other housemates could hear him.

“What are you doing?” You asked, voice light with laughter.

Harry’s gaze rested on you, full of some kind of infatuation. You were sitting atop the industrial-size tumble dryer in the far corner of the room, back against the wall and knees up, book held against your thighs.

He shrugged. “Wanted to come irritate you a bit.”

“You never irritate me.”

He grinned and put himself in your personal space. He found your bookmark and placed it between the pages, and then took it away, abandoning it. “Are you sure?”

You let him manoeuvre you; pulled you forward a little and spread your knees apart. Your legs fell over the side, resting either side of his hips, and your breathing quickened. He placed one hand on your thigh and the other stroked over your cheek.

“Feel free to interrupt laundry day any time you want.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You laughed at his mock genuine tone and brushed your fingertips against his lips. “You know, my sister has a massive thing for you.”

He stood quietly for a fraction of time, gaze assessing. “I would tease you about it but I just can’t. I kind of already guessed.”

“Did you?”

“Mhm. She’s not exactly subtle.”

“No, she’s not. She asked me for your number.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“What do you think?” You rolled your eyes.

He smirked. “You getting possessive of me?”

“Maybe. But she’s too self-absorbed to realise. She thinks I’m doing it because giving out your number willy nilly is morally wrong. Which it is. But yeah, I also just don’t want her to have it.”

His lips tightened, nose flared, eyes light - batting away a smile. “I think I like this side of you.”

You gave an uncharacteristic grunt, but your eyes never left him. “You look like a frog when you make that face.”

His face neutralised and he sucked in a breath. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

This visibly delighted you. “Maybe I’ll start calling you Froggy.”

“Too far.” He pinched your waist

You giggled, hands pressed against his chest. Your palms felt warm over his t-shirt and he never wanted you to take them away.

“How long left on your cycle?”

“Er…” your gaze dipped downwards to the screen on the washing machine. “Like, 20 minutes probably.”

“And then it’s going in the tumble dryer?”

“Yes… why?”

“Because,” he pecked your lips once, “I think I know,” he kissed your left cheek, “something we can do,” then your right cheek, “while we wait.”

Your gaze was curious and intense as he started sponging his lips down your front, from neck to chest to stomach. You reclined some, breathing heavy, and he pulled your legs up by the ankle and planted your feet back on top of the dryer.

“Oh,” you spoke, voice caught.

“You okay with this?” He asked hesitantly.

Even though you’d been sleeping side by side something close to 5 nights a week, your little dry humping session last weekend was as far as you’d gone in the sexual intimacy department.

You made a strangled noise. “Christ, yes.”

Grin fully spread across his face, he smoothed his palms up your thighs to your hips and tucked his fingers into the silky waistband of your pyjama bottoms.

“Can we take these off?”

You hummed an affirmed noise, and lifted your arse off the surface. In one smooth pull he had the garment off your legs and over his shoulder, probably in the same vicinity of the book he’d taken off you.

He met your gaze with a lifted brow. “Not a fan of knickers?”

“Not in my jim-jams, no.”

His smile blossomed like daffodils in spring. “That’s either the cutest or sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Can we go with sexy considering what I hope you’re about to do?”

“Sure thing, cutie.”

You squealed a little at the name, but he couldn’t tell if you loved it or hated it. Regardless, he kept a firm grip on your legs and lowered his lips to your knee. In a slow, measured movement, he kissed his way up the inside of your legs with his hot, wet mouth.

Your breath was laboured as you watched him, eyes wide when he met your gaze again but so incredibly keen. To prove it, you pushed a hand through his curls and massaged his scalp, coaxing him forward.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long.” He admitted, mouth dragging over the softest part of your thigh.

His hot breath fanned against your waiting lips and you visibly clenched.

“I’ve wanted you to, believe me.” Your voice was but a rasp.

“Yeah?” He sighed happily, left hand moving closer to your centre. He extended his thumb out, “Are you wet for me?” He pulled your lips apart, and the noise he made at the sight of you was practically carnal.

“Harry,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.

He hummed again, face inching closer to your dripping lips. He licked between you, wetness collecting on his tongue. The taste of you was something better than he could’ve ever imagined and he growled because of it. He gripped your legs tighter, hesitant no more, and buried his face right between your soft thighs.

“Oh, God,” you whined. Your head lolled backwards and both fists found purchase in his beautiful hair, twisting and tugging.

He grunted in response to you, spurred on. He collected as much of your juice as he could, firm stroke after firm stroke of his perfectly capable tongue.

He played with your clit in a way that made you squirm and squeal, eliciting the most delectable little noises out of your hoarse throat. Harry didn’t hold back - he never had in that department. He went for it completely and utterly.

The washing machine launched into rapid spinning, filling the room with wheezing, screaming noises.

“Harry, don’t stop.” You begged, body rigid with desperate tension.

He obeyed your every word. He spread your legs further and further with his digging grip. He burrowed his face into your cunt, tongue plunging inside of you and spading inside your heat like a desperate gardener.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you panted as you lifted your head again to watch him.

His eyes were already on you, dark and hooded and filled with keen lust. His head moved with an eager precision like his mouth did. He wanted you this way. He’d wanted it for so long he couldn’t quite believe he was getting it. You were a goddess, ethereal and perfect.

The washing machine’s cycle reached its peak, vibrating harshly beside the two of you. It was deafening yet the least bit distracting.

Harry pursued his advances on your cunt relentlessly and without breath until your body went rigid and then shuddered. You screamed his name, withholding nothing, any cries drowned out by the washing machine. Your body visibly vibrated like the machine beside you, and eventually your limbs weakened to jelly.

Harry stood straight and helped you sit up again, wrapping his arms around your middle. He tucked your head into his neck and twisted his face into your hair.

“You’re right, that was incredibly sexy.” He mumbled.

He revelled in your returning laughter, the sound light and airy. You showed no shame in clinging onto him, fingers raking through the curls at the back of his neck.

“Maybe you can do it again later.” You suggested, lips sponging against the skin on his neck.

“Any time you like.”

After another minute or so you pulled away, eyes scouring his face. “You’re a mess, sir.” You commented as you wiped your thumb around his shiny mouth.

He made a wordless noise, held your wrist, and took your thumb in his mouth. “I’ll be a mess for you.”

“Perhaps I’ll be a mess for you, too.”

His brows shot up and it made you laugh. “It’s cruel to joke about that.”

“I’m not joking.”

He gave you a challenging look.

“Want me to prove it?” You offered.

Was it even worth the question? “Always.”

You grinned. “Let me put my washing in the dryer and I will.”

He took a step back and bent at the waist, arms extending like he was bowing. “M’lady.”

You hopped down from where you’d been sitting and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Sir.”

~

The kitchen was a hive. And a mess. There was shit everywhere and your anxiety was through the roof just looking at it. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight because any kitchen your dad found himself in nowadays ended up looking like a pig sty but it didn’t settle the tightness in your chest.

He moved around the room with chaotic precision while you trailed after him tidying up any unnecessary mess, and your sister sat at the dining table Rhys and George had brought up from the basement an hour ago, scrolling through her phone.

“What about him?” Your sister flashed her screen to the two of you, the next Tinder profile filling it.

Your dad leaned over and squinted. “His eyes are too far apart.”

“Ugh. Knew you were gonna say that.” She grumbled.

This was a game you played regularly. Your sister would showcase potential Tinder matches either for her or for you (which you always declined to comment on), and your dad would garner his unfiltered opinion. It was probably a big part of the reason you were both still (technically) single. No one was ever good enough. That, and you didn’t have a Tinder account. Or any dating app account, actually.

“Him?” She flashed the next profile to you both.

Cute. But…

Not Harry.

Your inner tormentor smirked.

“What’s his anthem?” Dad knew all the terminologies now for the dating app world. He liked to call Hinge ‘UnHinged’, because that’s what the suitors on there usually were.

“Um… Wonderwall.”

You gagged, and Dad scoffed. “Next.”

You carried on for a little while, joining in when you felt like it but mostly just trying to keep the kitchen at an acceptable level of clean.

Rhys, Abbie and George were upstairs getting themselves ready for dinner as if it was some kind of gala they were about to attend. They did it everytime; dinner with Dad felt like an occasion. Harry wasn’t home and you hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask if he was going to be. He left at such a weird time this morning you couldn’t figure out what shift he was on and how that would affect his ‘home time’.

“Lay the table please, poppet?” Your dad asked of your sister, because he knew it was the only task she’d willingly do.

She leapt to her feet in a dramatic flurry and made for the cutlery draw. “Have we got enough for matching sets?”

“Very unlikely.” You muttered. You hadn’t eaten dinner with matching cutlery since you moved in.

The front door opened, cold air blustering in and mixing with the heat of the kitchen. Harry stepped in, bundled up in a big coat and rucksack slung over one shoulder.

“Hope I’m not late.” He said in a gravelly voice, smile sheepish.

“Harry!” Dad greeted him with complete joy. “Wasn’t expecting you, what a nice surprise.”

Your sister looked flustered all of a sudden. She’d convinced herself he wasn’t coming. Part of you had, too.

“I’ll just change and be back down.”

“Sure, we’ve got a bit of time yet.” Dad waved him away.

You’d pretended to busy yourself, but you watched as he headed for the stairs and caught the subtle wink he gave you.

Ah shit.

“What am I going to do?” Your sister panicked. “I'm a disaster - I look hideous.”

“No you don’t.” You grumbled. She’d never looked hideous in her life.

“Can I borrow some makeup?”

It was easier to just give her what she wanted rather than fighting her on it. “Sure - what do you need?”

She listed off a bunch of makeup items, most of which sounded completely foreign so you were sure you didn’t have them. You’d just give her your entire makeup bag and let her do what she wanted.

You knocked on Harry’s door before you went back down, makeup bag in hand. He opened in just his jeans, a light straight-leg pair with gaping holes at the knees.

“Hey,” he smiled, and rested an arm against the doorframe.

“Hi… I thought you’d be working late?”

He shook his head. “I was supposed to be. Swapped my shift ‘cause I always miss family dinner.”

“I see… well, you’ve successfully panicked my sister.”

“That was my plan all along, actually.”

“Mhm, sure.” You bit away a smirk. You liked this playful side of him a lot. “If you need half an hour to mentally prepare… I’d take it.”

“Noted, thank you.”

You left him to change and made your way back downstairs. Your sister eagerly took your makeup from you and dashed to the bathroom on the first floor.

Neither she nor Harry, or anyone else for that matter, came down until it was time to sit down.

Your dad sat at the head of the table as he always did, spread laid out in front of you in the middle. You sat to your dad’s right on the corner, and your sister to the left. You knew she was going to try and save the seat on her other side for Harry, but George ended up taking it instead, which visibly irritated her. She did have a particular ‘gay man’s best friend’ vibe about her - they flocked to her like sheep. Abbie sat at the other head, Rhys on her left, and then Harry sandwiched between Rhys and you.

He squeezed your thigh under the table, and you tried to pretend like it didn’t have some obscene effect on your intimate places. You lightly kicked his shin and started piling food onto your plate.

Like some kind of mafia father, your dad went around the table and asked all of the housemates for an update on their lives. He liked to do this, and fortunately your housemates liked pleasing him. He was a good landlord, and that showed by the way they gravitated towards him. He probably wouldn’t do this sort of thing if you weren’t living there, but he had a responsibility to them as tenants as well as you, his eldest daughter.

When you were done eating you sat back in your chair and put your hands in your lap. Harry didn’t hesitate to take one in his own and link your fingers. You peeked up at him as subtly as possible, unable to fight the giddy warmth that spread through you. He didn’t meet your gaze for the sake of keeping everyone else out of your business, but he did squeeze your hand, which only made the airy, slightly delirious feeling inside of you that much stronger.

Your sister spent 20 minutes talking about herself without breath, and as self-absorbed as she was, she was harmless, really. Not to mention entertaining. You never laughed as much as you did when she had her mouth open.

“Harry, you should come to these more often.” She said to him, batting her eyelashes.

You were about to walk her and your dad to the car and send them on their way. Harry was trying his absolute hardest to escape.

He cleared his throat. “I probably should, yeah.”

“It was good having an extra nice body.”

You gave her a look, brow raised. She shrugged. “I think it’s home time, no?” You prompted, gripping her arms and nudging her away.

“Fine.” She huffed, and began walking towards the street. “Bye team!”

Most people had already disappeared to their rooms but you had to admire her spirit. Dad was already gone, eager to go to bed.

You were halfway to the car when your sister asked, “So are you gonna tell me or what?”

You met her gaze with another raised brow. “Tell you what, exactly?”

“Mate,” she swatted my arm, “I am not an idiot. I know when I’m not wanted, because it’s not often.” She could not get any more vain if she tried. “I always did wonder what I had to do to get Harry’s attention better, and today I finally figured it out. I need to be you.”

Ah. Not as ignorant as she appears, then.

You pressed your mouth closed, looking away. “Er,”

“Don’t ‘er’ me. I saw that wink he gave you when he got home, but I thought he was just trying to wind me up. And then he sat next to you, not by choice it seemed, but there was barely an inch of space between you and practically a metre between him and Rhys. Then he just didn’t stop looking at you, even though he pretended he wasn’t. Let me tell you, that boy has not learned the art of subtlety.”

She turned to you then, a searing gaze heavy. “Look, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, or if you’re already shaggin’ him and lying to me about it-,”

“-We’re not having sex.” Yet.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Just do something about it, please. If I can’t have him you should. Don’t let a man that beautiful go to waste. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” She huffed, and then pulled you in for a tight hug. “Fed up of seeing you alone and underselling yourself. You’re hot shit! I know it, and Harry clearly knows it.” She suddenly takes your face in her grasp. “So do something about it.”

~

You appeared in the doorway of Harry’s room around 20 minutes later, fresh-faced and in your PJs. He was reading in bed, having stolen a book out of your cupboard.

“Is he secretly in love with her?” He asked without taking his eyes off the pages, his long finger brushing the spine.

You squinted at the title as you moved closer to him. “Yes. What made you pick that one?”

“Because it’s obviously your favourite.”

“How’d you work that one out?”

“The spine is cracked beyond belief. It’s nearly falling apart.”

“I might’ve bought it from a charity shop.”

He lifted a brow. “Did you?”

“No.”

He put the book aside, focussing all of his attention on you. You’d sat down cross-legged on top of the covers, and you wore a calm yet unreadable expression. There was a hint of something in your eyes. Infatuation, maybe?

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Nothing. I’m just… happy.”

“Me too.”

You remained quiet for a moment, gazing at one another in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Harry opened his arms in request of your embrace, and you gave it to him without hesitation. You settled against him, head tucked under his chin.

“I like this, Harry. Us.”

“So do I.” He nodded, pressing his lips into your hair. “A lot.”

“You make it easier.”

“Make what easier?” He asked, and then held his breath.

A beat passed. “Life. Sleeping. Consciousness. Cooking. Just… being.”

“That’s a very big compliment.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

When you peered up at him, he lowered his mouth to yours for a slow and tender kiss. It wasn’t abrasive or demanding; it was perfect. Full of an understanding that neither of you expected to find in another person.

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

“I don’t have them when I’m with you.” You admitted, as if he hadn’t already worked it out. When he didn’t respond to you, you reluctantly continued. “They’re about my mum. She died in a car accident a few years ago and I dream about it sometimes.”

Harry’s heart found its way into his mouth. “You were there?”

“No. My sister was. I was with dad - it was a weekend. Me and dad at his work cooking, mum and my sister shopping in town. Were on their way back and someone just ploughed into the side of the car, driver’s side. She died on impact and my sister was in hospital for a week.”

Harry held onto you tighter, his lips against your temple. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“It’s okay…” you swallowed, body tensed in stillness. “I dream about that day a lot. Mostly the part where Dad broke the news to me. Seeing my sister in the hospital plugged in and drugged up. The funeral; the look on Dad’s face. I wake up crying more than screaming, usually.”

He took a deep breath, and he clung to you like you might disappear. “I’m really sorry. Sorry that happened to you and your family, and that you have to relive it most nights. That’s not fair.”

You met his gaze, cupping his cheek. “Ever since we started doing… this, I haven’t had a single one. Not even on the nights we don’t share a bed. I don’t know why, I guess my conscience has decided it’s safe with you. And I do feel safe with you.”

“Then I will stay with you every night to make sure you never have a bad dream again.” He vowed, turning his head enough to kiss your palm. “I like knowing that you feel safe with me. S’a pretty big compliment.”

“I’m full of those when it comes to you.”

His chest swelled, a helpless smile on his face. “Even when you tell me I look like a frog.”

You snorted and hid your face in his chest. “You do, though.”

“Okay, thank you.” He huffed, feigning offence, but he didn’t let you go; didn’t loosen his hold on you.

You talked late into the night until you fell asleep, wrapped around one another and bundled under his bedclothes. Having you so close and being so open gave Harry a sense of clarity. He’d had an attraction to you since the day he met you, but this was turning into something more. Feelings were now coming up to bat, and he had a pretty solid idea of where they were heading.

~

“You are filthy.”

You wiped your brow, meeting Abbie’s gaze with indifference. “I am not letting this garden turn into a jungle again like it did last year.”

“I know, but I’ve never seen you so dirty. You’re the cleanest person I know.”

“Believe me, I’ll be jumping straight in the shower once I’m done.”

It was the warmest day of spring so far, and for once it wasn’t raining, so you’d taken the opportunity the second you had it to get outside and sort the garden out. The winter had turned it into a tangled overgrown mass of green mess, and you’d been desperate to get it sorted.

Abbie had offered to help but had realised very quickly that she was out of her depth, and eventually offered moral support in lieu of the physical kind. You didn’t mind the company - it beat waiting inside for Harry to come home, alone all day.

You chopped away at the forest that had grown, turned the soil over when you found it, and potted some new plants to give it some life. By the time Harry came home your legs were covered in dirt, cuts and fresh bruises, nail beds black, hair full of dead foliage, and just downright sweaty.

Abbie had surrendered to the house to be entertained by Rhys, and George wasn’t home. He was never home much anymore, you were all under the impression he had a boyfriend.

Harry helped you to your feet where you were kneeling in the soil, eyes giving you a thorough once over. “You look…”

“Filthy. Yes, I know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I like it.”

“Really?”

He followed you as you collected your gardening tools and hid them in the shed tucked against the side of the house. “Absolutely. You’re so clean and put together all the time, it’s kinda nice seeing you a bit roughed up.”

You hummed out a laugh. “Interesting.”

Harry boxed you up against the wall, out of sight of any of your nosey housemates. His hips trapped yours, hands holding your sides at the ribs. Without a hint of hesitation, he pressed his mouth to yours, eagerness overpowering tenderness.

You simply let him, never one to deny the most handsome man you knew a hot and heavy kiss. You enjoyed being wanted by him. Who the fuck wouldn’t?

“I’ll let you go shower.”

“Okay.” You murmured, delirious.

He pulled away, giving your hip one last squeeze before he vanished into the house. You spent five more minutes in the garden making sure you’d tidied up after yourself, and took some pictures to send to your dad.

Your shower was longer than you’d have liked thanks to the state of you, and in turn it took you longer to clean the bathroom down than usual. You were starving by the time you got back to the top floor.

Harry was at his desk when you slipped inside his room, browsing something on his laptop.

His room and yours were polar opposites of one another. Where you hid all your belongings, made your bed and kept things as minimal as possible, Harry had more shit than necessary. A bulging wardrobe, unmade bed, things everywhere. He was a man with stuff, and lots of it. Sometimes it made you itch. But he wasn’t dirty in any capacity. It smelled of fresh linen and clean air all the time.

“Do you feel better?” He asked, closing the lid on his laptop again.

“Mm. Loads better.” You gave him a warm smile as you perched on the edge of his bed.

He rolled over to you but abandoned the chair halfway to stand up. Then he crawled over you, forcing you to lie backwards and caged you against the bed.

“You smell amazing.” He said with a voice like gravel.

You ran a hand down his front and slipped it under his t-shirt, trailing your fingertips over his chest. “Thank you,”

He lowered onto his forearm, face an inch from yours and groin against your pelvis. You inhaled sharply, noticing the very obvious stiffness coming from Harry’s midsection. His hand smoothed the length of your side, down your thigh to your knee and then back up again to your arse.

He met your mouth with a kiss, deep and hungry. Dizzying. He led and he was all over you, tongue devouring yours.

“It was a lot harder than it should’ve been to not follow you into the shower.” He admitted.

You let out a soft whine and fisted his t-shirt, pulling him flush against your chest. You wanted to feel the weight of him on you. “You should’ve.”

He returned that with a growl, and his hand on your arse gripped tighter. Your name tumbled off his lips in a husky plea, “I want you so fuckin’ bad.”

Hooking your legs around his hips and pushing his centre against yours, you gave him the silent go-ahead. You looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m right here, and you can have me.”

Something inside Harry snapped. Any reservations about your desire for him vanished. His kisses became punishing and carnal. His hands on you a little rougher than before, than ever. Possessive.

You helped him out of his top and in turn he helped you out of yours. You scooched backwards up the bed as he drank you in. It wasn’t lost on you that this was the first time he’d seen your top half naked. Somehow, amongst all the nights of bed-sharing, you’d never been fully naked.

His eyes were dark, hooded. He looked at you like you were his last meal, and honestly you lived for it. You wanted to die under that gaze.

“You’re so sexy.”

You bit away a timid, flustered smile. Bashfulness wasn’t sexy.

He stalked you like a wild cat as you lay back. His mouth and hands descended on you again, searching and exploring every inch of you, searing hot and wet kisses into your skin.

His hands slipped into your pyjama bottoms, feeling around your arse again before he tugged them down your legs, leaving you completely stark under his burning gaze. A strangled moan fell out of him while he regarded your naked form, hands smoothing and squeezing your hips, your waist, your boobs.

“You’re so fucking soft.” He said the words like praise.

You laid your hands on his as they travelled over you, and he pushed his mouth back to yours in that same eager dance as before. He ground himself against you, hard as a rock underneath his joggers, and it was doing all sorts to your core. Your heartbeat fell down and down again to your middle, slick heat flourishing between your legs.

“Please, Harry,” you begged him, pushing his hand down.

“What do you need?” He asked, a little cruelly, as if he didn’t know exactly what you needed.

“Touch me.”

The man gargled at you. He was fucking strangled. He traced between your thighs delicately to the point it tickled, and swiped a finger easily in a stripe up your folds, wetness collecting.

“Like that?”

“Yes.” You wriggled under him, desperate for more. “More.”

He played with your clit teasingly, enjoying the way you squirmed. “More?” He asked as he slid a finger into your waiting heat.

A small cry left you. It wasn’t enough and he knew it. “More.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

You whined. Now you were the one being carnal. You gripped his head tightly and kept your mouth to his, tongue abrasive and lashing.

While he wound you up in the most irritating way, you found your own ways to move him on. Your feet dug into the backs of his thighs and pushed downwards at an attempt to budge his joggers off. You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him in all his solid glory, right now.

“Are you trying to take my bottoms off with your feet?”

“Yes.” You grunted.

“Oh,” he gave you a dark laugh as his kisses trailed back down your front, “that’s gonna cost you.”

He licked around your belly button, the warmth of his hands vanishing from your body to push his joggers down. He gave your cunt the shortest, most mind-blowing piece of attention with his mouth, dragging noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make. Then he turned you over without warning, on your front, and tugged your arse up to rest against his crotch.

You gasped, excited by the somewhat aggressive nature he’d taken on. Your Harry - soft and gentle as they got - man-handling you. You peered at him over your shoulder as he produced a square foil wrapper from somewhere and ripped it open with his teeth. He watched you watching him as he rolled it down his shaft, drawing your attention to it - visually, anyway - for the first time. You had to swallow the lump in your throat.

“This what you wanted, darlin’?” He asked as he smoothed his hand over your arse, but his gaze never left you. “You want me to fill you up with my cock?”

“God yes.” You said without a hint of a waver.

“You want it like this?” He lined himself up, fisting himself at the base, and glided the head of him through your wet, parted, waiting folds.

“Yes.” You whimpered. “Please. Please please please.”

He made that noise again, his large fist grabbing your hip as he hovered at your entrance, and then he thrust himself inside you.

A ripping, searing pain had you wanting to scream so loudly you had to shove your face into the mattress to muffle it. An ache blossomed in place of the initial pain, one that was all too familiar and yet quite unfamiliar. It had been absent, like a friend who lived too far away. Now it homed itself inside of you like it belonged there. Perhaps it did, and the only way to quell it was to entertain it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel good.” He hissed, his hands squeezing your hips and your bum in turn.

Harry pulled out, enough that only his head remained inside you, and then he gave another powerful thrust until he completely filled you. “So fucking good, my God.”

He started moving, in steady, sharp movements. He didn’t want slow. Hell, you didn’t want slow. You wanted fast and hot and sweaty, and that’s exactly what he gave you.

Harry started fucking into you so viciously you could feel it in every part of your body, from the jiggle of your tits to the shake of your arse to the rock of your hips. Oh, and the stretch of his cock as he buried deeper and deeper inside you. Every part of your body was aflame with need, a desire, a craving to be fucked into oblivion.

His hands were on your hips again, fingertips digging into your skin. He rocked you back and forth in time with his thrusts, not that you needed him to. You were doing that all on your own.

He grunted and hissed through every single powerful drive of his cock into your cunt, your name tumbling out of his mouth over and over again.

“Harry,” you whimpered, “harder.”

He growled and obeyed, pistoning inside of you.

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” You cried, head burrowing again.

You felt him on you, all over you then, his chest against your back, lips kissing your shoulders and his arms with a vice grip around your middle. His skin was tacky, as was yours. You were surrounded by a cloud of packed heat, like a humid summer day.

“You are…” Harry began to say, panting in your ear, and his head shook against you, “fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

You moaned, lifting up and twisting your head in search of him. He caught your chin and brought your lips to his in another deep, claiming kiss. You wanted every kiss to be like that from then on - owning, possessing, asserting. You were his and you wanted him to know it.

He gave another round of punishing thrusts before he made a winded noise, “Turn over,” he pleaded, “I want to see your face.”

A whimper fell out of your mouth when his thickness disappeared from inside you, and he helped you onto your back before he got straight back in there. He was low over you, chest on your chest, hand on the back of your thigh, and his eyes roamed your face while it contorted with pleasure.

He hooked your leg over his hip and went harder. Harder, faster, harder, faster. Your head lolled back and a string of curse words fell out of your mouth. His lips danced across your chest and you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him there. There was nothing better than being worshipped by a mouth. Especially Harry’s mouth.

He licked and sucked over your skin until your boobs and sternum were littered with little purple spots of lust, and honestly you didn’t care. You wanted them all over you. You wanted yours all over him.

His hips never stopped moving - pushing, pushing, pushing you towards a beautiful, glorious high like a high-speed train ploughing towards a dangerous cliff edge. God, you wanted that edge and you wanted it now. You wanted to be flung off it whilst securely attached to the man currently pushing you there.

You pulled Harry’s mouth back to yours, holding your body to him as you clenched, milking him towards his end and yours. You needed it. Your head was about to explode with rampant thoughts and you needed to wash them away.

“Fuck, Harry,” you whispered, neck and shoulders spiked with heat. It radiated off you.

“I know.” He groused and bit your lower lip. “I’m fucking close. So fucking close, and I’m gonna blow if you keep doing that.”

“Please do it,” you begged, clenching again to feel his growl in your mouth, “come, Harry.”

And boy did he fucking come.

His body wracked with a shudder, movements ceasing as you wrapped yourself tightly around him. His muscles rippled beneath your fingertips while he came, oblivious to your own masterful undoing.

You calmed together, lips moving in tender kisses until your breath was caught again and your limbs were sore. You deflated when Harry abandoned you to clean himself up, and you dipped into your bedroom to do the same when you found the strength.

When he came back you snuggled up to him in his bed, between his legs with your head on his chest. His lips grazed through your hair, breathing light and content.

“I am… fucking obsessed with you.” He mumbled.

You traced your fingers over the hair and the swallows on his chest, a warmth filling you, like an acceptance. Being wanted hadn’t mattered to you until now. Until Harry.

“I… am also quite infatuated with you. And I have been for some time. Just… quietly.”

“You been sniffin’ my bed sheets while I’m at work?”

You giggled and nuzzled closer to him. “No. Not recently, anyway.”

“Not recently?”

“I’ve never sniffed your bed sheets, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I’m weird, but I’m not that weird.”

“But you’ve been infatuated with me for ages.”

“Not enough to go into your room and sniff your bed sheets.”

“Did you do anything a bit weird?”

“No.”

“Really? Not even… a little… you know?”

You gave him a bewildered look, and he waggled his eyebrows at you.

Haha. You totally did that, you creep.

“Maybe.” You murmured, hiding your face again.

He chuckled and held onto you tightly. “I did, too. Feeling’s always been mutual, darlin’.”

You heaved a content sigh. “I’m glad it was. I really do like this. Us.”

“Me too.”

~

Harry had been living life with a permanent spring in his step. He had you, living in the same house and sharing a bed, cooking at dinner time, shagging at night time, and just generally being wonderful, fantastic, gorgeous, brilliant you.

Tonight you were at your dad’s house with your sister so he was cooking alone, but George was in the living room watching one of those daft culinary competition programs on Channel 4, the commentary filtering out with an occasional expletive. Abbie and Rhys were out but would likely be home soon. You’d be back eventually, too, and he liked knowing that nowadays you came home to him.

Rhys and Abbie came back first. Harry had decided to join George in the living room, too intrigued by the shouty drama on Come Dine With Me to ignore it.

Abbie gasped at the TV. “This is the one!” She squealed.

“What one?” Rhys demanded. “Oh, yes!”

“What am I missing?” Harry asked, a little bewildered.

George shushed everyone with a finger to his lips. “I’ve been talking him through it but I want him to see.” He flailed a hand in the couple’s direction.

All four pairs of eyes glued to the TV, a vetted interest in the argument unfolding. The contestants from that week’s episodes were gathering in the final host's living room, bank notes spread in a circle atop a silver tray and holding up a scroll wrapped in red ribbon.

The front door of the house opened again, and in you waltzed, a baffled look on your face. Very rarely did you come home to find everyone in the living room.

Abbie squeaked your name, begging you to join before it kicked off on the telly. “Come on, quick.” She patted the space between her and Harry, conveniently.

His eyes were no longer interested in the TV drama, only in you.

“In fourth place is… me.”

“Ah,” you said in recognition of the scene on the telly as you sat down. Your arm brushed against Harry’s as you tucked your right foot under your left thigh, and caught yourself before you settled into his side like you normally would.

A chorus of patronising oohs filled the room from the contestants on the screen. The host was shaking his head.

“Wait, is this the-,”

“You won, Jane.”

Barking laughter filled the room from the housemates, including Harry, but the host didn’t stop there.

“Dear Lord, what a sad little life, Jane.”

“You’ve got that on a T-shirt!” Harry swatted George’s arm.

“Damn right I do.” He grinned. “Cultural icon.”

“You, or the bloke having an aneurysm?”

“Both.”

“... grace of a reversing dump truck.”

More squeals filled the room, as if the entire scene hadn’t been a meme for years now.

Abbie patted your shoulder. “Did you see the video of Penn Badgley doing this?”

“Obviously.”

“Wait, I wanna see.” Rhys frowned.

Episode forgotten, Abbie found the clip on her phone and showed it to everyone.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to hear it in that voice forever now.” George muttered, a wistful look in his eyes.

“Shall we watch a movie or something?” Abbie suggested, a hopeful look in her eye. “We never do anything all together… it would be nice.”

“I’m up for that.” Rhys grinned, because why would he ever turn down one of his girlfriend’s ideas?

“Yeah, me too.” George nodded.

All eyes turned to you and Harry. You couldn’t very well say no now, it would look odd. Especially if you both did, which is what you both wanted to do. There were two perfectly good beds upstairs, one of which needed to be destroyed. That wasn’t very well going to happen if you both sat on the couch and watched a film with your housemates.

“Yeah, sure.” You finally said, because you hated the way everyone was looking at you.

“Go for it.” Harry managed, much worse at hiding his disapproval than you were.

“How are we going to decide, then? ‘Cause I don’t really watch the horror films you two are into,” George pointed between Abbie and Rhys, “and Harry probably only watches underground indie movies or something.”

Harry had no idea what gave him that impression, but the laugh that came out of your mouth - hearty, loud and delighted - was worth the assumption.

“Why don’t we all write a movie name down on a piece of paper that we’ll all like - a comedy or something - and do a raffle.”

“Okay, but who’s choosing?”

Harry rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen. George and Abbie fought for five minutes, both arguing that one of them should choose, and then the decision was given to you as the honorary house mediator. Everyone wrote their choices down on a scrap of paper and dropped them all into one of Rhys’s beanies. Then you closed your eyes, body screaming reluctance at having to be the decision-maker, and plucked a folded square out.

Your mouth lifted at the corners. “Shrek 2.”

Snacks were brought in, beers were shared out, and someone pressed play on the film where it had been queued up.

“Wait!” George screamed.

You all looked at him, bewildered by his dramatics. He’d even stood up.

“What?” Rhys gave him a baffled look.

“I wanna sit in the armchair.” George pointed to the very one Rhys sat in. “I don’t wanna sit in a couple sandwich. A third wheel is bad enough, but a fifth wheel is a disaster.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, laughter nervous and the ultimate giveaway.

“Oh fuck off if you two think we don’t all know you’re a thing.”

Your body tensed. Harry could feel it, the way you went from soft to rigid in a split second. “What?”

“We’ve known for ages.” Abbie said with a sweet smile.

“Yeah, like, the second Harry moved in.” George rolled his eyes.

“But we haven’t been-,”

“-Maybe not the whole time, but definitely recently. I can hear the floorboards creak, you know.” George gave you an accusatory glance. Curse him living directly beneath you. “Amongst other things.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or whether he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had turned pink, and you looked like you were in shock. “Right…”

“I am slightly offended that you didn’t want us to know.” Rhys folded his arms. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

He had a point. What did you think was going to happen? Mild ribbing and inappropriate jokes? It wasn’t exactly any of their business what the two of you were doing on the top floor, but that didn’t mean you’d needed to hide everything from them. Why had you stopped yourselves from being affectionate when around them? They were your friends. You all had inside jokes and a group chat and emoji code names. They were like a second family in a way. Even though you all enjoyed your own company, you liked each other too.

“I think… for a while we didn’t really know what was happening.” Harry finally spoke, twisting in his place. “We just started hanging out and it kinda grew from there.”

“I called this on day one, by the way.” George said smugly.

“It’s true, he did.” Abbie nodded, still smiling. “Two good-looking people at the top of the house? Recipe for heaven.”

“We’re happy it finally happened. Just… don’t hide shit like that from us. We’re all friends.” George was back to scowling.

“Friends.” Rhys cooed, like Jay from The Inbetweeners.

“Anyway, now that’s all out there, can we start the film please? Or it’s gonna be my bedtime.” Abbie flailed her hand around.

The movie started, everyone settled into their places, and you managed to find a comfortable position against Harry’s side.

Even though you chatted along with conversations and laughed at the telly, Harry knew something was off. You were still tense, and you didn’t touch him like you normally would. He wanted you in his arms, not pushed awkwardly against his side. He wasn’t sure if it was because you were uncomfortable displaying affection in front of other people, but whatever it was he wanted to make it go away.

He shifted at one point in an attempt to wrap an arm around your middle, but instead you moved further away. That utterly terrified him.

As the movie credits rolled, everyone started to move, ready to get to bed for the night. Except you.

“Guys,” You said, quiet as a mouse, but everyone heard you. Because you never stopped anyone for anything, “can we all have a chat?”

Dread nestled itself into Harry’s stomach. A chat? About what? Everyone? Why did everyone have to be present? What was going on?

The housemates sat back down, if a little tentatively, gazes wary. You finally gave Harry your attention, if only fleetingly with a worried smile.

“Are you alright?” Abbie asked and pulled your hand into hers.

Harry leaned forwards.

“You’ll all be getting an email tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you in person.” You licked your lips, stare heavy on the stone floor of the living room. “Dad is selling the house.”

~

A little piece of your heart broke that evening when your dad told you his plans to sell. It was a place that you had such an odd relationship with, because while it cost a lot of money and caused a lot of financial problems, it also brought you a family you never asked for and a man you never dreamed of having.

You knew your dad would try and hold onto it as long as he possibly could because it had become your home, and he’d been in bits over dinner as he broke the news. He cried, so you cried, and then your sister cried, too. Everyone had been a mess.

“What?” George said, dumbfounded. Hell, everyone was dumbfounded.

“It’s the last thing he wanted to do, but it’s kind of burning a hole in his pocket and we can’t afford it anymore. Between the leaking second floor and dodgy plumbing there’s also woodworm and stone repairs and all sorts of other crap I don’t want to bore you with.”

“You found this out today?” Abbie asked, bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah, an hour or so ago. I’m really sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Rhys frowned.

Abbie crawled across the small gap between her and you and wrapped her arms around you. “We get it. It’s old, it’s a bit rickety and it needs a lot of TLC. We all know your dad gave it all the care he could afford and it’s okay that he can’t afford it anymore.”

“How long do we have to find new places?” George asked, biting his lip.

“As long as it takes to sell. Given the condition of the place it could be fuckin’ ages.” You managed a laugh.

“If your dad needs us to do anything, he just needs to let us know. And we’ll make sure it’s tidy as fuck for viewings and shit.”

“Thanks, Rhys.”

The housemates starting shifting again, collecting up their bits and leaving with softly spoken good nights. You still didn’t move, and neither did Harry. After a quiet minute or so, he slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What are you thinking?” He asked in a gravelly whisper.

You took a deep breath, nibbling away at your lower lip. “That I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Mhm.”

“Scared about what?”

You turned to face him, cataloguing every crease of worry on his handsome face. “Us. What this means for us.”

He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “What do you think it means for us?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m scared it means the end, when I don’t want it to. I’m scared that what we’ve been doing is just… convenient? And now that we have to leave it won’t be so convenient anymore and it will be over.”

“You don’t want it to be over.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. Not even a little bit. I… I don’t want a night without you ever again. I can sleep with you around. I can breathe. I need to breathe, and I can’t do that without you. And part of me hates that I need you, but I do, and the rest of me that doesn’t hate it tells me to fuck everything to the wind. Because it’s not just need, it’s also a want. I just want you around, like you have been. Presence is such a funny thing when it comes from different people, but yours… I like yours. A lot.”

Harry spoke your name in a low voice, gaze on your mouth as he smoothed his thumb across your lower lip, “I don’t want it to be over, either.” He meets your gaze again, cool, calm and collected. “I really hoped it wouldn’t be at any stage ever, least not because we have to leave the house and find another one. I’ve been living with you for three fucking years and I also don’t want to have to spend a night where you don’t live with me. Hell, it’s not even a fucking option. I know you love this place because it’s your family’s, but I don’t care where we live as long as we do it together. I’ve been looking at other places since the day I moved in, and the only reason I haven’t bothered to leave is because you kept me here, whether you meant to or not. And now we have to leave, and I’m sure as shit gonna take you with me, because I can’t live without you.”

You stared at him for a moment, and then launched into his arms, tackling him into the sofa. You peppered his face with kisses until he caught your lips and held you there, happy in the knowledge that you needed each other and that was absolutely fucking okay.

“You’re special to a lot of people, but especially to me.” Harry mumbled into your lips. “I’m selfish enough to not let you go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Good.”

You remained in the lounge for a little while longer, wrapped up in one another, until movement began upstairs and you decided it was probably time to head upstairs to bed. Before you made it to the stairs, Rhys and George appeared in front of you. Rhys looked apprehensive and George looked irritated he’d been dragged out of his room again.

“What’s going on?” You asked, cocking your head.

“Abbie’s in the loo so I’m gonna make this real quick before she comes back.” Rhys threw a wary glance over his shoulder. “I need your help.”

~

Every morning was the same.

This week it had been, anyway. You woke up with the sunrise, wrapped in Harry’s arms, and you listened to his heartbeat and his unconscious breathing for a blissful twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Then he’d fall out of bed with a reluctant yawn, mooch his way around the room and disappear into the bathroom to get ready for work.

Upon reappearing he’d head to the kitchen to make a coffee and leave a cup of tea on your bedside table, then a kiss on your lips, and then you’d watch the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ leave your apartment from the comfiest spot in the bedroom.

Today was the same, but different. He wasn’t going to work today, and neither were you. It meant longer in bed, with enough time for sexy shenanigans, then he’d make for the bathroom, bring you tea afterwards and breakfast.

You spent the day in bed, right up until 5 o’clock when you had to get up and go out to give your keys back.

Yes, your dad had managed to sell the house. It had taken a while, but it got there. The new owners were moving in tomorrow, and you’d all arranged to meet your dad and your sister there to do a final ‘handover’.

George had moved into a studio flat in the centre of town but spent most of his nights at his boyfriend’s place. Rhys and Abbie had finally bought that house they always wanted, out of town but easy to travel into. And you and Harry also had your own place, still renting and in the city, but it was yours together, and that was all you wanted.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asked as you walked up to the front of old Blackpool Tower.

“I’m not the one that needs to be nervous.” You shrugged, even if you had been the one to help Rhys with most of the planning.

He’d been a lot of work over the past few weeks. After he initially asked for your help he spent so long searching for the damn jewellery he forgot about the rest of it. You had reminded him on many occasions that it didn’t need a big song and dance, but he insisted, because he wanted it in the house you’d all shared with her favourite people to witness it.

The garden was lit up in the early evening with fairy lights and candles. George, your sister and your dad were already at the far end waiting for Rhys and Abbie to arrive. You gave over your keys - dad had the house professionally cleaned even though you had offered, because it was too big a task for one person.

Blackpool Illuminations

Rhys We’re nearly there…

Yes, Rhys had really named the group chat for the planning committee ‘Blackpool Illuminations’.

You stood next to your sister who wrapped herself around your middle, and Harry kept hold of your free hand.

“I hope she says no.” Your sister said, and Harry snorted. “Just for a laugh.”

“I don’t think Abbie has it in her to say no to Rhys.” You mused.

Five minutes later the couple in question turned up. Abbie had no idea what was going on, obviously. She’d been told they were going for dinner and then for a walk. The walk was always supposed to end here, at the old house.

Abbie gasped at the sight before her, hands on her mouth as she moved through the garden. “What’s going on?”

Behind her, Rhys swiftly dropped to one knee and presented the ring he’d spent months agonising over. “Abbie,”

You all watched and listened as Rhys spent five minutes talking about how perfect his girl was for him. It was very typical Rhys - overboard and unnecessarily long. Most things maybe could’ve been kept for his wedding vows.

Just as your sister was about to explode from restlessness, Rhys finally asked, “Will you marry me?”

“I would’ve said yes five minutes ago.” Abbie giggled, nodding, and held her left hand out.

George and your sister started hollering, your dad was pretending not to cry, and you fell into Harry’s hold again, watching the happy couple with a warm smile.

“I hope to God they don’t ask me to help plan the actual wedding.”

Harry chuckled and pressed his lips into your temple. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

Your sister presented herself in front of you with an assured look on her face. “When are you two getting engaged, then?”

Harry choked behind you, and you gave your sister a bewildered look. “Reel it in, please.”

“What?” She shrugged. “Being in love suits you. A wedding would really suit you.”

“A wedding isn’t something you arrange for an aesthetic, sis.” You reminded her.

“Speak for yourself, but I do recommend heavily considering it.”

After she turned away, Harry lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

You tightened his arms around you. “One day.” You said with a kiss to his palm.

His smile imprinted on your cheek. “One day.”

~.~.~.~.~

Thank you so v much for reading if you make it this far. It’s a long one, I know. The longest one shot I’ve actually ever done. Much love to you <3

[livingdreams97]

Wednesday Addams -- "The wolf in my bed" (Part 3)

Wednesday Addams x Male reader/oc

Summary: The new girl at Nevermore Academy is forced to live with a person who is the complete opposite of herself. But what will happen when the brother of said roommate has a personality similar to Wednesday's?

Words: 3.679

PREVIOUS /// NEXT

Masterlist

Wednesday POV

My research on the monster was progressing, but it was not doing so at the expected speed and every time I managed to advance one step, I was forced to take two steps back.

I don't know how he does it, but it's like the monster knows every move I'm going to make and I don't like that at all.

For example, the homeless man who lived in the old meeting house; who was murdered two nights ago. The monster sees me in the ruins and that same night kills the person who lived in that same place?

It's not a coincidence.

But thanks to that event, I got all the information about the bodies in the morgue and I have deciphered a pattern. It's subtle, but reading the reports and seeing the photos of the bodies it's easy to decipher.

Each victim has had a part of their bodies removed. The first victim was missing a kidney, the second a finger, the third his gallbladder and the homeless man from the meeting house two toes.

I don't know why the murderer needs these parts, but I plan to find out.

Thornhill 's class is anything but new information, since everything she is saying about orchids and their pollination is something I learned when I was 9 years old.

I hear a complaining sound from my left, causing me to look towards the person sitting next to me through my peripheral vision and seeing the school artist.

Xabier: I hurt my back fencing.- he excuses himself quickly without me asking him.

Mrs.Thornhill: The orchid produces pheromones that imitate a female insect, thus attracting males.- continues with her explanation. -Once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in return?- questions waiting for the answer from one of the students.

Bianca: Nothing. - she answers before anyone else. -Like all the boys at the dance.- she finishes amusingly, causing most of the students to laugh at it.

Mrs.Thornhill: Okay, okay.- she says to get the attention of all the students. -I know you're all looking forward to Saturday, that's why I'm not going to send you homework.- she informs us, causing a small celebration on the part of the rest. -But I'm going to need volunteers for the decoration committee, anyone interested can come see me.- she says with a smile ending the class.

As soon as class ends, everyone gets up from their seats and immediately starts talking to each other.

Xavier: What? Aren't you going to participate? - he asks me directly. -Don't you like disco balls and surprise punch? - he asks with some sarcasm. -There will even be a DJ, Mc Blood Suckaz - comments with some amusement .

Wednesday: I prefer to stick needles in my eyes.- I respond immediately. -Although maybe I will do it anyway.- I comment casually, knowing that I would prefer it a thousand times over going to the dance.

Xabier: Invite someone to have a little fun.- he says bending down to put the book in his backpack and that's when I see it.

On the right side of his neck, which was being hidden by his shirt and jacket; three scratches. That has not been done in fencing.

I get up from my chair, deciding to follow my classmate and try to find out how those injuries could have been caused. He's hiding something and I plan to find out what he's hiding at all costs.

POV You

I grunt tiredly, hiding my face in my arms and resting on one of the tables in the square. This is getting repetitive too fast.

Enid: Do you want to stop growling, you're exaggerating.- she assures me, hitting my arm.

Y/n: Then stop asking me the same thing fifty times.- I growl again, raising my head from my arms and giving her a dirty look.

Enid: I haven't asked you more than 3 times! - she exclaims in defense and I look at her, raising an eyebrow.

Y/n: Three times in the last five minutes.- I point out. -But you've been asking me the same thing for five days.- I remind her breathing deeply, not wanting to lose the little patience I have left.

Enid: I'll stop asking you when you do it.- she assures me, crossing her arms and with a smile full of superiority.

Y/n: And why do you want me to ask Wednesday if she wants to go to the dance with me? - I asked her confused with the reason behind her insistence. -What do you get out of all this? - I say without understanding anything.

Enid: Because you would be a perfect couple and because unlike you, I would love for my best friend and brother to be together. - She answers with a huge smile.

Y/n: Three things- I list with my fingers. -First, what makes you think that Wednesday of all people wants to go to the dance, this being an unnecessary social event for her?- I ask, raising a finger. -Second, at what point has your mind thought that your best friend wants to be in a romantic relationship with someone, when she almost didn´t agree to be your friend?- I raise the second finger.

Enid: Because I know... - she starts in her defense but I tell her to shut up.

Y/n: I'm talking.- I remember, looking straight into her eyes. -And third, haven't you learned from what Ajax did to you?- I ask her with some anger in my voice, but my anger is not directed at her.

Because even with all my warnings not to go out with any of my friends, she asked Ajax on a date and he stood her up. The worst thing of all is that my best friend doesn't want to tell me why he stood her up and I haven't spoken to him in several days because of that.

No one plays with my sister's feelings, and Ajax 's black eye is an example of the consequences of that.

Enid: You didn't need to say the last point.- she growls at me angrily and with a certain gleam of pain in her eyes. -But whether you want to listen to me or not, there is something between you two and you can't deny it.- he assures me, looking me directly in the eyes.

Y/n: Well, look how I deny it.- I say with a false smile. -There is nothing between Wednesday and me.- I assure seriously.

Enid: You don't even believe that yourself.- she snorts, shaking her head. -It took her a month to let me hold her arm and you slept in her bed the first week, plus I can see the looks you give each other.- She points her finger at me accusingly.

Y/n: What looks are you talking about? - I ask, completely confused with what my sister means.

Enid: Oh please, the looks you give each other every time the other isn't looking and the intense but strange way of flirting you have.- she comments with exasperation.

Y/n: I don't flirt, I just have fun getting on Wednesday 's nerves.- I shrug with an amused smile.

Enid: That's called flirting.- she assures me as if it were obvious. -And don't deny it because you know we can spend the whole day like this.- she points her finger at me again so I can close my mouth. -So are you going to ask her to go to the dance with you or not? - she asks again with a big smile.

Y/n: I'll think about it.- I accept tiredly. -But you promise me that if I do, you won't bother me anymore with the looks that you say we give each other and the supposed flirtation.- I stretch my hand towards her, watching her bite her lip and think carefully about whether to accept or not.

I can see the internal struggle she is having in her head through her eyes and every slightest gesture on her face. I just wait in silence and keeping my hand outstretched.

Enid: I promise.- she growls after a while, accepting my hand. -But only if you ask, otherwise I can continue bothering you.- she says with a smile, shaking our hands energetically.

Y/n: Whatever. - I deny amused by her attitude and getting up from the bench.

Enid: Where are you going? - She asks me confused when I let go of our hands.

Y/n: I have homework to do.- I respond, raising my shoulders.

Enid: But Professor Thornhill hasn't sent us anything.- She remembers me confused.

Y/n: Do you only have botany class? - I ask amused by the look f confusion on her face. -I'm leaving.- I say goodbye, entering the school hallways.

I walk towards my room, thinking about what my sister told me and as if on cue I see the person we were talking about.

Y/n: Wednesday! - I exclaimed, calling her and running to catch up with her. -How are you going with the investigation?- I ask her when I get to her side.

Wednesday: Good.- she nods her head, continuing walking. -I have new clues and I have discovered something about the deaths.- she tells me and I walk next to her.

Y/n: Do the dates or the shape of the wounds form some pattern?- I ask interested.

Wednesday: No. - she denies in response and doesn't say anything else.

She continues walking in the direction of Ophelia Hall, so I understand that she doesn't want to continue talking and I decide to stop walking. I watch her walk away and turn around to resume my walk to my room.

Wednesday: Where are you going? - I hear her question from behind me so I turn around seeing her with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

Y/n: To my room.- I respond confused. -I thought that since you haven't continued talking and haven't stopped walking, you wanted me to leave you alone.- I explain simply.

Wednesday: At any other time you would be correct about the message of my actions, but this is not the case.- she assures me with her monotonous tone of voice. -Now follow me.- she practically orders me, turning around and resuming her walk towards her room.

I quickly look around, making sure no one is around and run again to catch up with her.

We do the rest of the way to the room she shares with my sister in complete silence. Once inside the room, she walks over to a cork board and looks over her shoulder at me.

I approach, looking at the board and appreciating the reports and photos of what I assume are the victims of the monster.

Wednesday: There have been a total of four murders, but none of them are related to each other other than by the monster that killed them. - she explains to me, pointing to the files of the victims . -The attacks have happened on random days, there is no pattern regarding a specific number of days between one murder and another, nor any lunar phase or anything like that. - she continues explaining to me and I see each date of the murders on each victim.

Y/n: That means that wolves, for example, are ruled out since all the murders would had to be during the full moon. - I comment, reading the forensic file of the second victim.

Wednesday: Exactly, although it is clear that there are some wolves that do not need the full moon to transform. - she comments with a knowledge that I did not know she had. - You, for example. - she points her finger at me.

Y/n: How do you know that? - I ask confused, since not many people know it and it´s better to keep it that way.

Since it is very rare that a werewolf can make a complete transformation at any time, without the need for a full moon and it is something that must be kept secret.

It is very dangerous for it to be known, since it would be a perfect excuse for the normies to blame us for any crime like this and also such information can be dangerous in the hands of another supernatural being .

Wednesday: Enid.- responds simply.

Y/n: Of course.- I growl, annoyed with my sister, since she knows she can't tell anyone.

Wednesday: But it is clear that it is not a werewolf, since the claw wounds that the victims present are more spacious than those of a werewolf. - she explains to me, pointing to an abdomen, or what remains of it . -But I have noticed that in each victim, the murderer has extracted a part of their bodies and that none of them match.- she explains to me.

Y/n: You mean, the killer has taken a part of each victim 's body? - I asked confused. -As a type of amulet or reminder?- I question looking at the girl next to me, who is with her arms crossed.

Wednesday: It seems that way, but I still don't know the exact reason. - she answers me simply.

Y/n: I may not be right.- I comment thoughtfully. -But don't serial killers usually take the same thing from all their victims? - I ask without stopping looking at the photos.

Wednesday: Not always, most prefer to take any of the victim 's personal belongings. But when it's a part of the body, it varies depending on the murderer. - She explains to me and I nod, looking at her when I hear the sound of a piece of paper.

Y/n: What is that? - I ask her when I see how she takes out some pages from inside her school jacket.

Wednesday: Some very realistic and detailed drawings that I have gotten of our monster. - she responds, hanging the two drawings on the board.

Y/n: Where did you get them from? - I ask looking at said drawings.

Wednesday: From Xabier's hut.- she answers and I look at her quickly.

Y/n: He painted this? - I ask her without stopping to look at her and blindly pointing at the drawings.

She just makes a sound of confirmation, tearing her gaze from mine and moving it to my friend's sketches.

I imitate her action, returning my gaze to the paintings and paying attention to every detail of the monster.

I know that many times Xabier has very realistic lucid dreams that he then draws. But dreams are usually related to things he has seen or knows. Which would mean that he has somehow seen the monster.

Y/n: Do you think he has something to do with the monster?- I ask her in a low voice, not knowing if I want to know the answer.

Wednesday: It is possible.- it confirms my fears. -Today he had a fairly large scratch on his neck and was acting a bit suspicious. In addition to the fact that those were not the only drawings, wherever you looked, the monster's face was everywhere in that hut. - she tells me and I sigh without wanting to continue with the topic.

I decide to take a couple of steps back, moving away from the board a little and trying to think of something else.

Y/n: Hey Wednesday.- I caught her attention, causing her to look at me instead of the board. -Would you like to go with me to the Raven on Saturday?- I ask her the first thing that comes to mind unconsciously to change the topic.

I open my eyes realizing what I've said and my heartbeat skyrockets. I can see that her eyes have also opened in surprise, but they have barely opened two millimeters and if I wasn't staring at her I wouldn't have noticed.

The air in the room becomes very heavy, due to the silence and lack of response from the black-haired girl. I swallow heavily, feeling my body temperature rise and my heart beat in my throat.

Wednesday: No. - responds monotonously and for some reason that I don't understand, I feel disappointment invade my body and a phantom weight in my heart, as if I had stones in it.

Y/n: I know that you are not the type of person who enjoys unnecessary social events like dancing and that you prefer to stay in your room writing your novel. - I explained quickly without thinking. -But I wanted to ask you just in case.- I lift my shoulders, feigning indifference.

Wednesday: I don't reject you for that reason.- she assures me and I look at her confused. -It's because I've already asked someone and that person has accepted.- she tells me with the same monotony as always.

I think since I've known her, it's the first time I hate how monotonous her voice is and how impassive her face is. Because for once, I would like her to express a minimum of feelings with her features so I can at least know what she thinks.

Y/n: Oh.- I murmur a few seconds after her response and processing the information she has given me.

She doesn't say anything, she just watches me in complete silence and for the first time, it makes me uncomfortable.

Never before had I felt so watched by her and so uncomfortable and embarrassed in her presence. I don't want to continue feeling her gaze on me, trying to read me, much less for her to realize that this rejection has somehow caused something in me.

Y/n: I think I've bothered you enough.- I clear my throat, taking a step back. -I have things to do.- I excuse myself, pointing to the door and walking towards it.

Wednesday looks at me, nodding and turning her attention back to the board.

I take advantage of the fact that her back is turned to flee from the room and walk towards mine, feeling the disappointment latent within me.

These feelings are the reason why I didn't want to ask her to go to the dance in the first place. I knew she was going to say no and that I would feel bad, but I didn't think will fell this bad.

I thought it would be like that day in the ruins, when Xabier appeared and they both ignored my existence, as if I were not by their side. I thought I would feel a certain heaviness for her failure to acknowledge my existence and anger for having her full attention on Xabier instead of me.

But it has not been that way. I know that what I felt the other time was jealousy and I still don't really understand why.

Although this time it wasn't jealousy, it was as if they were piercing my chest and squeezing my heart, preventing it from pumping blood to the rest of my body.

The worst thing of all is that she has asked someone to go to the dance, it was not another boy who asked her and for some strange reason she has been forced to accept. 

No. 

She was the one who asked someone to go to the dance with her and I didn't see her very upset about it when she told me.

On the other hand, how can I know what she feels if she never shows it.

Wednesday POV

After the strange interaction with Y/n and my refusal of his invitation to the Raven, he excuses himself and I am left alone in my room.

I don't spend much time alone before my extravagant roommate walks into our room and looks at me with a slightly disturbing smile.

Enid: I've seen my brother walk away from Ophelia Hall.- she comments in a sing-song voice, causing me to look at her seriously.

Wednesday: I have shared with him the progress of my research.- I respond walking towards her.

Enid: And you have only talked about the investigation? - she asks with some emotion to which I cannot find an obvious origin.

Wednesday: Yes.- I agree emphatically. -But I need your worldly wisdom for a last minute situation that has arisen.- I say, maintaining my usual seriousness and impassiveness, but without knowing very well what I have to do.

Enid: Okay? - nods with some insecurity.

Wednesday: What are the steps to follow to attend a social event like the Raven? - I ask, maintaining my position and avoiding reacting to the inhuman scream that my roommate lets out.

Enid: Oh my goodness! Wednesday Addams is going to the dance! - she exclaims, jumping on the spot and with a somewhat high-pitched voice. -Do you know what you need? - she asks me excitedly.

Wednesday: A shot to the head? - I ask sincerely.

Enid: A dress! - she exclaims full of emotion.

Wednesday: I already have one.- I assure her without reacting to her emotion.

Enid: Is it the one you showed up here with? - she asks with some fear on her face. -It was an abomination for fashion that not even I could resurrect.- she assures me. -Thing, help me.- she says to the hand on my right.

He responds with a thumbs up, implying that he agrees with her and that I cannot wear the dress in which I arrived at Nevermore .

Enid: You need something that says: First date, get out of the way bitches! - she exclaims with too much energy. -Besides, being Y/n's sister, I can help you better.- she assures me with an even bigger smile than the one he had before.

Wednesday: What does your brother have to do with all this?- I ask normally and with some confusion at the mention of the boy.

Enid: Aren't you going to the dance with him?- she asks, erasing the smile from her face and frowning in confusion .

Wednesday: No. - I deny immediately. -I'm going with Xabier, for reasons that aren't important right now.- I explain and I see how her face contorts in a similar way to her brother's when I rejected his invitation to the dance.

Although the expression on my roommate's face is lighter and she doesn't have the lost look like her brother has had for a few moments.

In addition, the range of emotions that her face shows is not exactly the same and there is a difference between the emotions of confusion, some sadness and perhaps guilt that Enid reflects, which are easy to decipher.

His brother's were more difficult, since I had only been able to clearly see the gesture of disappointment and the emotion of pain he made for a second.

But otherwise I can't say exactly what emotions he felt, much less the reasons why he felt them.

[florence-end]

May I have this dance?

Azriel x fem!reader Part 2

Request: Could you write a shy reader × Azriel story? Thank you!

Warnings: none

Summary: Azriel’s new mate is painfully shy, despite his efforts to get closer to her. Something shifts between them when Mor needs help with Cassian’s dance lessons.

You heard Mor calling for you all the way from the dining room, which definitely meant she was up to no good if she hadn’t come to your office to talk to you directly. You set aside the book you were combing through, adding it to the pile of discarded volumes that you and Amren had been scouring for clues on how to beat Koschei. As the recently appointed head scholar of the night court, quietly reading in your office took up most of your time and was exactly how you liked it. Groups of people, social occasions, too much noise, it all made you nervous and you retreated even further into yourself than usual.

Preparing yourself for the whirlwind of energy that was the high lord and lady’s third in command, you made your way to the large dining room at the other end of the corridor. Music was playing inside, and as you pushed open the large wooden door, you were met with the sight of Mor dragging Cassian around in a waltz as he tried desperately to keep up with her speed. Rhysand and Feyre were also stumbling through the steps, looking only slightly more proficient than the clumsy warlord. Off to the side, leaning against the large table that had been pushed against the wall and looking far too amused, was Azriel.

His eyes moved to you immediately as though he couldn’t help himself, and he gave you a small smile and wave. You felt the muted rush of affection flood the bond before he could clamp down on it to avoid overwhelming you, and you gave a small smile back to let him know it was okay.

You and Azriel had met on your first day in the night court a month ago, and the bond had snapped right away. Although you were happy to finally meet your soulmate, your shy demeanour and nervousness when it came to interacting with strangers had caused you to panic a little and you kept your distance at first. He respected your feelings and had committed himself to gently courting you ever since.

Mugs of your favourite tea were waiting for you on your desk every time you left your office to search the library. Little trinkets and decorations for your bedroom were left neatly wrapped for you to find, always hailing from whatever court or country Azriel had most recently visited on his missions. He had taken to spending any downtime he had in your office, settled quietly in the armchair across from your desk and helping you work through the never-ending pile of research in comfortable silence. Once, when you were feeling particularly relaxed after a few glasses of wine at dinner in the river house, he dared to take you on an aerial tour of Velaris as he flew you back to the House of Wind. Just the memory of his secure arms holding you close to the warmth of his body while the chilly breeze whipped around you made your cheeks heat up.

The music came to an end and Mor turned to see you lingering in the doorway. “Perfect, you’re here! Please don’t hate me but I really need your help,” she pleaded. Mor explained that Cassian needed to learn to dance in order to impress Nesta on the next trip to the Court of Nightmares. She had asked Rhys and Feyre to attend the lesson so Cassian could see what the steps were supposed to look as Mor taught him the routines but it turns out dancing was not a talent possessed by the high lord nor the high lady.

“In my defence, I have never needed to dance at the court of nightmares, my role is to sit on the throne and look intimidatingly handsome. And I am fantastic at it,” Rhys protested as Mor continued to criticise his two left feet. Feyre had a better excuse, given she had mostly grown up poor in the human lands.

You giggled as Mor and Rhys bickered for a few more moments before she dismissed her cousin and his wife. They quickly bade their goodbyes and left the dining room hand in hand.

“If you’re going to ask me to dance, Mor, I should say now that I don’t know any of the night court routines,” you warned, knowing where this conversation was going and not liking it one bit.

“That’s alright! Luckily for us all, Azriel possesses all the grace that his brothers do not and he knows them all. He’ll lead and all you need to do is follow,” Mor declared, giving you no time to object as she grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to your mate who was watching your face for any signs of serious discomfort. “Az, show her the hold for the waltz and I’ll run over the steps with Cassian again,” she instructed and left you both on your side of the makeshift dance floor.

“You don’t need to do this, just say the word and I’ll winnow you back to your office before she notices,” Azriel offered kindly.

“No no it’s okay, I want to help plus Nesta is my friend and it’ll make her happy. But I really don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmured back quietly, twisting your hands in front of you.

Azriel offered you his hand in a silent question, letting you make the move to touch him. You know he’s sensitive about his scars and would never want to make him feel any more self conscious by hesitating so you slipped your fingers over his palm to link with his and looked up into his warm hazel eyes.

Although he’s flown with you a few times and you eat most of your meals sat next to each other, the proximity and intimacy of the moment flustered you immediately and you broke eye contact. You missed the flash of pride on Azriel’s face at the evidence of how much his presence affected you.

“Now put your other hand on my shoulder and I’ll place mine on your waist,” he explained and you obeyed his instructions without delay.

“A little closer,” he urged, using the hand on your waist to curl around your lower back and press you further into his chest. You were so close now that his scent hovered all around you, you could feel his warm breath brush across your cheek, and his shadows caressed the hand that lay on his broad shoulder as though wanting to prevent you from withdrawing your touch.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his lips inches from your ear. Mother above, this male was going to be the death of you. Your face couldn’t be any hotter if you were actually ablaze. “When the music starts, all you need to do is close your eyes and trust me.”

The reminder of why you were here burst your bubble as you felt your nerves return. “What if I trip or step on your feet?” You questioned anxiously, beginning it pull back from him.

His hands remained firm, keeping you in place. Once again, his whispers sent shivers along every inch of your skin. “I would never let you trip. And it would be an honour to have you step on my feet,” he teased, helping you relax.

“Okay are we ready to try this from the top?” Mor called from across the room. Azriel nodded on behalf of you both, and reminded you to close your eyes.

As the music began, you quickly started to wonder if the Illyrians gave as much dance training as they did for combat because Azriel was flawless. He moved with a quiet grace and certainty, leading you with such confidence that you didn’t have a chance to feel shy or anxious. Cassian’s cursing and stomping footsteps nearby told you that Azriel’s skills may not have been Illyrian-taught after all but you were feeling too giddy to give it much more thought.

One dance turned into two which turned into five. When the music came to an end half an hour later, Azriel released his hold on your waist and leaned back slightly to take in your dazed expression as your eyes fluttered open, chuckling lowly.

You hadn’t noticed that Mor and Cassian had left sometime while you were dancing, and for once in your life you weren't worrying about looking foolish or trying to find the right thing to say. All of your thoughts were consumed by this miraculous male in front of you who had quite literally whisked you off your feet. And to make it even better, he was looking at you as if you were miraculous too.

[dreeki]

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ my best friend's brother. [part 1]

pairing: bsf's brother!jake x f!reader

warnings: loser jake(not so loser, i don't know how to write jake as a loser... sorry), sunghoon is jake's brother and a year older than him, jake and y/n are the same age

syn: your best friend is busy with uni while you start your senior year of high school. what happens when your unexpected study partner turns out to be his brother?

note: not proofread! hope you like it 🙌 leave your thoughts in the comments pls!!

☆ you and sunghoon became friends during your freshman year of high school, despite being a year younger than him. he was the one that welcomed you to the unfamiliar place and the two of you bonded quite fast. ever since then, he would always hang around your house and you spent almost all of your time with him, whether you were celebrating an achievement or trying to comfort each other. neither of you liked to talk about your families, feeling like the topic would sadden the mood, thus why the only time family had been brought up was when sunghoon mentioned that he has a younger brother that is currently living in a different city, due to their parents being split up, each taking one of the brothers to live with them. he rapidly showed you a picture of his brother, jake, but you could barely catch a glimpse of his face before the photo was snatched out of your line of vision.

fast forward to the summer before senior year, you and sunghoon were still close friends, not even noticing that the boy had graduated high school already, since his university was in the same city. you would still regularly hang out and chat daily until your bodies would remind you it's time to rest. many people wondered how the two of you were so close, yet weren't dating; neither of you have ever thought about it. your relationship with each other just wasn't that way. you were simply good friends and you had always been grateful for that.

two weeks before the start of your final year of high school, sunghoon told you that his younger brother is gonna move back in with him. "why now though?" you asked a bit confused. "jake said he found a really good university here and thought i'd be easier for him to move now, rather than next year" "oh.. yea, sure, it makes sense" and that was the last conversation on the topic.

assignments had started to get sunghoon stressed once the first year of university started. he was extra busy now, making it harder for you to communicate the same way you did during summer break. of course you weren't going to blame him; you could imagine how hard uni was and how it must be so exhausting for him, especially as a first year student. you were just a bit bummed that you hadn't had the chance to meet his brother yet. sunghoon mentioned that he wanted you to meet jake at a fancy dinner, so now you had to wait until your best friend was finally free from the hell that university is.

senior year wasn't as bad as you expected. yes, the teachers wanted more from every one of you, but it was honestly less stressful than what you thought it was gonna be. since sunghoon was currently drowning in books, you decided that spending more time at the library, studying, will help you a lot too; getting better grades and filling the hole left by sunghoon's abscence. it was also nice that you got to see the handsome face of an unknown boy every time you studied there.

the third week after school started, you could almost swear that your physics teacher was trying to kill you with the amount of homework she gave you weekly. that particular wednesday though, it was worse. you spent a few hours at the library trying to finish your work but it was just way too complicated for you to finish it by yourself.

that's when you noticed the handsome boy was also doing his physics homework; the only difference was that he seemed to know what he was doing... without even wanting to, you had been staring at that boy for a good 3 minutes now, thinking how god was so unfair. "why not me?!" you squealed before you could stop yourself. looking around to see if you had disturbed anyone you notice the boy looked up at you with puppy eyes, confused as to why you seemed so distressed.

he tried to get back to his assignment but your sighs and cries were a bit too distracting. that's when you were suddenly approached by the handsome stranger. "hi.." he awkwardly said. "i couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be struggling with your paper, no?"

damn it. now pretty boy knows you're not as good as you try to make yourself look. "haha.. yea.. physics just isn't my best suit, you know." "totally!" he looked so dreamy with his long brown hair and cute black glasses sitting perfectly on his gorgeous gorgeous nose; you felt as if you were admiring a sculpture. "did you hear what i asked?" huh?? what did pretty boy say? "haha" he chuckled softly with a slight smirk on his face. "pretty boy asked you if you needed help with your homework" the mortified look on your face looked like it was taken straight out of a horror movie. "oh no. i'm so sorry. i did not just say that out loud, did i?" "i'm afraid you did, but don't worry, i think.. you're pretty too" and that's when your brain started short circuiting.

"i'm jake by the way!" jake? like sunghoon's.. nahh. "i'm y/n!" "oh! pretty name for a pretty face" you looked baffled "wha-" "sooo.. did you say you needed help with that?" "yea.. yea.. that would be really great actually!" and that's how you got yourself a studying partner.

if only you knew what was waiting for you in the future...

a/n: thank you so much for reading!! 🫶 sorry for not making this only one part but it's actually taking me longer than i expected to write this 😭

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Always There - Chapter Two: S.Snape

Summary: Y/N Potter was left with a baby to care for after her brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Voldemort. One person was there for her, a person she didn’t expect but soon became her comfort person, Severus Snape. During Harry’s third year at Hogwarts and her third year as Herbology professor, a few old friends come around again. Y/N has to handle the feelings of these old friends being around again as well as handle her feelings for a certain potions master all while she tries to hide these things from her godson.

Series Masterlist

My full Masterlist

Pairings: Severus Snape x Female Professor Reader, Potter!Reader x friend!Remus

Chapter Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader(No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, Harry growing up in a loving home, mentions of death and murder, mentions of Azkaban, shittyly written angst, flashbacks,

Series Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader (No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, OOC Snape, Harry grows up in a loving environment, mentions of death and murder, poorly written angst, Remus is a shitty friend, poorly written pining,

Please let me know how I can improve my writing and being more inclusive to POC as I am whiter than white. Please also let me know if I have to add more to the warnings! My messages are open as well as my asks!

I am starting a taglist so leave either a comment or something in my asks if you would like to be tagged in any of my works or just this series!

Author's Note: Please let me know how I can improve or if you find any errors! Correct me, don't be afraid to! I want to improve my writing and become a better writer so any feedback or advise is welcomed!

Word Count: 1994

My asks are open for questions, suggestions and feedback!

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

not my gif

About a week after the two professors had fallen asleep whilst talking, everything was kind of normal. Y/N was actively avoiding Remus and Severus has been particularly rude to the new professor. Harry had finally taken to questioning his aunt about her strange behavior and Snape’s aggressive nature toward Remus. He had waited until after dinner, following her into the greenhouse.

“Aunt Y/N, Professor Lupin said he knew my parents. Did you know him too?” Harry asked, trying to mask his intentions.

“You just want to know why I avoid him, don’t you?” She sighed, looking her nephew in the eye.

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“You certainly cannot, my love. I know you too so I know you won’t leave me alone until I tell you or you pester Sev enough to tell you. Come sit with me, this is gonna be a longer talk than I want it to be but you deserve to know everything about the situation,” She explained. The two Potters entered her office and sat on the very same couch Minerva had spotted Y/N and Severus the week earlier. “We can start off with how I first met Remus. We met on platform 9 ¾ right before the train came, James was off with some of his friends…”

**

The platform was bustling with witches and wizards alike, the anticipation waiting for the Hogwarts Express was palpable. James was off chatting with Sirius and Y/N was sitting on the ground with her nose stuck in her herbology book. Her mind was racing because she was nervous about what house she would be put in, she was wondering who her professors were, if they were nice and so on. James promised her that all of the professors were nice, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Slughorn were some he mentioned by name. Although James had tried reassuring her, it didn’t do much to help ease her nerves.

“You’re James’ sister, right?” A voice came from her right, startling her slightly, “Sorry to frighten you, he has a picture of the two of you in our dorm so I thought I’d say hi. My name is Remus.”

“Like Remus and Romulus? That’s pretty cool. I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you,” She said. The two had begun chatting, talking about where they lived, what their families were like, Remus asked her what subject she was most excited to learn about and of course the young witch had said Herbology.  

Once the train had arrived, Remus and Y/N boarded together, talking all the while as they tried to find a compartment to sit in. The only empty one was in the back of the train so the two sat and talked the whole ride to Hogwarts, The conversation only pausing when the sweets trolley rolled by and when James and Sirius had popped in to say hello.

Their friendship only grew from there, Remus helping her study for DADA and History Of Magic and Y/N helping him study for Charms and Herbology. Once Remus had joined James, Sirius and Peter, the five wizards got up to lots of trouble. Although Y/N was a year younger than the other four, she was more than willing to help out with pranks. Her and Remus, however, were the only two that strayed away from bullying other students, especially Severus Snape.

**

“That was how Remus and I became friends, he was the fastest friend I had ever made. We talked for only like a minute and became friends right away. We got closer and closer as the years went on. I'll spare some details about our friendship because we got into some trouble or we would just hang out in the library reading or studying. Everything got rough once James and Lily were killed.”

**

Remus showed up to the destroyed house in Godric’s Hollow, Y/N outside of the fence with a crying Harry in her arms, Severus standing beside her, his cloak over her shoulders to keep her warm in the cold autumn air. 

“Y/N, is it true? He killed them?” Remus asked her.

“J-Jamie and Lils are dead, h-he tried t-to kill Harry but he s-survived somehow,” She stuttered out behind her tears. Severus excused himself so the two friends could talk things out.

“Peter is dead, Sirius was the one who sold them out, he murdered Peter and a dozen muggles,” He explained, “Listen, dove, I need to go, I’ll send you an owl okay?” She just nodded and watched him apparate away. 

She was left for a while to cry, until Severus showed up and escorted her elsewhere, somewhere she could be safe and warm with baby Harry. Somewhere she could escape the reality that faced her, she was alone with a child she didn’t know how to care for, a child that would be legend. A boy who lived, the only known survivor of the killing curse and the defeater of Lord Voldemort. 

**

“I know you like professor Lupin and I understand that, he's a great guy. He just left me at a time where I really needed him. We got into an argument last week and I’ve been avoiding him since,” Y/N explained, “I don’t want any of this to change the way you look at Lupin, he’s an incredibly smart man and an extremely talented wizard.”

Harry decided to let things go until winter came around. He had once again been attacked by a dementor, luckily Dumbledore stopped his fall before he hit the ground of the Quidditch pitch. Harry went to Remus for help but he was too weak at the time, after the break he was promised a lesson about patronuses, a way to keep himself safe from dementors. 

Harry had the wonderful idea to sneak around Hogsmeade with the invisibility cloak (even though he had permission to go), finding out from Minerva, after sneaking in behind her and the minister of magic, that Sirius Black was his godfather. Herminone and Ron helped Harry back to Hogwarts, where he sought out his aunt.This of course, was against the advice of Hermione who told him to just sleep it off and talk to her in the morning. He knew she was in the greenhouses, either tending to the plants or grading student papers. What he didn’t expect to find was her and the potions master laughing over tea. He stared at the pair, tears threatening to leave his eyes, the sense of betrayal weighed heavy on him.

“You knew,” He uttered. The two professors stopped laughing and turned to Harry, not expecting him to be in her office.

“What happened, my love? Why are you so upset?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with concern for her nephew.

“You knew,” He repeated.

“What are you talking about Harry? What did I know?” She was confused, she had never seen her nephew so distraught over something before, she wanted nothing but to help him with whatever he was dealing with.

“You knew that Sirius Black killed my parents! You knew that Sirius Black ratted them out to Voldemort! You knew Sirius Black! You know he’s my godfather! He was your friend!” Harry finally shouted at his aunt.

“There is no need to shout, Harry, come sit, let’s talk this out,” Y/N said calmly although deep down she too, was distraught. She had never wanted Harry to know about Sirius’ role in his life but somehow, he had found out.

“No, I want you to tell me right here! I don’t want to sit and talk!”

“That is no way to speak to your aunt, Harry,” Snape chimed in, upset with how the boy was screaming at his aunt, the woman who cared for him and loved him his whole life.

“You shut up, this has nothing to do with you!”

“Harry! Apologize to him right now!” Y/N scolded, the tension in the room was rising, she knew at any moment that Harry would snap and in turn so would Severus.

“NO! He has no right to be a part of this conversation! It’s between me and you!” Severus was about to go at the boy but once Y/N had laid her hand on his shoulder, he stopped short. The pair made eye contact, Severus knowing she wanted to handle this by herself so he excused himself to her office to get the potion ingredients he originally came to her for.

“I knew about Sirius being your godfather, yed. Of course I did, I’m your godmother, the two of us did everything for you until Sirius turned on us. He was your father’s best friend,” Y/N told her nephew.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry demanded the answer.

“I didn’t want you to know, you’ve dealt with enough in your life, I didn’t want to add another thing on top of it.”

“So you knew he sold out my parents to Voldemort?”

“Yes, I knew. Trust me Harry, I didn’t like it just as you don’t. I feel just as betrayed if not more because he was like a brother to us,” Y/N tried to explain, somehow keeping herself calm throughout the conversation even though she kept seeing the picture of her brother dead on the floor in her mind.

“You feel betrayed! You’ve lied to me my whole life! You never told me anything! Nothing about Professor Lupin, nothing about Sirius Black, nothing about Peter Pettigrew! Why?” Harry went back to shouting at his aunt, a glass next to her shattering to pieces.

“Because it hurts me Harry! It hurts to even think about it, let alone talk about it! Remus and Sirius were my brothers and they betrayed me! Peter at least died instead of betraying us, instead of leaving me! It pains me to talk about your father but I do it anyway, for you! Everything I do is for you Harry, don’t you realize that! You are the most important thing in my life! You expect me to just turn around and hurt you the way I got hurt once I learned about all of this!” She shouted back, the glass from some of her cabinets shattered as she shouted at the boy.

“If I’m the most important thing in your life, why lie? Why hide this from me!” Harry was now just looking for a fight, he was getting information out of his aunt by upsetting her so he continued to do it. 

“Because I love you! Because I care about you! You are my boy! You are like the son I never got to have! You are exactly like your father! Your father that I miss every single day because he was my best friend! You are the only family I have Harry James Potter! You are the only family I will ever have!” She had begun crying, wiping her tears as they came to try and appear like she was not crying even though Harry knew she was. 

“You’re not my mother! You will never be my mother!” Harry screamed at her, this caused the woman to burst into tears, Severus had come back into the room once he had heard her crying.

“That’s enough Harry, go back to your dormitory,” Severus said sternly.

“No!”

“Stop acting like a defiant child and do as I say. You’ve done enough, you wanted your answers, you got them. Now go!” The potion’s master was furious at the boy, he had never seen Harry act this way before, in all the years of knowing him, this had never happened. Harry had stormed out of the greenhouse leaving the two professors once again. The day had started off cheerful and happy and ended with Y/N in despair and spiraling due to not only her nephew but remembering what she had seen and the trials and tribulations she had gone through.

taglist

@acupnoodle @chxelsxaa @fluffyrat365 @fanficwriter5

[siriusleee]

a better year

a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au 6.7k words summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light. "Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night. She kisses him over the mask. She doesn't mention it the next day.

The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore. 

"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."

Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white. 

"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."

He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together. 

Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon. 

Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him. 

He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas . 

But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.

And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored. 

"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"

Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances. 

"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection. 

"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new. 

"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."

"I never said you didn't."

Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.

"That'll be seventeen forty-five."

Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers. 

"You going to be back next week?"

"Why?"

"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."

Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer. 

"I can come by Friday instead."

"I'm closed Fridays."

"What about Wednesday?"

"I can stay late Wednesday."

He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.

***

He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.

His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is. 

He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside. 

The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.

He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him. 

Simon Riley thinks about death. 

He thinks about what would happen if he died right now. 

He thinks about what it's like to die twice. 

***

The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-

Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.

"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"

"It was alright."

The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."

She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often. 

She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter 

When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her. 

"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."

Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them. 

"Do you have a job?"

"What?"

Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change. 

"No, I don't."

"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."

He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.

"I can do that." 

"Can you start this Saturday?"

"I can do that."

She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names. 

***

Her name's Billy.

"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."

Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name. 

"It's Simon. Simon Riley."

She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter. 

"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.

"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."

She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will. 

She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.

He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.

On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.

"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."

She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.

"No paycheck?"

Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.

"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."

Simon pockets it.

They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.

It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction. 

Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.

They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.

"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"

"I'll be there."

"Good night Simon."

She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.

He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street. 

He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop. 

His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.

***

"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak. 

"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."

"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."

Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.

"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."

He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.

"That it?"

"I'm working at a bookstore."

"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."

"Watch it, Johnny."

A pause.

"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."

Their goodbye is the silence that follows. 

***

Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.

"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."

The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter. 

"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-" 

She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."

Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.

"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"

"I can figure it out."

"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.

This Saturday is busy. 

Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him. 

"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."

He's thankful for her in that moment.

He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.

There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.

Just like he always orders it.

***

He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.

***

"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.

"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."

"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.

"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."

She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.

"Maybe next year."

***

The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice. 

"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."

"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."

"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."

"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself. 

"What's that L.T.?"

"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."

Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.

"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"

"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye."

In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.

Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.

***

He needs something to do with his hands.

That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.

"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"

"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."

"I'm not paying you extra for this."

"I didn't ask you to."

Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet. 

"Fine."

She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."

Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.

Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.

In the way he feels useful.

It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.

Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place. 

Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him. 

She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.

"That shit's going to kill you."

"It can only hope." 

Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.

"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."

He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.

Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.

***

It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.

"Are you holding up?"

Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.

"I'm doing fine."

"Johnny told me you've got a job?"

"Just something to keep me occupied."

"Is that all you've got?"

"What more do I need?"

The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.

"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."

Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate. 

"Understood."

He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.

Maybe it does.

***

He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets. 

He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious. 

But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing. 

It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.

He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.

He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.

He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights. 

Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging. 

A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone? 

He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.

***

He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.

He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors. 

He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.

"What are you building you old bastard?"

"Some cabinets."

"For what?"

"Mind your own business, Johnny."

It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck. 

He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot. 

That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.

***

She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.

"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"

"It's no big deal; open the door."

"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"

"You gave me a key."

"Not for that!"

It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

"I still have to do the plumbing."

She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.

"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."

I know .

She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.

Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.

"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."

"Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy."

Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.

"Why are you doing all this Simon?"

He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.

Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"

"I don't have your number."

She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone. 

"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.

"What?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

***

Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.

"- L.T.? Simon?"

"What? Johnny, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not."

The static of Johnny's disapproval.

"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"

"I'm busy Johnny."

"With what?"

"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."

"Dinner? Like with someone else?"

Simon hangs up on him.

***

Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.

She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.

Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing. 

"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."

"It's alright."

Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter. 

"Come sit down."

Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment. 

He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.

"What are you making?"

"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"

"Beef bourguignon?"

Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.

"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Only on special occasions."

Special occasions . 

It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either. 

His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.

Johnny:

don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is

"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen. 

"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket. 

"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet. 

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.

"No."

"Not even back home?"

"Back home?"

She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.

"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."

Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter. 

"No, not back home."

She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.

 Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head. 

"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork. 

"No cameras?"

"None you can see."

She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once. 

They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself. 

He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of. 

She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.

"Something funny?"

"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."

With anyone else . 

That bothers him some.

"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."

"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.

"And we barely speak the entire time."

She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.

"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."

For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.

He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.

"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"

Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.

"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.

"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.

"Is that all we need to know about each other?"

"It's a start."

***

He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.

Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.

She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.

"I was in the military."

"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"

"The SAS."

She frowns and Simon stiffens.

"Is that like a unit or something?"

"Yeah."

This time she grins.

"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"

"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."

"You mean when you're not here."

Yes.

"No."

She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.

"I can shoot straight."

"Can you?"

***

She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.

She hits every target.

***

"Christmas is this weekend."

"Yeah."

"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."

A pause longer than he's used to.

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over?"

***

She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.

The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care. 

"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.

"I didn't get you one either."

"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."

"That's not present."

"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."

He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.

"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."

Simon's heart nearly stops. 

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding Si."

Just kidding .

***

She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them. 

She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.

He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.

He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to. 

He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.

"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.

She kisses him over the mask.

She doesn't mention it the next day.

***

By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'. 

"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."

***

He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.

"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."

He doesn't. But he can figure it out. 

After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon. 

It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.

He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it. 

It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet. 

It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.

When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.

***

"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."

"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."

"Alright, you cheap bastard you can afford it."

[superlinguo]

Research Data Management. Or, How I made multiple backups and still almost lost my honours thesis.

This is a story I used to tell while teaching fieldworkers and other researchers about how to manage their data. It’s a moderately improbable story, but it happened to me and others have benefited from my misadventures. I haven't had reason to tell it much lately, and I thought it might be useful to put into writing. This is a story from before cloud storage was common - back when you could, and often would, run out of online email storage space. Content note: this story includes some unpleasant things that happened to me, including multiple stories of theft (cf. moderately improbable). Also, because it's stressful for most of the story, I want to reassure you that it does have a happy conclusion. It explains a lot of my enthusiasm for good research data management. In Australia, 'honours' is an optional fourth year for a three year degree. It's a chance to do some more advanced coursework and try your hand at research, with a small thesis project. Of course, it doesn't feel small when it's the first time you've done a project that takes a whole year and is five times bigger than anything you’ve ever written. I've written briefly about my honours story (here, and here in a longer post about my late honours supervisor Barb Kelly) . While I did finish my project, it all ended a bit weirdly when my supervisor Barb got ill and left during the analysis/writing crunch. The year after finishing honours I got an office job. I hoped to maybe do something more with my honours work, but I wasn't sure what, and figured I would wait until Barb was better. During that year, my sharehouse flat was broken into and the thief walked out with the laptop I'd used to do my honours project. The computer had all my university files on it, including my data and the Word version of my thesis. I lost interview video files, transcriptions, drafts, notes and everything except the PDF version I had uploaded to the University's online portal. Uploading was optional at the time, if I didn't do that I probably would have just been left with a single printed copy. I also lost all my jewellery and my brother’s base guitar, but I was most sad about the data (sorry bro). Thankfully, I made a backup of my data and files on a USB drive that I kept in my handbag. This was back when a 4GB thumb drive was an investment. That Friday, feeling sorry for myself after losing so many things I couldn't replace, I decided to go dancing to cheer myself up. While out with a group of friends, my bag was stolen. It was the first time I had a nice handbag, and I still miss it. Thankfully, I knew to make more than one back up. I had an older USB that I'd tucked down the back of the books on my shelf (a vintage 256MB drive my dad kindly got for me in undergrad after a very bad week when I lost an essay to a corrupted floppy disk). When I went to retrieve the files, the drive was (also) corrupted. This happens with hard drives sometimes. My three different copies in three different locations were now lost to me.

Thankfully, my computer had a CD/DVD burner. This was a very cool feature in the mid-tens, and I used to make a lot of mixed CDs for my friends. During my honours project I had burned backed up files on some discs and left them at my parents house. It was this third backup, kept off site, which became the only copy of my project. I very quickly made more copies. When Barb was back at work, and I rejoined her as a PhD student, it meant we could return to the data and all my notes. The thesis went through a complete rewrite and many years later was published as a journal article (Gawne & Kelly 2014). It would have probably never happened if I didn’t have those project files. I continued with the same cautious approach to my research data ever since, including sending home SD cards while on field trips, making use of online storage, and archiving data with institutional repositories while a project is ongoing.

I’m glad that I made enough copies that I learnt a good lesson from a terrible series of events. Hopefully this will prompt you, too, to think about how many copies you have, where they’re located, and what would happen if you lost access to your online storage.

[batrachised]

Can you please tell me more of your conspiracy theory that Hilary was the one to burn down Silver Bush?

DELIGHTEDLY. First, a point of order: this basic idea behind the theory is not mine! It belongs to a random book reviewer whose name has been lost to the sands of time of my brain :(

A year ago, I was reading an article about Mistress Pat which hit on the common discussion points of the book - Pat seems unwell, Pat and Silver Bush are kind of the real couple, the book is kinda eerie - and then it ended with the galaxy brained joke that Hilary was one the one to burn down Silver Bush, and I loved it so much I have spread it with fervor since.

There's not specific textual evidence or anything of the sort, but there's also not really anything to contradict it besides the in-text guess that it was May leaving a pot on the stove. In fact, it fits it so neatly with the neurotic behavior and disturbing undertones of Pat that I think it's brilliant. What follows is the mutterings of a deranged woman, but bear with me.

Hilary, in a way similar to Teddy, is largely absent from Mistress Pat. I believe he only makes an appearance a couple of times in the book; the vast majority of the time, as with Teddy, he's offscreen building his career as an (of course, because he is Pat's romantic interest) architect. As such, it conveniently gives him a large amount of leeway to basically be doing whatever he (or whatever I, with my handmade tinfoil hat) wants to offscreen.

First: Silver Bush only burns down after Hilary learns of Judy's death. We learn this here:

She had packed the picture up after Judy's death and sent it to Hilary. He had never even acknowledged it...that hurt her...but as she had sent it to his office she felt quite sure he must have received it.

There are several take-aways we can get from this. First, Judy was an extremely significant tie of Pat's to her old life that was now gone, clearing the way for Hilary to move in. Second, Hilary himself confirms that it was Judy writing him a note her deathbed that gave him the courage to try for Pat's hand, despite failing at every point in the past due to Pat's attachment to Silver Bush - except, oh wait, Silver Bush then burns down.

Second: no one actually knows what burns down Silver Bush. May is accused of leaving a pot on that exploded, but even that is presented as an educated guess.

Third: obviously, the loss of Silver Bush sends Pat reeling. Silver Bush burning down - and this is actually true based on the text, not wild conspiracy theory - was necessary for Pat to marry Hilary. If it had not, Pat would have never left. Both Pat and Hilary confirm this. We have Hilary's words upon returning:

Besides, you were taking me too much for granted, Pat. You were blinded by our years of friendship.

Then we have Pat's general emotional state:

They all went to Swallowfield until things could be settled. Pat took no part in the settling. Life had suddenly become for her like a landscape on the moon.

Mother was really pleased at the thought of going back to her old home to live. "Mother is younger than I am," thought Pat drearily.

She felt horribly old. Her love for Silver Bush had kept her young...and now it was gone. Nothing was left...there was only a dreadful, unbearable emptiness...She had a terrible feeling that she did not belong anywhere...or to anybody...in this new sad lonely world.

Not in a good place, Pat! Unless...someone takes advantage of the psychological moment and...

Fourth: Hilary conveniently reappears after years of absence, and then.. and THEN....AND THEN...HAS A HOUSE ALREADY BUILT FOR PAT. Keep in mind, this is two weeks after Silver Bush burned - yet Hilary is like oh look what I have for you :) just conveniently ready :)

He says this, which we can believe or not:

I started as soon as I saw the account of the fire in an Island paper. [reader: batrachised is Suspicious]. But I was coming anyway...I had only been waiting to finish our house. I know what this tragedy of Silver Bush must have meant to you...but I've a home for you by another sea, Pat. 

HMMMMM.

So, there is my case. Now, Hilary is a BELOVED character of mine, and I do not actually think this angel boy would do this; in fact, I think he deserves far, far better than Pat. However, I do think the idea of Pat marrying someone who would burn down Silver Bush to get her is a fascinating commitment to the Shirley Jackson afterflavor of the series. It fits the mood and tone well. Was it intended by LM Montgomery? Absolutely not - but neither was Pat coming across the way she did.

EDIT: I would like to add, this is quite literally the final line of the Pat series:

The old graveyard heard the most charming sound in the world...the low yielding laugh of a girl held prisoner by her lover.

[night-dazai]

The Demon Never Died

Part - 1

(Dazai x Reader)

Hello all this is where Dazai’s lover is kidnapped by rapists whom he was supposed to capture. It has a lot of angst, fighting, violence. 

This is part one��

It has been four months since you and dazai started dating, your first ever relationship. His work in the ADA was very little is what you felt cause every time you come home from college he is there with open arms welcoming you with sweet smiles and hugs. He is trying to cook but always ends up burning your kitchen, reading a book or rarely (I mean once in a blue moon ) working on some files he got from the blonde who will kill him if he is not done with it . College as ended the third semester for you and here you were free in the morning instead of being in a class or the library or just roaming around, here you are in your bed. Waking up at 10 am to find your boyfriend's cute notes in the bathroom and a burnt toast on the table , you smile and eat it and add a few eggs to your breakfast and go back to bed. You are scrolling your phone for hours now and it is lunchtime when your phone rings “ Bella~~~” the whiny kid like voice is heard making you giggle “ hey samu , what doing ?” you ask sitting up excited to hear your lover voice . “ I am being poisoned here ~ help me love help you-” his voice got cut with someone shouting and you need no one to tell you it is Kunikida“ y/n i am sorry dazai -san is safe please dont worry “The poor kid says making you smile more at this silly little routine “ its fine Atsushi 

i know you, guys had lunch ?” you asking getting up and walking to the kitchen “ not yet we are going out and might get late so i dont think Dazai -san would be able to come and meet you today “ he said his voice going low and soft . You could feel the look on his face “ its fine comeone , its his work , be careful all of you “ you said trying to cheer the kid and it worked “ sure y/n thanky you, i have to go now and dazai-san cannot talk for a while so later , bye” he said ending the call .  

Its around 1 pm and you have no energy to cook, the last few weeks of exams not seeing Dazai had you feeling so down and the fact that you cannot see him again today made you feel even more low “ this is the fourth time this week he cannot see me and i just started my holidays “ you checked the number of days left “ 20 more days of holidays for what not see him “ you pouted feeling a bit mad but mostly sad. You went back to your bed and ordered takeout. An hour later you sat in the couch felling full “ now what …” you mumbled starting at the ceiling when your phone rang “ y/n “ you heard your lovers voice “ Daz-” “ where are you ?” his voice was low but firm and had a tinch on panic in it “ home but whr-” again he cut you speaking “ dont open the door to anyone and dont leave the place till i come and when i out of your house i will call but other than that done move . got it “ he asked . At this point you had no idea who you were talking to cause you have never heard your sweet silly lover like this “ ye.yes samu “ you said and instantly the line got cut . For the next 3 hours you watched tv with all your door and windows locked waiting quietly for lover when you heard someone ring the bell “ baby~~ its me opne the door “ his voice cooed as you ran towards the door . But before you opened it you recalled the call “ i will call once i am out “ he said . You backed up to your phone when the banging on the door got louder , you tired calling him again and again with no luck . Your eyes getting wet with tears and your entire body trembled as fear took over still you ran to the kitchen grabbed a knife and went into your closet as your main door was broken “ where are you ?” now you knew the difference it sounded like Dazai but it was not him . You could not see outside but knew there was more than 2 people cause the number of shuffling foot was a bit too loud and thast when your phone rang . Panicking you picked the call “ samu they got it someo-” you yelped as the closet door opened to see a random guy who was twice your size smiling at “ got it “ he said grabbing a handful of your hair . As you tried to wriggle free and shout to dazai they grabbed the phone and thats when you saw , 6 men in your bed room each with a weapon of their own “ my my who do we have here on line , come and get your little lover from us “ the guy holding your hair said throwing your phone which shatters to pieces. Your cired telling them to leave you but his grip on your hair just got more rough “ nah i need you to find him come on dove lets go “ he said spraying a weird on your face before you blanked out . 

Dazai stood still with his phone in his hands as Kunikida started at his partner, the mission had not gone as per plan and when they saw the letter of threat and the numerous missed calls from you all could not stop Dazai from panicking. “Wh-” Kunikida could not get a word out before his eyes widened in horror “They got her “ Dazai said without turning to look at him “ god, we must hurry yes we must “ Atsushi said freaking out when Kunidia mumbled looking at one of the files they were given “ they.. They were former …” his voice trailed seeing the words which dazai completed “rapists “ . For the first time ever did Kunikida saw Dazai look like that and that when he remembered another fact “ former port mafia demon prodigy Dazai Osamu “

[alisonfelixwrites]

Informed consent: chapter 3

Word count: 14,180

Mia found herself hunched over her desk early morning on Friday. After her first tutoring session the previous day, she was set on making the best out of neuropsychology and she was revising last week’s lesson in order to be able to catch up today.

A soft knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts and she turned around, taking her glasses off of the bridge of her nose, “Come in.”

She knew it was going to be Hazel, so the sight of her friend in her night robe and her hair all messy didn’t exactly surprise her. Hazel pushed open the door softly, her hands full with a cup of coffee and a plate filled with fruit and toast. Mia’s heart about grew twice its size when she gasped, “Oh my god, Hazel!”

“Shh, not too loud, it’s early.” Hazel croaked as she padded over to Mia’s desk to put everything down. Mia stared widely at the food and coffee on the table, on top of some of her books and notes and she pressed her hand to her chest, “This is so nice, thank you so much.”

“Ah,” Hazel waved it away, “don’t worry about it. You’ve been having a tough week.” She leaned over Mia to look at her notes, scrunching up her nose, “Neuropsychology again?”

“Yeah.” Mia nodded, taking the clip out of her messy hair before she was about to braid it later for class, “I’m trying to be up to date for class today.”

Hazel nodded, “Hmm. What time will you be home tonight? Do you want to go out maybe?”

“Oh.” Mia immediately felt herself blushing a little bit, wondering if she’d have to come up with an excuse as to why she’d rather stay home. She awkwardly scratched behind her neck, “I-I don’t know.”

Hazel softly smiled, “You don’t have to. ‘S just a suggestion. Once again, I’d think you’d really like my friends. And actually… I was thinking of inviting them over here tonight for pre-drinks.”

“Here?” Mia asked with raised brows, “Oh my god, I haven’t cleaned all week, you can’t invite people over to a house this messy.”

Hazel chuckled, “Mia, we’re uni students. It’s pretty normal to be living in a mess and I’m sure our apartment’s still cleaner than all of theirs combined.”

“Still…” Mia found herself immediately nervous about the prospect of people in her home. It took a while for the apartment to feel like home, and she had to give the most credit to Hazel for making her comfortable here. Her chaotic, homely clutter just warmed up the entire apartment.

But having strangers over was one hurdle Mia felt anxious about, and them being in her personal space was another. She couldn’t just leave if she felt like it was too much, she’d have to wait it out. Also, she couldn’t hide in her room and there was nowhere to go. The library closed at eight and she was sure pre-drinks didn’t end before that hour.

“Look, we can go to a bar if it makes you more comfortable. It’s only like four people but Cass and Lynn are fighting with their third roommate and she kind of kicked them out of the apartment – which is crazy – and Renan lives in a shoebox and has only two chairs.” Hazel chuckled.

Mia’s lips slightly curled up at the words Hazel chose and she nibbled her lip in thought, “I-I guess. I don’t want to kick you out of your own apartment, you have a say in here too. I-I’ll try to be social but it’s really hard for me.” She spoke in a small voice before tapping her fingers on her forehead, “I might have some medicine left for my anxiety.”

“What?” Hazel frowned immediately, “Mia, no, no, no. I don’t want you to have to take pills in order to feel comfortable. Look, just think about it today and you can let me know around four, good? See how you feel about it during the day.”

Mia felt a headache coming up just at the thought of tonight, but forced a smile and nodded, “I will. Thanks again for the food, Hazel. It’s really nice of you to do that.”

“You do it for me all the time, Mia.” Her friend laughed in return, eyes briefly glancing at Mia's phone when it buzzed on the desk with a message. Hazel didn’t mean to, but she saw the name coming up on the screen and instantly frowned, “H. Sinclair?”

Mia quickly reached for her phone, opening it up to see the message from Harry as Hazel stared at her with wide eyes, “As in Harry Sinclair?”

“Yes. He’s one of my therapy students.” Mia explained, frowning a little at her screen when she saw that Harry sent her a reminder for today’s session.

Message to: H. Sinclair

Thank you for the reminder, I hadn’t forgotten :)

She locked her phone and put it back down before carefully glancing up at Hazel, “You know him?”

Hazel’s shocked expression gave it all away and she huffed out again, “Yeah, of course. He’s in some of my classes. Oh fuck, the broken bookcase, of course!” She spoke more to herself as if it suddenly all made sense.

“Hazel.” Mia scolded slightly, “It’s too early for cursing.”

Hazel put her hands on her hips and looked at Mia, “Wait, don’t tell me he’s the dickhead who made you cry this week.”

“Oh.” Mia chuckled softly, “He was, yeah. B-But I saw him yesterday during lunch and we actually redid Tuesday’s session and he was polite. Do you know him well?”

Hazel shrugged, “No, not at all. I’ve never spoken to him. He’s always late and sits in the back.. He always hangs out with the second years and does most classes with them too so I don’t see him that often, to be honest.”

Mia’s attention was back on her phone when it buzzed again.

Message from: H. Sinclair

Just checking :). Good morning, by the way. Also, I named you Dr. Phil in my phone.

Mia burst out into a cackle at that, quickly shutting up when she realised how ridiculous it sounded and she bit her lip before putting her phone down again. Hazel had her brow up as she stared at her, “Something funny?”

“H-He just, uh – “ Mia stuttered with a flush to her cheeks, “he said something funny, yes.”

“Mia.” Hazel narrowed her eyes and Mia blushed harder before sighing out with slumped shoulders, “He’s so beautiful!”

“Oh my god!” Hazel exclaimed with a wide grin, “You have a crush on him!”

Mia blushed even deeper and hastily took a sip of scorching hot coffee in an attempt to hide her face, “I do not.” She spoke with a wince, her tongue burned on the coffee but it was worth it as she just wanted to hide away from Hazel’s curious eyes, “Yes, you do! How cute! I mean, I have to admit he’s hot. I didn’t think he’d be your type though. Who was the guy you’re practically married to already?”

“Daniel? Oh, yeah, he’s completely different.” Mia shrugged, her stomach dropping a little when she remembered the deal her parents had made at a young age for her to marry Daniel. 

Hazel sat down on the edge of Mia’s bed, “So what actually happens when you get a boyfriend and don’t want to date that Daniel guy anymore?”

Mia puckered her lips in thought, “I suppose I’ve never really thought of that. Why are you assuming I’d have a boyfriend? You’re not talking about Harry, right?”

“Who knows.” She smirked and Mia blushed deeper before shaking her head, “No, you’re right. I’m not his type.”

Hazel tilted her head to the side, “I never said that, I said I didn’t think he was your type.”

“I don’t know what my type is.” Mia shrugged and Hazel exhaled a laugh, “Right, but I just wouldn’t have assumed a guy with tattoos all over his body would do it for you.”

“All over his body?” Mia gasped and Hazel threw her head back in a laugh, “Oh my god, fun! We can finally talk about our crushes together!”

Mia huffed humorlessly, “Nothing to talk about. He’s just a client and we’re doing eight sessions.”

“…and you’re texting.”

“We’re not! Some of them have my number in case they need to reschedule.” Mia defended and Hazel smiled suspiciously, “Some of them? How many?”

Mia blushed deeper and Hazel smiled wider until Mia rolled her eyes, “Fine, just him. He asked, said he hardly checks his emails!”

“That’s such bullshit!” Hazel laughed, “He just wanted your number, Mia!” She snatched Mia’s phone from the table and smiled at the screen, “He texted you good morning. That’s not just about rescheduling.”

“Give me that.” Mia mumbled, grabbing her phone again before shaking her head, “It’s nothing, I swear.”

“Alright.” Hazel grinned, 

Mia finished revising for neuropsychology while enjoying the breakfast that Hazel had brought her. Her eyes scanned her notes, brain fresh and awake this early in the morning. She was always more productive in the mornings, Mia had noticed, so she usually used that time to study or get stuff done for school before her fatigue or anxiety kicked in and the letters floated together.

Dressed in winter attire, she exited the apartment about an hour later. Hazel said goodbye to her from the couch, deciding to skip out on her classes today and lounge around the apartment. Mia almost felt anxious in her place, skipping a class sounded horrifying to her. She knew teachers didn’t really mind and it was the student’s own responsibility to make sure they were up to date with everything and met their deadlines, but still… Mia could never be that chill.

She nearly slipped on some ice when her phone buzzed on the way, and she pulled it out to reveal another message from Harry even if she never answered the previous one.

Message from: H. Sinclair

Interesting classes today?

Mia bit her lip, wondering if he truly did ask for her number for the schedule or if he maybe… liked her a little bit? The idea on its own was stupid. Someone like him could never like someone like her. He was so free-spirited and bold and blunt, while she was so shy and timid and hardly dared looking him in the eye. He was two years older than her too, which felt like a decade away in how mature they were.

But then again, why would he ask her such a silly, non-important question at such a random time in the day? She nibbled her lip and typed back.

Message to: H. Sinclair

It’s alright. One now and then two this afternoon. How about you?

She hesitated before typing the last bit, opening up the conversation. She had never really texted with a boy, no one had ever asked her for her number. Mia felt like if she went through her contact list, the information there was pretty sparse on itself, let alone any information on boys. 

But if that had been Harry’s intention, he had been smooth about it. Mia had no idea he intended to ask her for her number.

A few buildings away, Harry was seated in class in the back row with a huge thermos of coffee in front of him. Even that couldn’t help him staying awake on a Friday morning. What could help him stay awake, was receiving a message from Mia.

Harry wasn’t sure what it was, why she was interesting to him. She was pretty, for sure, but she was someone who flew under the radar and who he’d have never noticed in any other occasion besides the forced therapy the school made him do.

He still felt bad about snapping at her during that first session. He had seen it in her eyes that it had hurt her and had taken her aback, but he was too caught up in his frustration and rage at that point to really care. It only sunk in when he saw her a few days later, sitting on her own at the trash table and nibbling on some carrots.

She was jumpy and shy and blushy, which Harry just found completely endearing. He had to admit that he liked talking to her about school, about psychology and philosophy, about their different views. They were nice discussions. Until she started about the reason he had to get therapy in the first place, his public slip-up in the library.

Harry still didn’t understand why he was being punished for something like that. Everyone in school had sex in the public areas, he was just the one being caught. And not even them together, just him. Lexie had gotten away before the guard caught them and he wasn’t about to rat her out, but it did mean that the entire 4K fine the school made him pay, was on his shoulders.

He had told her about it, and not once had she suggested paying for half of it. That he could do, pay the two thousand dollars to get the school off his back, but four thousand was too much. His parents would know and that’d be a whole other thing. They were nice and open-minded, but perhaps this was pushing it.

He had dreaded the therapy sessions but somehow hoped he’d end up with some cool, open-minded therapist who would let him off the hook and they’d use the time to just chat about random stuff. Instead, he had been sitting in that office waiting for her and he saw a timid young girl with her hands full and her eyes bulging while staring at him.

Mia honestly looked like she could be blown away with a little puff of air coming from Harry’s mouth.

The second time seeing her, he felt for her. She was clearly overworked and he remembered his own early university days where he struggled to keep up with it all. He didn’t think she did the therapy sessions for extra credit, he just assumed she was some rich girl who had time to spare and decided to volunteer so she could judge about other’s mistakes.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

And now he found himself at a point where he even…. maybe…. Looked forward a little bit to seeing her.

Message to: Dr. Phil

I’m in class right now and then I’m headed home again until the therapy session. What time again?

Message from: Dr. Phil

You’re the first one on the schedule :) So four if that’s alright. That way you have most of your evening still, it’s Friday night after all.

Harry huffed out a chuckle and cleared his throat, trying to mask his laughter from the professor up front who raised a brow at him before continuing. He was in a class that he had taken last year already and even if he had failed it – twice – he felt like he almost knew it by heart and this was a complete waste of time.

Message to: Dr. Phil

That’s considerate, thank you :). And it is a Friday indeed, any plans tonight?

His leg bobbed nervously as he waited for her response, which took a little while. He assumed she had still been walking to campus, which also meant she didn’t live in the student housing on campus. Unlike him.

Message from: Dr. Phil

Not really. I think my roommate is going to invite some people. You?

Message to: Dr. Phil

I usually go out on a Friday sooo…

Harry didn’t know why he typed that and he groaned under his breath and rolled his eyes at himself, staring at the sent message. It could mean a lot of things and he wasn’t sure how Mia was going to take it.

I usually go out on a Friday sooo… I’ll end up in someone’s bed tonight.

I usually go out on a Friday sooo… it’s the same this week and I’m going to get blind drunk with my idiot roommates.

I usually go out on a Friday sooo… if you’d like to join?

He locked his phone and put it down, not feeling better about himself when Mia didn’t answer for at least an hour. Deep down he knew she was in class and that she had to be paying attention. She didn’t seem like the type to be on her phone during class, but still – she left him hanging after sending such a stupid text.

Stupid enough that he did something even more stupid, which was sending another one an hour later after lack of response.

Message to: Dr. Phil

Sorry, that sounded weird. I meant that I’m also going out tonight, as I do most Fridays.

Harry dropped his head on the table momentarily, wanting to pull his own brains out until the teacher scolded him again and gave him a warning. He pressed his lips together and placed his phone upside down, trying to pay attention and actually take notes.

The efforts Mia put in for school were very different from Harry, but he had to admit it was inspiring. 

All was forgotten though when his phone buzzed.

Message from: Dr. Phil

Hahah, yes, that’s what I assumed!! Sounds fun. Sorry I didn’t respond, neuropsychology is no joke.

He grinned at the message, his heart lighter than before and the nerves in his tummy had settled down. 

It was hours later – hours that Harry had spent playing video games with his roommates instead of doing school work – that he went back into campus to meet up with Mia. His mates had nagged him for it a little as they wanted to get their Friday drink in early – as early as one in the afternoon.

Harry declined every beverage pushed his way, claiming he had responsibilities at four and that he’d join them afterwards. They asked him to skip the session, but he had said no.

So he was braving the cold winter weather while walking up to the psychology building, the North building, where he took the stairs up to the fourth floor. His teeth were chattering slightly from the biting November cold which wasn’t being very kind on England this year.

“Hi,” He spoke to the woman who sat at reception there, “I have a meeting with Mia?”

She narrowed her eyes at her computer screen and clicked a few times, “Right, she rescheduled some sessions. She’s in room number two.”

Harry raised his brows, “She’s already here? I thought I was early.”

“Mia’s always early.” The woman chuckled simply yet Harry hardly heard her, a skip in his step as he made his way to room number two, near bursting through the door just to see Mia.

She looked over her shoulder when the door opened, seeing Harry entering with his thick winter coat on as she had just shrugged hers off. 

Harry could already tell she had a guilty look on her face from sending him walking through this weather for a rescheduled session, but he offered her a smile to ease her nerves, “Hey.”

“Hi.” She breathed as he unzipped his coat. Mia shifted on her seat, “I’m sorry that you had to come all the way here through this rain.” She apologised for something she had no control over and Harry hung up his coat besides hers, “No problem. I live on campus in the student housing so ‘m not far.”

“Oh.” She nodded, following his silhouette as he moved through the room to sit down on the other couch opposite her. He immediately looked more relaxed than earlier this week, when he avoided her stare and constantly poked his fingers into the rip of the seat. Whereas now, his eyes were curiously on her and on her only.

Mia fiddled with her fingers and reached for her cup of tea, “Do you want some tea? To warm up?”

Harry rubbed his hands together and nodded, “Actually, yeah. Sounds good. Is there a vending machine in this building?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay.” Mia smiled, getting up to reach one of the cupboards that lined the side of the little room, opening it up to pull out a mug, “This used to be a kitchen on this floor. And I’ve got a thermos and some tea bags.”

Harry huffed out a chuckle, “You just carry that around in your bag?”

Mia blushed a little as she sat back down and put the mug down on the table between them before reaching for her thermos, “I do. The tea here doesn’t taste that good, I prefer to bring my own.” She kept her eyes on the movement of her hand as she carefully poured the hot water into the mug with her lip between her teeth.

Harry used the opportunity to scan her, noticing the same braid in her hair as the other two times he had seen her. She wore a dark green knitted jumper with some flowers embroidered on it, a little oversized on her but it looked cosy. The black flares on her legs made her look taller, as did the blocked heel on the boots she wore. 

“Here you go.” She smiled shyly when putting the teabag in his mug. Harry shot her a toothy grin, “Thank you.”

His lips twitched up into a wider smile when he saw her pulling out his old notebook and the pink pen. He had completely forgotten to get it back yesterday when their session ended rather abruptly when they had to get to their next class all of a sudden, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t use the notebook much anymore and they were mostly his old notes. 

“I meant to give this back.” Mia started as if reading his mind. She had felt terrible about taking his personal belongings home with her, uncertain if Harry would get angry at her or not for doing so. She had carefully placed the notebook and the pen on her bedside table to make sure nothing happened to it, and that she could give it back today.

Harry waved it away and shook his head, “Keep it. I don’t use it anymore and I think it’s a handy little thing for you to keep around and… write in.”

Mia tilted her head to the side, “Write in?”

“Yeah.” Harry cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, “Y’know, random thoughts. Or just notes for school, whatever.”

She practically bounced in her chair from beaming so much before she nodded, “Okay. Thank you so much, Harry.”

He nodded back with a smile and Mia got more comfortable on the chair, going as far as tucking her leg underneath her. A clear sign of her comfort here, Harry noticed. She would’ve never done that during their first session. She tucked an invisible strand of hair behind her ear out of habit and nibbled her lip, “So, how did you feel after yesterday’s session?”

Mia meant it professionally, asking him how he had experienced going to therapy for the first time even if it was mandated and with another student. But she meant how he felt about talking about the topic of him having sex in the library. His mind, though, went somewhere completely else.

Because after yesterday’s session, he felt confused. Confused, frustrated, annoyed. All with himself. Confused because of how he couldn’t get her out of his mind even for a second, how she occupied every little bit of his brain for at least twenty-four hours now. Frustrated and annoyed because he wanted to hold her hand, he wanted to hold her entirely and he wanted to kiss her. Actually, he wanted to do many, many more unspeakable things to her that he was certain Mia’s mind was much too pure for.

That was the vibe she gave off, purity. Like something that had never been broken or even scratched before. She was fragile but protected. She didn’t seem like she had ever felt a little nudge before in her life to bring her out of balance. 

“Good. Fine.” He settled on answering and she nodded, “Okay, that’s good. So today, I’d like to go more in depth about what happened prior to…” She uncomfortably cleared her throat, “having intercourse in the library. Like what led up to it.” Mia explained.

Harry nodded and she continued, “Then for the next session, I’d like to take you to the actual library.”

His brows shot up, “To the library? Like some sort of exposure therapy?”

“Exactly.” Mia nodded, “I get the feeling you’re still rather closed off about the entire topic, so it might be helpful.” She offered. Harry sighed out and shrugged, “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you think we should do.”

Mia felt relieved at Harry’s quick giving into her idea. She had never done it before, taking a student out of this environment to head to the place where their incident happened that caused them to end up in therapy. But Harry wasn’t all that talkative and chatty, so she had to change directions here and branch out.

“But I have a proposition too.” Harry interrupted her thought process and held up his finger as Mia looked at him, “You do?” She asked unsurely. He smiled softly and nodded, “I do. Whenever I’m bored I get to ask you a question.”

Mia frowned, “A question?”

“Mhm.” Harry nodded, “I get to ask you a question and we talk about that for a bit. Y’know, to break my thoughts and change it up a little bit. I won’t hold out for eight sessions talking about my sex life.”

Mia blushed a little at his blunt words and slowly nodded, “Okay.” She hadn’t assumed Harry to immediately want to ask his questions. She imagined it was just something he said now, but by the time they were deep in conversation about his reason for being here, he’d forget about it and never actually ask her a question.

But Mia thought wrong. By the glint in Harry’s eyes, she could already tell it was going to be a mischievous question. He tapped his ringed fingers together, dressed in another black large jumper that swallowed him whole but also made him look very cuddly – she had a hard time focussing on his words as she just wanted him to sit still so she could stare at him. His hands or his lips specifically.

Mia prepared herself for a question she’d have to decline. It’d be something about her dating life, or her – non-existent – sexual escapades. She’d have to turn down his question and Harry would get angry and storm out again and they’d be back to square one.

“What’s your earliest memory?” Harry questioned, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair as he got comfortable. His free hand reached for his tea and he blew a little bit of air into the hot liquid before taking a careful sip.

Mia leaned back into the chair and puckered her lips, “My earliest memory… I mean – I suppose…” She started, racking her brain and nibbling her lip – also subconsciously bringing Harry’s pink sparkly pen to her mouth to push against her bottom lip in thought, “I think when I was about five, my mother started teaching me French.”

Harry frowned at Mia’s answer, “Your earliest memory is of you learning something?”

“Yes.” She timidly answered, “Is that wrong?”

Harry took a breath and shook his head, “No, no, it’s not wrong. There’s no right or wrong answer for this question, I think.”

Mia hesitated for a moment before drawing a breath, “So what’s yours?”

“My first memory?”

“Mhm.” She nodded and Harry brought both hands behind his neck in a stretch, sighing out while leaning back and staring at the ceiling. Mia nearly didn’t care about his answer anymore. All she could focus on were his bulging biceps, the way his jumper rid up slightly with the raise of his arms and how she inappropriately glanced down to see a thin strip of pale skin showing up above the waistband of his boxers.

Hazel had been right, Harry seemingly was covered in tattoos and Mia had only seen scraps of him. She almost began hoping she put on the heating in the room too hot so he’d have to take that jumper off and she could take a look at his arms.

“Hello? Earth to Mia?” Harry snapped her out her thoughts and Mia parted her lips to apologise, a deep flush rising up her neck but Harry chuckled, “Y’really need to work on that, love. Dr. Phil never zones out like that.” He teased.

She chuckled softly under her breath and nibbled her lip, “Sorry, I was lost in thought. W-What did you say?”

There was a grin on Harry’s lips, lopsided, toothy, showing off a dimple and Mia swooned like no one else. There was a tinge of smugness in the smile too, as if he knew very well what he was doing. And Harry did know what he was doing. Not that he did it on purpose, he was just being himself, but he caught Mia staring at him without blinking every few minutes. She zoned out, entranced by him and taking in every little detail and inch of skin he gave her.

She looked like a lost puppy and Harry wanted to moan at her innocent, round eyes, slightly parted pink lips and lightly flushed cheeks. She was just so cute.

“I said my earliest memory is probably of me and my dad playing catch in the yard.” He repeated for Mia and she offered him a small smile while nodding, “That’s nice.”

“Yeah.” Harry breathed with a nod, “It is.”

They were left in a little bit of silence before Mia drew a breath, “So back to our original topic…”

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes at the deep dive into his personal life once more, somehow hoping he had distracted Mia enough to carry on a normal conversation instead of it being all about him, but he wasn’t that lucky. 

“You mentioned you live on campus with roommates?” Mia asked. Harry nodded, “Yeah, I live in the student housing with two roommates. We each have our own small rooms and then a shared living space, kitchen and bathroom. Across the hall are two more of my friends. Well, I met them due to being paired up here in student housing. I didn’t know any of them before coming here.” Harry explained.

Mia wrote some things down in Harry’s notebook and nodded, “Can you tell me their names? Might be easier.”

“Sure.” He shrugged, “I live with Liam and Niall. Louis and Zayn are across the hall.”

“That sounds like fun, having your friends so close by.”

Harry chuckled, “Yeah, it’s alright. It can get a bit busy sometimes and it gets hard to say no to certain things. Our rooms are really tiny so I don’t spend much time there except for sleeping and sometimes studying, but I can hardly fit my legs under the desk so I try to do that at the kitchen table when they’re in class.”

Mia frowned a little, realising how hard it had to be to not really have a space for yourself. Her apartment was shared, but her room was of a decent size and she had never felt smothered in those four walls. She scribbled down some more stuff, “Have you ever tried going to the library to study? I do it all the time, I kind of have my set seat there that I know I like. It gets just enough light but the sun is never in my eyes, and I have a distant view of campus which means I’m not too distracted but there’s some movement around. It’s not close to the toilets so not too many people have to pass me by the entire time.” She listed in a ramble, thinking of her favourite place on campus. The library calmed her down so much.

Harry raised his brows and huffed out a snicker, “Right. I use the library for other activities.” He decided to make fun of himself and Mia stared at him in shock as she turned bright red again, “Oh my god, I-I’m sorry! I hadn’t even… oh.” She palmed her forehead, realising her mistake while Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shaking his head, “It’s okay.”

Mia tried to come to terms with her embarrassment, taking a few more sips of tea while Harry did the same. She noticed that the moment he finished his cup, his hand blindly reached into his bag and he pulled out that same packet of gum. Popping one out, he flicked his eyes up to her, “Gum?”

“No, thank you.” Mia exhaled, mentally preparing herself to be met with the view again of Harry chewing on gum as if time worked in slow motion. She had to be strong.

“So, anyway,” She cleared her throat, “that’s kind of what I wanted to get to, I suppose. If you live on campus, why didn’t you just bring the girl to your dorm?”

She could hear the sound of Harry’s jaws crunching the fresh piece of gum and dared lifting her eyes, seeing him staring right at her with a thoughtful look. His gaze was intense and she knew he’d notice if she dropped her eyes just a sliver to stare at the way his jaws moved, so she swallowed and kept staring into his green eyes.

Harry eventually shrugged, putting Mia out of her misery by breaking the eye contact and she felt like she could breathe again. These sessions were tiring for her when the student was so attractive she could hardly focus.

“Well, like I said, these rooms are tiny. I need… space.” He used his hands in a circular motion as if to put more force behind his words, “Space to move, y’know? In the dorms we have a single bed, it’s not easy to manoeuvre. And besides that, there’s not much privacy. I can hear Niall snoring at night, I can hear the bedsprings when Liam rolls over…” He listed.

Mia tried to imagine what that was like and took more notes, bringing Harry’s pen back to her lip without thought as she glanced over the words she wrote down. Harry’s eyes zeroed in on the contact of his pen against her plump pink lip and he exhaled shakily before crossing his legs over one another.

“So is privacy important to you, then?”

Harry tilted his head to the side, “In general?”

Mia paused and took a breath, “O-Or when… you know… doing stuff.”

“Doing stuff?” He feigned confusion, wanting her to say it. Mia took another breath and avoided eye contact, “W-When having… uh – intercourse.”

“Intercourse.” Harry repeated in a hushed huff, shaking his head to himself with a small smile, “When having sex?” He boldly spoke and Mia held her breath when nodding, “Yes.”

Harry couldn’t stop the smirk from growing on his lips, “Mia…” He tutted, not missing the way her shoulders tensed when he murmured her name, “you can say it, you know?”

She frowned a little and shrugged, “I know. Can you please answer the question?”

He smirked wider. He knew it was a dick move, but he suspected she was a virgin ever since meeting her for the first time. Harry didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, she was still eighteen after all. He didn’t have his first time until shortly before his nineteenth birthday either, that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was trying to hide the fact she was a virgin, and it was sort of amusing to him that she had to listen to him talking about having sex in a public library while she had no experience whatsoever.

“I’ll answer when you say it.”

Mia shot him a deadpanned look, “Harry…” She pleaded, and this time it was Harry’s turn to feel his tummy clenching together at the sound of his name falling from her lips. If he closed her eyes, he could imagine her whining it like that in her soft voice while sitting on his lap with her top off. 

This was dangerous, dangerous territory. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, there was a thin line between his teasing and her feeling put on the spot, but he was exploring that line right now. He cleared his throat to get the dirty visual out of his brain, but he couldn’t help himself but wonder what she looked like underneath those warm clothes.

“Go on.” He pushed, deciding it was one last time and if she declined right now, he’d leave it at that. He could already see her pressing her lips together, her cheeks reddening and her eyes looking anywhere besides at him. The pen was tightly clenched between her fingers and she shifted on the couch – tucking her other leg underneath her this time – before inhaling a shaky breath, “Fine. When having s-sex.”

His brows raised up, feeling completely impressed with her. Mia tried to look at him sternly, like it wasn’t the first time she had said those words out loud to someone who was basically a stranger. She tried to hold the eye contact, but she was crumpling on the inside. Harry’s face was rather priceless though, Mia felt. She felt a little proud of herself, but also very uncomfortable and in unfamiliar territory.

Harry smiled to himself and hung his head a little lower to hide it, shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t want everyone to see, I still think it’s something shared between you and your partner. Or partners, whatever.” He spoke, “But the idea of getting caught is a little thrilling, I have to admit.”

Mia’s cheeks had turned into a normal colour now that Harry answered her question. She could feel the feeling in her fingertips returning as she nodded, “So that’s why you did it? Because you like the feeling of maybe getting caught?” She guessed.

Harry rolled his head back into the couch with a sigh, “Not entirely. I-I don’t know. Why’s it matter?”

Mia relaxed in the seat again, “I’m not trying to give you advice or anything here.” Mia spoke, referring to what Harry assumed these sessions would be about the first time they met up earlier this week. Harry’s head lifted and he stared at her with guilt behind his green irises, lips twitching down a little, “I know.”

“I guess I’m just trying to understand.” Mia shrugged and Harry sighed, “But why do you have to understand? Isn’t it normal that you don’t always understand why or how other people do something? It’s such a… psychological thing.” He couldn’t help but turn it back towards their difference in education as he shrugged, “Can’t people just do things because they want to and feel like it? Why do you always have to understand, maybe sometimes you just won’t. Ever. And I think that’s okay?” He rambled.

Mia wrote down in the notebook, finding herself in agreement with Harry but it went against what she had to do in these sessions. She drew a breath, “I understand where you’re coming from. Listen, I-I don’t make the rules here, I’m just executing them.” She softly spoke in defeat, hoping Harry understood. 

He looked at her for a few more seconds, because he did understand. And it just sort of clicked for him. He wasn’t looking at a girl who’s biggest dream was to become a therapist. He was looking at a girl who wanted to pass her classes and her exams, and who needed extra credit even if it meant spending time volunteering in a job she wasn’t all that passionate about and was trying to find herself in.

“Okay.” Harry eventually breathed, “But I think I’ve earned the right to ask you another question.”

Mia softly groaned under her breath, feeling discomfort rising in her body at whatever Harry would fire at her. She sighed and shrugged, “I guess.”

He smiled and rubbed his hands together, mindlessly chewing the piece of gum between his teeth as he thought of it and eventually cleared his throat, “Who’s your hero?”

Yet another question Mia had never seen coming, so it took her a moment to even realise his words before she thought about it. They were left in silence, Harry observing her as Mia was lost in thought until she eventually flicked her eyes at him, “Maya Angelou.”

“Wow.” Harry muttered out, nodding to himself and finding himself impressed, “That’s a really good answer. Did you read her book?”

“I know why the caged bird sings?” Mia asked before nodding, “Yes.”

Harry smiled wider, “That’s so cool.”

“Have you read it?” Mia asked and Harry shook his head, “No, but I really want to.”

Mia nibbled her lip, “I have my copy of it at the apartment, I could lend it to you if you want to.”

Harry’s face lit up as he eagerly nodded, “That’d be sick. Yeah.”

“Okay.” She smiled back widely, “I’ll bring it next week. It’s got some folded edges and I think I wrote down stuff in it and highlighted some paragraphs.” She began in the form of an apology but Harry shook his head, “Don’t worry, I like that. I want to know what you felt like reading it.”

Mia blinked a few times in shock at his words, shyly smiling down, “Alright.”

The rest of the session went by quickly, with Mia trying to explore Harry’s relationship with the school. Another reason she could think of why he would do something as provocative as sleeping with someone in the library. She knew Harry had a bit of a rough first year, so maybe he held some sort of grudge against the school, but Harry didn’t give her much of an answer to that and didn’t feel very strongly about the school in general.

He asked her another question in between, and this time it was what her favourite memory was. Mia didn’t have to think long about that one, immediately responding how she took a solo trip with her two best friends over summer. It was the first time she really went somewhere without her parents and she had never felt so free – she didn’t say it to Harry in those words but she did think fondly of those times with her friends.

Two friends, who took the leap and the opportunity to study abroad this year while Mia stayed behind. One was in Australia, the other in New York. Very far away and Mia missed them tremendously, but they kept in touch through facetime and Mia had even received a couple of postcards. 

The pictures she received of Millie lying on a sunny beach in Australia while she was freezing her butt off here, made her jealous to say the least.

Mia wasn’t sure how Harry managed to get her so weak in the knees, but every little movement he did just caught her off guard and she’d need a minute to recompose herself. She wished his session was the last one, so one, he could maybe stay a little longer and they could chat, and two, she could just go home afterwards and faint on her bed.

But no, Harry’s hour was up and she had to see two others after that and stay here until seven before going home to a crowded apartment – which still sent her spiralling. She had given Hazel the green light to invite her friends over, something she already regretted tremendously but it was too late now to back down. Mia pushed herself out of her comfort zone but regretted it instantly and tried to crawl back, but she couldn’t do that to Hazel.

“So – uh, Tuesday at three?” Harry checked as he got up and put on his coat again. Mia stood up too, awkwardly fiddling with the sleeves of her jumper before nodding, “Yes, Tuesday at three.”

Harry opened up the door already to get out but looked over his shoulder, “Have a nice weekend, Mia."

“You t-“

“Harry!” The voice interrupted Mia as she was about to wish Harry a happy weekend, and she watched with a surprised look at the girl rushing up to Harry in the hallway. She had brown hair in a ponytail, cute bangs covering up her forehead and pink cheeks from the cold outside, “There you are!” She smiled widely.

“Oh. Hey.” He mumbled, a little taken aback to see this girl here. He scratched the back of his neck while I stared at her and how beautiful she was, and the knot in my stomach dropped when I took a step back. Was she the girl he had slept with? Or was she his girlfriend? She was very pretty and she just looked… cool. Fun. She looked like his type.

Mia wanted to curl into a ball at the sight or her waiting for him and Harry glanced over his shoulder again, “Bye.”

“Bye.” Mia murmured, receiving a gentle smile from the girl who picked him up before the door closed and they left together. Her stomach was in knots seeing him leave with her. She seemed nice, the girl with the bangs and the outstanding figure and the bubbly personality. It only made Mia shrink further away, wondering how she could ever think Harry would like her.

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

The tightness in her stomach hadn’t left, and it only worsened when she realised she couldn’t just go home and cry to Hazel about whatever stupid thing had happened and then go to bed at an early hour. No, she had to open the door to multiple people being in her home.

Mia had never been a hostess, she had never really had people over. When she met up with her friends, she used to go to their houses. Her parents weren’t all that keen on having people over and disrupting their day-to-day lives. So Mia did the effort and always went over to their place instead.

She had stayed at the library for one more hour to go over her therapy notes, trying to fix all the writing mistakes she made while penning down so rapidly as people spoke to her. As much as she had tried to pay attention to the other two students who came after Harry, her mind was constantly on him.

And the pretty girl he left with.

By now, her stomach was growling and she dragged herself home, completely dreading the moment she’d open the door and be met with strange people and noises. Mia realised she sounded whiny, but the presence of crowds just dragged her down a little. She was definitely someone who gained energy and good vibes from being by herself or having individual contacts.

The moment she pushed her key into the lock of her flat, she plastered a warm smile on her face and opened up the door. Instead of being met with rowdy, partying people, she opened up the door to a lovely warm apartment to see Hazel and two other girls on the couch drinking some tea.

“Mia.” Hazel’s face lit up as she jumped to her feet, “Hi!”

“Hello.” Mia smiled as she put her bag down and nervously pushed off her coat. She glanced over Hazel’s shoulder to the two other girls who curiously looked at her and Hazel exhaled a breath while smiling, “You’re home, good. We waited on deciding for dinner until you were here. Are you hungry?”

Mia rubbed her hands together, an anxious trait before she also started fiddling with her earlobe. She nodded at Hazel’s question, “Quite hungry, yes.”

“Alright.” Hazel nodded, “Ready to meet my two friends? They’re my best friends, I’ve told you lots about them already.”

Mia nibbled her lip and nodded, “Okay.”

Hazel linked her arm in Mia’s and gently pulled her into the living room, “Guys, this is Mia, my angel of a roommate.” She introduced her and Mia immediately blushed while staring at the ground in shyness before lifting her head. The two girls seemed lovely and friendly as they offered Mia warm smiles, “Hi, we’ve heard so much about you.” One said and the other nodded, “It’s really nice to meet you.” She added.

“You too.” Mia murmured. Hazel then spoke again, “Mia, that’s Cassie.” She introduced Mia to a girl with strawberry blonde hair, styled into a wolf cut that looked incredible on her, before moving onto the next girl, “And Lynn. They live together.” She explained.

Mia nodded and took in the second girl, who had raven-coloured long hair and wore it in a high ponytail. She wore dark, smudgy eye make-up and it looked incredible on her. Both were dressed in outfits that signalled they were going to some sort of bar after this, because they weren’t really dressed for cold weather at all.

“Yeah, we live together with the spawn of Satan.” Lynn dramatically added, and before Mia knew it they were explaining to her the story of how they were fighting with their third roommate and hardly dared going home anymore since the third girl terrorised the place apparently. Mia listened with wide eyes and interesting nods. She had never been introduced to so much drama but it was quite fun to hear about.

Hazel stared at her roommate with proud eyes as she sat in between Cassie and Lynn. Mia only really turned pink and shy when they asked her a question, but Hazel had spoken to them about Mia and let them know to take it easy on her.

They eventually decided to order pizza, Mia even branching out by trying a few toppings. She had to admit she forgot all about Harry while hanging out with Hazel’s friends in such a non-expecting kind of way. Like these people were just genuinely nice and interested and they didn’t judge or want anything from her.

It was refreshing. She didn’t have to prove a thing to them.

“Alright, it’s nine in the evening, I think it’s time to start drinking.” Cassie eventually announced after finishing up her tea, “Who wants margarita’s?!”

Lynn and Hazel both cheered as Mia blinked at Cassie a few times, who softly smiled at Mia from her position next to her, “Do you want one, Mia? I can make it non-alcohol if you like.”

Mia let out a relieved breath and nodded, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“No problem.” Cassie assured before she got up her feet and made herself comfortable in Mia and Hazel’s kitchen. Mia’s fingers itched to go help her or clean up after her or tell her not to slam the drawers so hard – but she refrained herself. She was trying to let go.

Once the doorbell rang, everyone assumed it was the pizza delivery service, but the third friend showed up. Renan was a very gay eighteen year old who Hazel had known most of her life. His hair was dyed navy blue and he sported a nose ring – which made Mia think of Harry instantly. He was just as friendly as the other two yet Mia needed a little more time to warm up to him for the simple fact that he was a man and she hadn’t interacted with men all that much in such a casual setting.

The non-alcohol margarita tasted delicious and eventually, Cassie made her a second one when the pizza’s arrived. It was foreign for Mia, sitting on the carpet around the coffee table and sharing pizza while having drinks and casual chats with friends. She was mostly listening to what they talked about, observing a little bit and smiling along sometimes.

Hazel followed her gaze when Mia got a text from Harry, smirking knowingly but not saying anything to her friends. Mia was pretty sure Lynn was in philosophy too.

Message from: H. Sinclair

Today’s session was actually kind of fun! Still no plans for tonight?

Mia warily looked at the message, leaving it open for a bit as she turned her phone over again and contemplated on what to answer him. She could feel Hazel staring at her and avoided her eyes. She didn’t exactly want to discuss this with the entire group, it’d be something for her and Hazel to talk about when they were on their own. 

“So Mia, do you want to go out with us tonight? We’re just going to this bar near campus.” Renan asked while chewing his pizza. Mia stopped mid-chew to stare at him and then flicked her eyes to Hazel, who was already looking back at her. Mia swallowed and cleared her throat, “Oh – uh… I don’t know.”

“Why not?” He pouted and Mia chuckled, “I-I wanted to revise a little bit.”

Cassie groaned in protest, “But it’s a Friday! Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s just a bar, nothing too crazy or loud or far. If you want to go home, you can.” She promised.

Mia felt put on the spot but eventually nodded, “Y-Yeah. Okay. I’ll come with you.” Her heart was beating a billion miles an hour as she agreed to do something she had never done before, and her anxiety was through the roof.

She stopped eating the pizza, her appetite fully gone and then she grabbed her phone, texting Harry back with shaky fingers.

Message to: H. Sinclair

I’m glad you liked it :). I’m going to a bar.

She sent it like that and locked her phone again before Hazel pulled her out of her thoughts, “Mia, can I talk to you for a minute?” She asked, nudging her head towards her bedroom. Mia nodded and followed her, blocking out the noise of the other three talking and laughing as she closed the door behind them when in Hazel’s bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Hazel checked immediately, “You don’t have to go out with us if you don’t want to. They won’t mind, I promise. They’re not like that. They just really like you and it would be fun if you’d join us. We’re just headed to that bar across the East building, it’s really mellow there and nothing rowdy.” She rambled.

“I-I’m fine. I think.” Mia stuttered, “Just a little nervous.”

Hazel pouted a little, “I know, I can tell.”

Mia fiddled with her fingers, “Can you… make me pretty then?”

“You’re already pretty.” Hazel frowned and Mia nibbled her lip, “Yeah, but… I don’t know, like my clothes and what make-up I should wear?”

“Of course,” Hazel rushed out, “but you don’t need any of that. Where’s this coming from?”

Mia pressed her lips together and shrugged and Hazel frowned deeper, “Is this because of Harry?”

“He just…” Mia sighed before shrugging again and diverting her eyes lower, “some girl picked him up after therapy and she was really pretty.”

“Is she his girlfriend, you think?”

“I don’t know.” Mia murmured, “I didn’t talk to her and I haven’t asked him. I-It’s stupid, right? That I’m feeling so down about that?”

“It’s not.” Hazel shook her head, “You like him a little, you have a crush. So it’s not a nice feeling to see him with someone else, even if she’s not his girlfriend. Have you spoken to him afterwards?”

Mia pulled out her phone, unlocked it and showed her screen with the messages. Hazel’s eyes flicked over the typed letters and she puffed out a loud huff, “Damn, Mia, you’re cold!”

“What?” Mia asked with raised brows and Hazel laughed softly, “You didn’t give him any room for an answer! You didn’t ask what he was doing, you didn’t say what bar you’re going to… it’s pretty obvious he asked you that because he wants to see you tonight.” She grinned.

Mia frowned, “It is? Obvious? I-I don’t know.”

Hazel playfully rolled her eyes, “You’re just so oblivious. Come on, let’s get you ready.”

“Yeah.” Mia ignored the heaviness in her tummy, somehow wanting to do this tonight but today had just already been a lot and she felt like she could use a nap. But she tried to be more spontaneous. If the bar really was that close, maybe she could just leave after like ten minutes of socialising and pushing her boundaries.

“D’you want a hug first?” Hazel offered and Mia sighed with low shoulders, “Yes, please.”

Hazel chuckled and pulled Mia into her, and the two hugged in the bedroom of the apartment which relaxed Mia to an extent she couldn’t explain. She pulled back with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Hazel nodded, before pulling Mia into her own bedroom to pick out an outfit.

About twenty minutes later, the entire crew of five was in Mia’s bedroom, looking for outfits. Mia had felt uncomfortable at first with all these people in her space, but they didn’t make anything weird and they didn’t look at her strangely. They just looked at her clothes and gave her advice, eventually settling on a cute flowy top with little blue flowers on it. It was a little low shaped around her chest but nothing her loose hair wouldn’t cover up. She pulled out the braid for the first time in what felt like forever.

Along with black flares that nipped in at her waist to give her an outstanding figure – as Renan said it to make Mia blush – and some heeled boots, the observers deemed her ready to go out with them. Mia borrowed a leather blazer from Hazel and felt like an entirely new woman. 

She was still fiddly and anxious, but also a little excited. She felt comfortable around these people and she hadn’t heard from Harry anymore. She hardly believed Hazel’s words. If Harry wanted to see her, he’d ask her, right?

Cassie offered her another non-alcohol margarita while Lynn did some magic on Mia’s eyes. With just some soft brown eyeshadow and a little blush, she looked very put together and was happy with the result.

“You have such good skin.” Lynn complimented while stroking the brush over Mia’s cheeks. The compliment made her smile and giddy inside, “Thank you. I have a pretty good routine down.”

“Yeah? You should let me have a look at those products.” She chuckled, “My skin’s a nightmare ever since going on birth control.”

Mia didn’t answer much, she couldn’t really talk about the topic of birth control. She wasn’t on any – her mother would absolutely kill her if she so much as mentioned it – and she didn’t feel like she truly needed it right now. Her periods weren’t all that bad and she wasn’t sexually active.

Once Mia put on her shoes, everyone was ready to leave a little bit before eleven. Mia couldn’t remember the last time she stayed up this late, her arm linked in Hazel’s as they braved the November cold in their thin – yet pretty – outfits.

A few streets over, Harry was in the very bar Mia was heading to. He sat next to Liam, drinking beer out of the bottle with his jumper on the chair next to him and his arms on display. He leaned back into the chair, watching as Niall and Louis played a game of pool and Zayn was at the bar ordering some more drinks.

His phone was on the table, staring at Mia’s message. He let out another sigh after swallowing his beer, “Seriously, what am I supposed to answer to that?” He groaned while showing Liam the screen. His friend had chuckled at his desperate attempts to get Mia to have a decent conversation with him through text. He shrugged, “She’s not a mind reader, Harry. I don’t think there’s any malicious intent in her text, she just doesn’t realise what you really want to ask.”

Harry rolled his eyes, nervously chewing on his lip. Today had been great with Mia – great enough that Harry could not get her out of his mind. The way her face fell when Sarah waited for him after the session, hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. He didn’t understand it, but didn’t have time to ask her anything.

Harry shot Sarah a brief wave, who was on the other side of the bar with Mitch. They were also people Harry had gotten to know through student housing, and he actually set the two of them up. He was quite proud of his work as Cupid, he only hoped he could do it for himself once too. 

As Zayn came back with the beers, the door opened with a little ding and Harry routinely checked to see who walked in and if it was someone he knew.

He froze completely when he did a double take, thinking he recognized Mia, only she looked completely different. Well, not completely different. Her hair was the same – only out of the braid – and he recognized the blue of her eyes as well as her soft pink lips, and the shape of her body in the flares she had worn all day.

But she looked confident, dressed in a cute floral top which was mostly hidden by the leather jacket she wore. She was surrounded by giddy girls which Harry recognized faintly from school. Mia had her arm linked in Hazel’s, someone Harry knew from certain classes.

“Liam.” He elbowed his buddy in the ribs harshly while keeping his eyes trained on Mia, who unsurely darted her eyes through the space to seize it up. Harry wondered if she had ever been here before.

“Ouch.” Liam complained, rubbing his sore rib as he frowned at Harry, “What?”

“That’s her.” He nudged his head in Mia’s direction who was now near the bar and standing close to Hazel while fiddling with her fingers. Liam chuckled, “Mia? She’s the one in the floral top?”

“Yes.” He nodded and Liam hummed, “She’s really cute.”

Harry turned around with a glare and Liam burst out into a cackle, “Fucking hell, you’ve got it bad. I mean she looks really sweet, H. Kind of too sweet for you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Too sweet for me.” He repeated in a low mumble and Liam chuckled again, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, I think you can use someone to soften you up a little. You’re always so grumpy and uptight.”

“’M not uptight.” Harry retorted and Liam rolled his eyes, “It’s not because you fuck someone in a library and get caught doing so, that you’re not uptight. You’re just so… impatient and short-tempered. Like I said, someone to soften you up.”

Harry rolled his eyes too and snuck his eyes back to Mia, completely drawn to her and he knew other guys in the space were shooting her looks too. It was obviously someone new, someone no one had really seen before. She didn’t stand out much still in between her rather eclectic friends – including a guy with blue hair – but she was very easy on the eyes.

When she finally caught his eye, Mia’s face completely fell in pure shock. She paled and swallowed thickly, forcing him a tight-lipped smile, which Harry returned as he shot her a small wave. Mia’s heart was pounding and she turned around briskly, “Hazel.” She spoke in a right panic, eyes wide and heart thrashing violently in her chest.

Hazel frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here.” Mia squeaked in a shaky voice, “He’s here, he’s sitting right there! Oh my god.” She whispered while bringing her hand up to her mouth, “Oh my god, I’m gonna be sick.”

Hazel pressed her lips together, trying to keep a straight face when she really wanted to burst out laughing, “Mia,” She breathed, “he’s just a guy. Just… let him come to you and see what happens. You don’t need to be nervous. He’s just like you and me.”

Mia tried to level her breathing, tried to really listen to what Hazel was saying but her mind was clouded with anxiety, balancing on the edge of excitement but just tipping over into the truly scary side that made her spiral a little. 

She felt Harry’s eyes burning into her back and she subconsciously immediately wondered if he liked the way she looked tonight. Hazel nudged her into a booth and Mia slid in, sitting in between Cassie and Hazel and right across from Renan and Lynn. Her hands anxiously rubbed together on her lap until Hazel took a hold of one of them to distract her.

Mia really couldn’t explain how eternally grateful she was for her friend and her endless patience.

Sitting down, she found herself calming down a little. Harry wasn’t in her direct sight, she’d have to near snap her neck to take a look at him. She slowly sipped on the non-alcohol drink Hazel ordered her. It tasted sweeter than the margarita from earlier and she found herself quite liking it. She listened in on conversation but no one really seemed to mind that she was more of a silent observer than a loud participant.

Letting her eyes scan the room, Mia began to appreciate the building they were in. It was cosy and nice. The music was rather soft and in the background, it was littered with booths and then some smaller, round tables. There were pool tables on one side, the ceilings were high and had some wooden beams on them and the bar was long and shiny. It really did give off a good vibe.

Her breath caught in her throat again though when she laid eyes on the girl she had seen Harry with earlier. Her hair was still in the ponytail and she smiled widely at something the guy opposite her said, and Mia’s eyes widened when she leaned over the table and planted a kiss to his lips. 

Okay, so not Harry’s girlfriend.

Mia instantly felt silly for immediately assuming something like that and let out a sigh, wondering if she had been harsh in her messaging to Harry. With her lip between her teeth, she pulled out her phone.

Message to: H. Sinclair

Hi. :)

She left the page open, waiting for the three dots to appear in an answer from him, but minutes passed and nothing came on. Mia exhaled a breath and dared to sneak a glance over her shoulder, quickly seeing Harry leaned over the pool table with a stick in his hand and his lip between his teeth before he took his shot. She averted her eyes to the table behind him, seeing his phone on it.

He hadn’t seen. He hadn’t ignored her.

She felt relieved again, but hated the way she was so affected by this entire thing. She hadn’t really even known Harry for a week yet had seen him three times, and the receiving or not receiving a message from him really affected her mood. She didn’t like it, the power she had so willingly handed him because she was very certain it wasn’t the other way around.

She doubted he thought of her that much or that he waited for her text, or that he was this nervous to be in the same room as her.

Following along in conversation again, it was only a few minutes later that Mia wiggled herself out of the booth to get the next round. She had seen other people ordering and then the bartenders brought the drinks to the table, so she could do that. Order and pay, and then sit down again for them to be delivered. There was no way she could carry five drinks.

She had taken off the blazer and brushed her hair over her shoulder as she waited in line, subtly glancing to her left to see Harry again. She had been so shocked to see his face, that she hadn’t even noticed he was wearing a shirt and she could see his arms. He was too far away for her to decently see what tattoos he had, but he definitely had tattoos. His one arm looked like it was inked with lots of smaller doodles, while his other arm seemed mostly vacant apart from a few larger ones she couldn’t really see well.

He had a concentrated frown on his forehead, brown wavy chestnut hair swept away with one little floppy curl hanging down over the skin. He peeked through one eye before jamming his arm forward, bicep flexing as he harshly hit the white ball to collide with another.

Mia didn’t know much about the rules of pool, but in her mind, Harry had just won the entire game. He stared critically at his work, walking a slow circle around the table until she could see his casual jeans coming into sight. With the white t-shirt on, he looked so incredibly good she could drool if she opened her mouth.

“Hi.” Someone stood in front of her, blocking her view of Harry immediately and she blinked a couple of times to snap out of her thoughts. In front of her was a blonde man, smiling gently down at her to reveal one dimple in his cheek.

Harry had two.

She shifted on her other leg and politely smiled back, “Hi.”

“I haven’t seen you around here before, is it your first time here?” He questioned out of the blue and Mia swallowed, nodding softly, “It is.”

He took a swig of his beer and hummed, “Well, nice to meet you. I’m Tyler.” He extended his hand for her to shake and Mia hesitantly did, shaking it, “Mia.” She introduced herself.

The guy didn’t move away from her as she moved up a spot in the line for the bar. She snuck a glance over her shoulder, seeing Hazel and Cassie with their backs to her while Lynn and Renan were too busy in conversation to notice Mia talking to this stranger.

She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans awkwardly, not sure what else to do with them.

“So you’re a student, I suppose?” Tylerasked, shuffling along with her. Mia nodded, “I am. Psychology, first year.”

Tyler’s face lit up, “Really? No way! I’m in my third year of psychology.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Mia smiled gently, feeling slightly more at ease now that it sounded like he was just being polite and moving up in the line with her. Maybe he attempted to strike up a conversation to cut the line a little, make people think they were together so he didn’t have to wait for drinks as long.

“First year’s quite hard, don’t let it demotivate you though.” Tyler advised, “Are you struggling with any subjects?”

All of them – Mia thought to herself, but she shrugged instead, “It’s alright.” She lied, “Neuropsychology is quite difficult.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Tyler groaned, “I hated that. Who’s the professor again?”

“Professor Sawyer.” Mia answered and he chuckled again, “Right. She was such a bitch to me in my first year.”

Mia felt a little taken aback by his blunt words and just pressed her lips together. Never did she think she’d ever call another woman a bitch. Nor did she think professor Sawyer was one. She was a strict professor, but a correct one. She brought the course materials in a very right way, only it was a difficult subject and Mia was already slightly behind due to her dyslexia.

“So – uh,” Mia cleared her throat, forcing herself to say something, “how did your first year go?”

Tyler chuckled while taking another sip, “Passed the entire thing, with flying colours actually.”

Even if he was cocky about it, Mia did find herself slightly impressed. Tyler caught onto the look of wonder in her eyes, “If you ever have any questions… I could tutor you.”

Mia’s stomach tightened and her hands balled into fists in the back pockets of her jeans, “Oh. T-That’s nice but I’m actually following tutoring sessions already.”

“Yeah, but you have to pay for those. You wouldn’t have to pay for them with me. Unless – I mean, if you wanted to buy me dinner or pay me back in some other way, I wouldn’t stop you.” He had a small smirk on his lips and Mia’s cheeks heated up, immediately wondering if he meant what she thought he meant, and she very much hoped not.

She offered him a tight-lipped smile and Lucas drew a breath, “I’ll put my number in your phone, y’know, in case you ever need it.”

Mia felt her throat going a little dry, “I-I don’t have my phone on me right now.” She mumbled. It was true, she had left it on the table. All she took was some cash. She looked at her table, realising no one had noticed yet that she was here with Tyler in a conversation that had turned unpleasant pretty quickly. Not even the people around her – who could listen in – seemed alarmed at how uncomfortable she got.

“Oh,” Tyler pulled out his phone, “you can put your number in mine then.”

Mia’s lips parted as she scanned her brain for the right words to say until she eventually found her voice, “I – uh… I don’t think I want that. I don’t need tutoring, thank you.”

“Mia.” He frowned, pushing his phone a little closer to her, “C’mon, put in your number.”

“She said no, just back off.” Harry’s voice sounded closer by then she could’ve anticipated, and Mia jumped up a little at his sudden interruption. She could see him behind Tyler, a concerned frown on his face before he glanced at Mia, “Hey. You alright?”

“Y-Yeah.” She shakily answered. Tyler stared Harry up and down, “What? Mate, I’m in conversation.”

“Not anymore.” Harry shrugged, “Get lost, leave her alone. She doesn’t want your number.”

Tyler frowned deeper at him and then stared at Mia, huffing out bitterly before he turned around and left. Mia felt like she could breathe decently and Harry took Tyler’s spot, taking in Mia’s trembling form.

“Mia.” He tried to get her attention, moving one hand to her arm to get her to look at him, “I need you to tell me if you’re okay.”

Mia felt electrified with him touching her for the first time, a warm palm that she could feel even through the fabric of her floral blouse with the long bell sleeves. “Y-Yeah, I’m okay.” She murmured. Harry still looked worried as he nodded and then dropped his hand, “Good. I sent you like three texts asking you if I had to come and save you.”

She rubbed her forehead, “I left my phone on the table, I didn’t see.”

“Oh. Well, it’s always a good idea to bring your phone if you’re leaving your little group. Even in a bar like this, there are creeps everywhere.” His voice sounded gravelly and if Mia hadn’t been so flustered from her run-in with Tyler, she’d appreciate the way Harry stood in front of her in his effortless beauty. How someone could make a white shirt and blue jeans look so fashionable, was a mystery to her.

“Right.” She nodded at his words which were so obvious, “I-I’m sorry.” Mia felt stupid for not thinking of something so small as keeping her phone on her. Her arms were around herself and Harry shook his head, “Don’t apologise, ‘m just glad you’re okay.” He reassured her.

“And thank you for saving me.” She breathed, “He wanted my number, I-I didn’t want him to have it.”

Harry nodded, “I know.” He tried his best to keep his calm, but to see some guy blatantly flirting with an anxious Mia while he had to watch from across the bar as she forced him tight-lipped smiles and hardly dared to look at him, had been torture for Harry.

He didn’t want to overstep, but he didn’t want to leave her alone either. When he saw her visibly flinching at something he said, that’s where Harry drew the line and went to intervene. And he was glad he did, and he felt like he should’ve done it sooner.

“I was just trying to be polite.” Mia choked out, “I wasn’t flirting with him, I-I swear.”

“Hey,” He frowned, bringing his hand back to her bicep to gently rub in an attempt to calm her down, “I know, it’s okay. I didn’t think you were.”

Mia’s body flooded with relief at his words and Harry then shot her a reassuring smile, “I’m actually glad to run into you here. Didn’t think this was the bar you were referring to.”

“Oh.” Mia smiled softly, “I-I’ve never actually been here. I usually stay in on Fridays and enjoy some time by myself.”

Harry nodded, “Right. Well, I’m glad you’re here.” He repeated, feeling stupid about saying the same thing twice, but it was worth it when it caused Mia to shyly smile down at her feet. Harry decided to push it, feeling slightly more confident that maybe – just maybe – she had a crush on him too. “You look really pretty, Mia.”

“Stop.” She winced, bringing her hands out of the pockets of her jeans to hide her face with a giggle. Harry laughed at that, “What?” He pried and she shook her head, “You’re making me blush.” She admitted in a murmur.

They shuffled further into the line, only one person in front of them before she could place her order. “Because I’m giving you a compliment?” Harry asked and Mia nodded, still hiding her face until she spread her fingers so she could peek through them. Harry was still smiling at her and she eventually dropped her hands, revealing her pink cheeks and her soft grin.

Harry breathed out a chuckle and shook his head, “You’re also really cute.”

“Oh my god.” Mia winced, hiding her face again and Harry laughed a little louder this time, not stopping himself as he ghosted his hand over her lower back to nudge her forward. He did gently touch her to get her attention, “It’s your turn to order.”

Mia took a breath before removing her hands and clearing her throat in front of the waiter, “Hi. Uh – two beers, one red martini and one pink martini. And one alcohol free margarita, please.”

Harry’s lips twitched up in a soft smile, and he didn’t have to ask her to know which drink was for her. He also signalled the waiter, “Another beer for me. You can bring the drinks to that table,” He pointed to where Mia’s friends were, “and bring one of the beers and the margarita straight here.” He spoke.

The waiter nodded and when Mia went to pay for the drinks, Harry shook his head and instead offered his own card before Mia could protest. She stared at Harry with big wondrous eyes and he smiled down at her before urging her to sit down on one of the barstools off to the side. She did as he motioned for her to do before watching him as he grabbed another barstool and easily lifted it.

The sight of his muscles working just made her feel something she couldn’t really explain, and Harry was oblivious to her staring eyes as he placed the stool down right next to hers, their knees bumping together clumsily before he climbed on it.

“Thank you for the drink.” Mia broke the silence. Harry waved her sentiment away with a chuckle, “That’s alright.”

“How did you know the margarita was mine?” She asked curiously and Harry leaned his elbow on the bartop, shrugging, “Guessed it. You don’t strike me as the type to drink much.”

Mia’s smile fell a little and Harry caught on, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I don’t mean in like a… I think you’re boring-way, because definitely not. I don’t know, you just seem careful.”

“I am.” She admitted, leaving out the part where she wondered sometimes if it was too careful. Mia always felt like careful was a nice way of saying that she was boring, and she had heard it all her life. Some said she was too careful and others – her parents – claimed she was never careful enough. Mia drew a breath, “I’ve never had an alcoholic drink.”

“That’s fine.” Harry shrugged, “I don’t drink much besides beer either."

Their drinks got placed in front of them before the waiter hurried away to serve the remainder of the people waiting in line. Harry lifted up his bottle, “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Mia softly smiled, “And thank you, again. For the drink, for stepping in, for… everything.”

“Now you’re going to make me blush.” He teased and Mia giggled, taking a sip of her drink as he took a sip of his. He swallowed it, “D’you want to try it? Beer?” He offered her his bottle.

“Oh.” Mia hesitated, nibbling her lip. Harry saw her stare, “It doesn’t have much alcohol in it. You definitely won’t feel it from one sip, I promise.”

She looked at him and eventually nodded, “Okay.” She took the bottle from him and carefully brought it to her lips. Harry wanted to shoot himself when he could only think unholy things as she tipped the bottle back and her lips folded around the crown of it. He wanted to throw it to the side and pull her on his lap and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.

Somehow it felt a little intimate, her drinking from his bottle. Her drinking where his lips had just been. Mia made a bit of a sour face at the taste and swallowed quickly, “I don’t think I like it.”

Harry chuckled and quickly reached for the bottle again, taking an urgent sip with the sole purpose of trying to taste some of her on it. And he did. The sweetness of her drink was covering up the crown of the bottle, and he licked his lips to savour it afterwards.

“You have so many tattoos.” Mia observed, deciding to state the obvious now that she could get a good look at his arms. Harry glanced down too and nodded, “I do. Kind of couldn’t stop once I started. I really only started getting them when I turned eighteen and it went on from there.” He simply explained.

Mia finally could see the full writing on his wrist, staring at the ink that decorated him so perfectly it seemed almost like he was born with it. 

Her and Harry got lost in a conversation she couldn’t exactly remember. The green of his eyes was enough to block out all her senses, and Harry thought it was adorable how she had to often ask him to repeat a question because she was stuck staring at him. It turned into blushing cheeks for her and teasing grins from him. 

Their knees bumped together more often now and Mia’s cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. She still felt some anxiety, but it was pure excitement now. Excitement to spend time with Harry, who had sort of been her knight in shining armour tonight. Mia hated to admit that she found that attractive, yet she had a feeling Harry didn’t mind being protective.

And she felt safe here, with him in a rather crowded bar. 

Her smile faltered though when she noticed Tyler again in the corner of her eye, glaring at the pair as he mumbled something to one of his mates. They didn’t seem to pay much attention to his words, but Mia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Harry took notice of it, following her gaze before shooting her a sympathetic smile, “Are you okay?” He checked once more.

Mia exhaled a breath and contemplated her answer, but Harry beat her to it, “D’you want to go home?”

She lifted her eyes, apologising to him through them, “I think so, yes.”

He nodded understandingly, “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.”

Mia’s brows raised, “What? You don’t have to do that. Your friends are all here.”

“I see them every day.” He chuckled, “I don’t mind, Mia. Really. It would make me feel a lot better to know you got home safe.”

She nibbled her lip in hesitation, “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” He nodded with a confirming smile, “I suppose you don’t live far?”

“No, like ten minutes.”

“Perfect.” Harry smiled, “Come on, let me walk you home.”

She fought the grin on her lips but found herself nodding, “Okay.”

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: apple jacks

Group: Final

Prompts: Baby milestones. Panic, expect, ambition, compact. Treasure.

-

French’s Bed and Breakfast

Belle was dozing on the couch, her head tipping over the book open in her lap.

It was easier to wait downstairs when someone was late for check-in; living on the third floor of the Victorian afforded her and Gideon the most privacy and neither one of them minded the stairs. They creaked something fierce, though, and she never wanted to chance waking the other guests.

Not that there were others right now to wake; they had reached the dead-zone of mid January, when the holidays were over and travel ceased. Coastal Maine didn’t have anything to recommend itself for a yearly tourist season, and Storybrooke, tucked away from any major city, was no exception.

They’d make do in the dead months of winter. They always had, her and Gideon.

This recent booking would help; a last minute reservation wasn’t the difference between life and death, but it would help keep the heat running.

Belle stirred as she heard the sound of footsteps on her porch, her hand reaching more out of instinct than thought for her bookmark. The following knock was sharp and impatient.

Opening the door, she was greeted by a man with not quite shoulder length hair in a long black coat, a single duffle bag slug around his shoulder. One of his hands was occupied by a gold topped cane. He had dark brown eyes and a long face that might have been handsome had it not been downturned in a truly impressive scowl.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?” he snapped.

“Welcome to French’s Bed and Breakfast.” Belle pulled on a serene smile that would put Florence Nightingale to shame as she stepped aside to let him in.

"Save your pleasantries," the man said, the tap of his cane muffled by the rug as he made his way through the doorway.

Belle spared a glance outside—the shape of a dark car she didn’t recognize was parked at the end of her driveway, barely visible from the light of the house. At least he had parked in the right spot.

“Would you like help with your other bags?”

His scowl deepened as he surveyed the entranceway. “What I would like is to be pointed to my room.”

Belle suppressed a sigh and closed the door.

“Of course, sir,” she said in a mollifying tone. She side-stepped him to get to the table that acted as her front desk. Opening her laptop, she asked, “Can I have your name?”

“Gold.” It was said as if he’d thrown a plate on the floor.

Yup, there he was, an S. Gold, her guest for the next two weeks. Lucky her.

“Okay, we’ve put you into the Garden Room—”

“Ground floor.” It wasn’t quite a snarl, but Belle didn’t appreciate his curling lip.

“I’m sorry?”

“I requested a room on the ground floor.” 

Which is exactly what the Garden Room was; she’d seen the request when the booking website had made the reservation, and she was accommodating it.

She held out the room key, customer-service smile plastered over her face despite her tired annoyance. “And so it is. I’m afraid it’s too late for a full tour—”

“I wouldn’t be so late if you had better signage—”

“But if you follow me through here, I’ll show you to your room, and then we can both call it a night,” she finished. She breezed past, knowing he followed thanks to the soft tap of his cane. “Breakfast is served from seven to ten, join us or don’t.”

He entered his room, not acknowledging a word she said. Without even a look, he firmly shut the door in her face.

The bed and breakfast had seen worse guests, even if she couldn’t name any of them right then. At least he’d paid upfront. 

OO

The next day dawned bright and cold. Belle had some time before she had to get breakfast started, so she lay in bed enjoying the sunset as it peeked through her curtains. It was her favorite time of day, especially so because of the soft notes of the piano that rose to greet her.

Gideon liked to practice before he left for school; her son also liked to practice when he arrived home from school. Honestly, if he’d been able to play the piano in his sleep he’d have found the way to. It was a good thing his room was three floors away, or he really would be playing every moment he could. As such, the piano was currently set against the south wall of the study. Which was directly next to the Garden Room. Where she had put up Mr. Gold.

Oh no.

Belle was out of bed, pulling on her robe and half-way down the hallway before she realized it. Gideon knew the rules about quiet hours, but he likely hadn’t thought to check the registration book––and who could blame him, the booking only came in the day before—their last guest left the seventh, nearly two weeks ago—she didn’t care if Gold was a guest, if he so much as looked at Gideon cross-eyed, she’d—

But as Belle’s feet hit the ground floor, she heard something surprising.

”—don’t need to worry about the black keys yet,” she heard Gideon say. “Now, can you find the C again?”

”Here, isn’t it?” 

Belle recognized the voice of Mr. Gold, but it was less sharp than it had been the night before.

“Yes, that’s right. So where are the F and G?”

Belle poked her head around the corner. Gideon was sitting at the bench, which was expected. Beside him was Mr. Gold, which was not.

“These two, yes? Next to each other.” His hand was pointed to the keyboard.

“That’s right.” Gideon positioned a finger over each key. “Play these together six times,” he said, going slow. “And then you move your left finger over, down to the E, and play both keys six more times.”

Gold nodded as Gideon kept playing, a present student.

“And then you’ll move both fingers to the D and B, like this. There’s a skip down to A and then B after four beats on the right finger, but then it’s to C for both, and then you move up the scale until you’re back to F and G, then you do it all again.”

“You make it look easy.” Gold’s voice was quiet, and Belle suspected Gideon couldn't hear the amusement.

”It is easy; it’s a song for babies.” Gideon took his hands away. “Here, you try it.”

Gold didn’t hesitate to replace her son’s fingers on the piano; he matched Gideon’s pace and carefully tapped the piano keys exactly how he’d been shown.

”Like that?”

”Yes, exactly. And that’s the first part.”

”You mean there’s more?”

”If you want to learn piano, you have to learn Chopsticks. Let’s do it again, it’s important to practice.”

”Good morning,” Belle said.

Gideon startled, fingers hitting the keys askew.

”Mom,” he said brightly, turning towards her and quickly removing his hands from the keys. “Morning.”

She raised her eyebrow, and his smile turned sheepish.

”He was already awake,” he mumbled.

Belle shot a glance to Mr. Gold, who didn’t look like he’d be lodging a noise complaint. His poker face was much better than her son’s, though.

”I’m going to get started on breakfast. Gideon, have you eaten?”

”Yeah, I had some cereal.” His eyes darted back to the piano, anxious to resume his impromptu lesson.

Belle looked towards her guest, catching his stare before he quickly looked away.

”How do you take your eggs?” she asked him.

He blinked, the question taking a few seconds to register in his head. ”However you make them is fine.”

Belle went to the kitchen, and the sound of carefully pressed keys followed. They had made it through the entirety of Chopsticks twice as she was reaching for the juice glasses. Then Gideon was calling out a goodbye, followed by the sound of the door.

She waited for Gold to appear at the table, but instead the piano music picked back up, and it was not the simple children’s song. Frowning, Belle turned back to the study.

She didn’t know what song he was playing; it was mellow and calm and somber and good for a gray winter morning. It was also definitely not on the sheet music that Gideon had left open on the music rack.

”A beginner, huh?”

Mr. Gold did not startle, nor did he stop playing. “Your son is a skilled teacher,” he said, voice carrying over the notes. 

Just who was this man? Showing up out of nowhere in his fine suits, reserving a room for two weeks with only a small bag. One moment he was a snapping dragon and the next happy to humor an excited child. Belle wondered what other facets he was hiding.

”How long has he been playing?”

His question broke her out of her scrutiny, and she realized she’d been staring rather rudely at his profile.

“He turned nine in November, so about that long.”

“A passionate lad.”

Her sound of agreement was covered by the ending notes. They hung in the air, even as Mr. Gold turned to face her. It seemed he wasn’t sure what to do when his hands weren’t occupied, and he looked at her, lost.

For this, she at least had the answer.

“Breakfast is in the kitchen. You want some coffee?”

Gold carefully stood from the bench, his cane in hand as he trailed after her.

”Please.”

She got him seated in front of her morning spread; eggs and bacon, a stack of toast and a bowl of fresh fruit, served family style, albeit paired down considerably.

”Anything else?” she asked as she set down his coffee.

“Aren’t you eating?” He gestured to the seat across him and the lack of a second place setting.

“I usually eat after guests.”

”Please don’t wait on my account.”

“You don’t mind the company?”

“No,” he was quick to assure her. “Not at all.”

Belle got herself a plate and a fork, sitting across from Mr. Gold at the table.

“What brings you to Storybrooke?” Belle asked, scooping some scrambled eggs onto her plate.

“Visiting family.”

“Distant relatives?” At his nonplussed look, she said, “I don’t know of any other Scottish people around here.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I haven’t stepped foot in Scotland in decades. My son is quite American, unfortunately. I’m sure you relate.”

“Not all bad, these American kids,” Belle said, more amused than she was willing to admit. Not everyone clocked her own Australian accent, it having mellowed and flattened in all her years spent stateside.

“You’re visiting your son, then?” At his nod, she asked, “Special occasion?”

His crooked smirk immediately transformed to a wide smile, the happiness uncontainable on his sharp face.

“I’m a grandfather,” he said with pride. “My son and his wife had a baby, and I’m here to meet him.”

”A baby! Oh that’s wonderful.” She went through a mental list of everyone she knew who’d had one recently: it was very short. She could really only think of Ashley and Shawn, but Shawn’s father was very much already in town and very much not Scottish.

“Who’s your son?” Belle asked.

”Neal Cassidy,” he said with quiet reference. “His wife is—”

”Emma! Right! They’re quite new to town themselves—“ she cut herself off, realizing. “Henry is almost two, isn’t he? And you’re only meeting him now?”

It was as effective as having the door slammed in her face. Gold’s face shuttered, and just like that the man who’d checked in last night was sitting across from her. It was the first time she’d seen him all morning.

“Yes, well,” he said, starting to push out his chair. His breakfast was only half eaten.

”Wait.” Belle’s hand grabbed his, and the contact shocked him enough that he stopped his escape. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Gold focused on their hands on the table, and she could feel the effort it took him to unclench.

“Neal and I have had our differences,” he said quietly. “He’s my treasure, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I ruined it. Completely.”

Belle squeezed his hand. She could only imagine what sort of rift had opened up between him and his son. If she were ever to become estranged from Gideon, that’d be it. She’d be nothing but dust.

”I may have missed some of Henry’s early milestones, but I’m here now.”

”You are,” Belle agreed, giving his hand another squeeze. “Neal invited you himself, didn’t he?” If he hadn��t, it was going to create problems that were way above Belle’s ability to solve.

“Aye, he did.”

”Well, there you go then.” With a nod, she pulled her hand back, picking up her coffee mug.

Gold stared at his hand, now alone on the table. “I don’t understand.”

”Family can be complicated, but it’s never too late to mend things. Neal wants you here, and wants you in Henry’s life. He wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.”

Gold moved the remains of his breakfast listlessly around his plate. He sighed, the weight of his past mistakes evident in the lines of his face. Belle watched him with curiosity, wondering about the stories he carried within him. She knew all too well the wounds that could fester over time if left unattended.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said finally.

“I know it’s not,” Belle assured him. “But it’s never too late to try to make things right.” She offered him a smile over her mug. “The first step is always the hardest. Always.”

“Here’s to an easier second step then,” Gold said, letting the smallest of smiles show on his face. Belle was right; he was handsome when he wasn’t scowling.

”Here’s to you enjoying your time in Storybrooke.”

-

[hannahssimblr]

May, as a secondary school student in Dublin city, has never felt like LA, for spring is a time for studying indoors, barely glancing out the window at the changing seasons, blind to the emergence of summer. I barely register the cherry blossom tree that blooms outside the window of the school library. For weeks the streets are painted pink and white, but mid May brings a storm to tear the petals away from their branches and toss them onto the ground and in the drains like abandoned confetti in the aftermath of a wedding. I take note of them while stepping on them on the way to and from school, but soon they aren’t even beautiful anymore. Browning, curling at the edges, a mere inconvenience to be swept away by the street cleaners and shaken off one's shoes. 

“Only a leaf of our laurel hedge is torn— Of distant interest like a maimed limb, only a rose which now will never climb the stone of our house, expendable, a mere line of defence against him…” I mutter a poem under my breath, much to the chagrin of the girl sitting nearby who keeps glancing sharply at me over the screen of her laptop, but she doesn’t understand that this is how I learn. I cannot just commit something to memory from reading it, and if I don't say it aloud like a four year old child learning his ABCs then nothing goes in.

Explaining this to her would only mean I would speak more, and louder which I am certain is the opposite of what she wants, so for the third time that lunch hour I issue her an apologetic smile and a shrug, cute, though she doesn’t seem to understand that I am extremely charming either and sighs wearily as she goes back to stabbing the keyboard.

“Only a leaf of our laurel hedge is torn— Of… of distant interest like a…” I have forgotten the lines already, so I take a breath and go back to the beginning. “This dry night, nothing unusual about the clip clop casual iron of his shoes as he stamps death…”

 I am distracted by the library doors swinging open to the sound of the lunchtime hallways but don’t look up, I just keep my finger on the page and wait for the noise to die down but it takes longer than it should. The door slams shut, rattles, thumps, it opens to more noise and slams again, and finally I glance over. 

Michelle is furiously attempting to untangle the strap of her school bag from where it is looped around the outside handle of the door, pulling and yanking with increasing ferocity, clearly having decided that pulling repeatedly at it in flustered panic is the best way to free herself. It’s not just me that looks at her, it’s everyone in the library, and when she finally extricates herself and fixes her hair it's me that she looks right at, blush creeping up her neck from the white collar of her uniform.

I stare back and mouth to her: “Are you okay?”

She nods, tremulous hands smoothing her skirt and straightening the hem of her jumper. She does a scan of the library quickly, eyes hopping from table to table until they settle on the one next to me, the only one free. She approaches unwillingly and I watch her, her eyes on the floor, her fingers still shaky on the zip of her school bag as she stands next to me and begins slapping books out onto the table. 

“Come to do a bit of studying?” I whisper. 

“Yeah, just, um… yeah,” she dumps a pile of random notebooks and exam papers out and sits down to rifle through them. I notice that none of them are related to each other. The english textbook, a maths hardcover notebook, a crumpled homework assignment dated from a week ago all in a great dog eared heap. 

“What are you working on?”

“Uh… all of it.”

“All of it?”

She inhales sharply, “Yes. All this.”

“Wow, okay,” I turn back to my book and return to the top of the poem again, suddenly a touch more self conscious about my study methods when there’s a great ball of volatile energy directly to my left, so I try mouthing the lines instead while she rifles irritably through her pile, crunching paper and sending a rogue pencil rolling to the ground. The girl across from us grumbles under her breath, snaps her laptop shut and goes to find a quieter spot on the beanbags across the room.

After another minute or two of frantic rifling, I lean toward Michelle, “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer me, but her nostrils flare and that blush that started at her collar heats her cheeks the colour of her nails, cherry red and half peeled from where she’s scraped them with her teeth. She’s always done that, even though she knows perfectly well how much dirt is harboured beneath the crescent moons of her fingernails. She flicks them now, thumb against index and brings them to her mouth again.

I nudge her gently, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, then after a pause, “Well… no never mind.”

“You can tell me if you want, I know I’m not Jen, but…”

“Well, okay, it’s Evan. Evan and Carlie, they just tried to, like, apologise to me.”

I hesitate. I didn’t really expect my pleas for connection to work, but now here we are. “Oh, well…” I shift awkwardly in my seat, “What did they say to you?”

“They came and found me at lunch. Jen is with the counsellor, so like, I was just eating alone in the lunchroom and they just came over and tried to talk to me, so I got up and, like, hurried away before they could say anything.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah but now I feel,” she holds her hands out for me to see how they vibrate with adrenaline, “Ugh, I feel horrible, my heart is going like crazy, I just…”

“I get it.”

She shifts around awkwardly, looking over her shoulder as though someone better to talk to might appear, but she must be desperate to unload because she says to me with reluctance: “Does it eventually get less terrible?”

“Yeah, 'course.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. It’s, like, different every time, and sometimes it’s just a bit worse and it lasts a bit longer. I guess it’s harder when you have to see them all the time and when they try to talk to you, I get what you’re saying. Evan probably shouldn't have tried to talk to you yet.”

Michelle doesn’t look upset, she's not the teary eyed version of herself that she’s been this past month. She looks vacant, staring ahead and out the window at the tree that used to be blossoming, but is now verdant with that intense neon green of spring. Her teeth worry at her lip, “What's it like to have to see Holly, then?” 

“Holly? That was different.”

“Yeah but she’s always around school, isn't she?”

“I don’t think about all that, it's been four years. Now she’s just another girl in the hallways, it’s really not the same, see, it’s not like I loved her or cared-”

“You don’t think about the history you had? You don’t wonder if she hates you?”

I snort, “What history? We were thirteen and we lasted three months. If she hates me she can go right ahead and do it, but if she’s still even thinking about me at all then that’s pretty depressing.”

She raises an eyebrow incredulously, “You don’t care if someone hates you?” 

“How do you know she hates me? Did she tell you that?”

She scoffs, “No, I don’t know anything about Holly. As if I’d ever talk to that bitch.”

“Nah, c’mon, I don’t like that.”

“Huh?”

“You saying that, it’s just part of that cliquey thing that everyone in this school is way too interested in, isn’t it? This person doesn’t like that person because of some superficial reason. Holly is on the hockey team, and you by default don’t like people who are sporty because you assume they’re all mean.”

“You’re assuming that of me. Which is pretty presumptuous.”

“I’m just saying. That’s what I’ve seen around here. If everyone just assumes everyone who isn’t exactly like them is an arsehole then-”

“That’s not why I don’t like Holly, obviously,” she hisses.

“Obviously? Why is it obvious?”

She stares at me blankly, so I repeat myself, “Why is it obvious?” 

“You can’t think of a single reason why I might not like Holly?”

“No.”

She starts scooping her books and papers back into her bag, “Well then you’re either a liar or an idiot.”

“What are you on about?” I'm not totally sure how she progressed from a state of flustered anxiety to one of complete fury in about two seconds and I watch her with alarm, “I don’t get it. Who cares about Holly?” I touch her arm and she yanks it away, “How am I supposed to know what happened?”

She shakes her head incredulously and tries zipping up the bag in spite of the papers still sticking out of it.

“To be honest, if this is something from first year or whatever… there’s no point holding on to something for that long.”

“I’d be nice,” she says in a shaky whisper, “to just not care about anything or anyone and to just think about yourself, but that isn’t who I am. Okay?”

I rear back, “That’s not fair, I don’t care about nothing…” But she’s already leaving, stalking back towards the doors with her half-zipped schoolbag bouncing furiously on her back. I barely even notice the library full of eavesdroppers as I heave out a sigh and wriggle my phone out of my pocket to text Jen as the door slams.

SOS I pissed Michelle off. You did? How? I dunno. Just did. You’re right lol she gets mad over nothing.  What did you say? Something about that girl I used to go out with.  Holly.  You talked about Holly?!!  Yeah. I told Shell to put whatever weird grudge she has against her to bed and she just stormed off. IDK what her problem was.  Seriously? Yeah huge overreaction.  Omg one day I think you’re going to die of stupidity. Huh?

I wait several minutes for a response that doesn’t come straight away. Sighing, I return to my books and my study though whatever shred of focus I had ten minutes earlier has left the building. Michelle’s words ring in my head, and as I think about what she said to me, about how I care about nothing and only think of myself I grow annoyed with her too. It’s not true, I do care, and just because my break ups have never been like hers and Evan's doesn’t mean I am some sort of unfeeling husk of a boy who is hollow and void on the inside, right?

Maybe one day I’ll fall in love for real with some woman who will eventually stomp all over my puny feelings and shatter my heart into a billion pieces. She might even do it deliberately. She'll turn me into one of those men who will never be the same again for having known her, irreparably changed, chemically altered by her and the void she leaves behind in me, and I'll be ruined in the same way that veterans are ruined by war, then make some unbearable piece of media about my torment so that everyone else must suffer with me. Is that what Michelle wants? I’ll prove her wrong and do it all to myself out of spite. 

My phone buzzes and I grab it. On the screen flashes one, solitary word from Jen. 

Idiot.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[anniegetyourbubblegum]

I keep seeing posts from people in the US debating whether to vote for Biden in their upcoming elections to stop Trump from winning again or to punish the democrats for aiding Israel in the genocide of Palestine.

I'm argentinian and as far as I'm concerned, you should vote for whichever candidate you think will benefit you more, because you're from the US and that's all it's good for. The rest of the world will continue to suffer at your hands no matter what. Let me explain.

Democrats and republicans are not a representation of left and right wing politics: both parties are on the right side of the spectrum, only the GOP is more honest about it.

Republicans, as right wing parties do, run on promises of austerity, reducing taxes and being tough on crime. Democrats run promising to use tax money to ease your life: affordable healthcare, education and housing, all guaranteed so you can live the life of a first world citizen.

And then, they don't deliver.

You still have school shootings, massive incarceration, corruption in all levels of government, and the poorest pay a higher proportion of taxes than the richest. Healthcare, education and housing are extremely expensive and often require people to get into heavy debt to afford to have their most basic needs met, and that's only possible if you have good credit.

It's a reductive analysis for the sake of brevity, but you get the gist. The point is that having you be poor and afraid is the goal: it's a feature, not a bug.

You want to go to college? You need to buy a house? You want to start a family? Well, the military complex needs bodies! The US has far too many enemies to their way of life, so they'll need people to defend it! In exchange, they'll "guarantee" just enough money that you won't be destitute.

The US spends the most amount of money on their military in the world, by a long shot. To justify spending that kind of money, you HAVE to have wars. To have wars, you need enemies.

So, you get propaganda. "Muslims are extremists and hate our way of life." "Latin americans want to come to our country and steal our jobs." "China and Russia are communist countries that are waiting to destroy us." And you gobble it up.

You love it so much. It's in your news, in your videogames, in your movies and TV series and comic books. So, when they ask you to fight, you go running! You'll get some money out of it and you'll get to live your life the way you were promised. Sure, PTSD from the horrors is a given, but there's pills for that! And award winning movies about how difficult it is to go to war! It's all covered.

So the small, poor countries that you invade lose their money, natural resources, and their sovereignty but HEY, you brought democracy there! And the US is protected from this many enemies! Mission accomplished, right?

Well, as a citizen of a third world country whose current president is an insane pawn of the GOP, I'd like to say fuck you. He was placed so that the US could take our recently discovered lithium, and you'll get it. Enjoy your shitty iPhone 5000 I guess. It'll come at the small price of the hunger of my countrymen, but since Twitter user dan91883719 says argentinians all descend from escaped nazis, I guess it's alright.

Israel has killed Palestinians and illegally expanded its borders for over 70 years. Both democrats and republicans have sent aid and weapons to make this possible. It's in the US best interests to have conflict in the Middle East and have an ally control the area. Israel is a feature, not a bug.

And those of you who vote blue? You're trapped. Even if you know it's shit, you're unable to organize. Instead of rallying to form a new party, or a at least get a better candidate, you keep voting bad instead of worse and pat yourselves on the back for a job well done. Democrats are well aware of this and that's why they run on platforms that promise to make your life better and then sit back and say "our hands are tied" when you lose rights.

So, if you're still doubting it, vote for whoever the fuck you want. The war machine that you call 'country' won't stop no matter who's president, because those who hold the real power are already getting exactly what they want from it. Your suffering as US citizens is just as planned as the suffering of those who live outside of it.

TL,DR: Vote for whichever candidate you feel will defend your interests best. Lord knows it won't make a lick of difference for the rest of the world, because both political parties have the same plans when it comes to foreign policy.