#i think Harry takes it by a hair just on sheer range here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

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MUCH TOO MUCH

RATING: R/smut (some sex, some alcohol/drugs, cursing, the usual)

WORD COUNT: 9.7k

CATEGORIES: college!harry, roommate!harry

MASTERLIST | ASK ME QUESTIONS

a/n: this is my entry for my beloved @stellarboystyles‘s 3 year anniversary challenge!!!!! it was so fun to write these two and i hope you like it! a bit on the shorter side, but delicious all the same. come talk to me about them when you’re done, i want to hear what you think! (also this was named for the song by lennon stella in case u were curious lol)

Currently, he had you pressed against the wall of a house party, his fingers clenched in the hem of your skin-tight crop top, a knee propped between your legs, and his lips attached to your neck. Your hands were threading through his hair, those locks that curled at the ends and you’d always thought about tugging on, and now that you had the chance you weren’t passing it by.

“Fuck, Harry,” you mumbled, your head spinning from the alcohol in your veins and the feeling of Harry this close to you. To be completely honest, you knew what was happening was probably not the best idea. But considering how many cups of jungle juice you’d had and the fact that you were definitely crossed, you frankly couldn’t find a care in the world.

Harry and Y/N live together and one night they hook up and things get complicated

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

Harry living with you wasn’t planned. At least, not in the way where you guys were best friends and decided to live together way. More in the way of neither of you had anyone else to live with and had the same price range kind of way. You happened to be at a mutual friend’s party mid-way through your sophomore spring and you’d mentioned in passing that you were looking for a roommate, and Harry’s head had popped up.

Somewhere along the way, though, you’d decided you quite liked living with him.

Even if he was obnoxious sometimes, was absolutely shit at doing chores, and couldn’t properly load the dishwasher.

He had a charm to him, you had to admit. He was good at getting on your good side—texting you when you were on the library and he was just leaving to head over, asking if you wanted anything to snack on. One time, he’d brought you a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos without being asked because he knew you hadn’t eaten in hours and needed your favorite foods.

His charms were what made you overlook the nights that he had people over and you had to listen to the sound of his bed frame hitting the wall, or had to creep into the bathroom in the early hours of the morning before he and whoever he’d brought back woke up, pretending to not even live in your apartment for fear of being embarrassed. Although, you never quite knew what you should be embarrassed about—but you were. Maybe it was because you frequently ended up listening to his sounds and trying not to think about how good he sounded or wondering what it was like to be in bed with him.

But that wasn’t something you would tell anyone, not even your friends who pestered you about what it was like living with Harry. Harry, the party-goer who always had three types of hard liquor in your kitchen but was also your go-to person to edit your papers and help you study for exams. Harry, who was your partner in crime on a night out and on a night in, someone who you could be yourself with no matter the context. It was something you’d never expected from him, but now that you had it, you couldn’t image losing it.

Which was why the current situation you were in was not the best.

Besides, it wasn’t like you hadn’t literally dreamed of this happening. In fact, you wanted this with every fiber of your being. You just didn’t have your brain stopping you now.

His tongue danced up the column of your neck, dipping into the crevice under your ear and his lips formed a circle on your skin and pulled gently, your fingers tugging on the strands of his hair. Your heart was beating wildly and so was his—you could feel it against your body—or maybe that was the thrum of the bass? You weren’t sure. When he tugged on your earlobe you wrapped your hands in the bottom of his graphic t-shirt, some random streetwear company that he was obsessed with lately and you thought was weird, but didn’t comment on.

One of your legs slid up his, ankle hooking around his knee and pulling his pelvis into yours, and the surprised grunt that left Harry’s mouth made you smile. “Y/N,” he groaned, fingers pressing harder into your skin. “What are you doing?”

“I’d ask you the same,” you answered, a devilish smile on your lips that Harry kissed away, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip and pulling your jaw down just enough so that he could earn access. It was brutal, kissing him. And not because it was bad, but because it was so good and you’d robbed yourself of this for a year and a half.

Your lips intertwined and fought for dominance, Harry’s sliding between yours and sucking and pulling just enough for you to move closer for more. Your wrists ended up behind his neck, holding him close to you, and you used the pressure to gain an advantage, grinding in his hips and kissing him with a passion burning in your heart.

Harry, meanwhile, was losing his fucking mind. He’d been thinking of this forever, and somehow tonight’s combination of alcohol and weed had led you two here: to a position that neither of your quite knew how it started, but you weren’t stopping it. In fact, Harry caged you in, his hands moving from your body to wall behind you, palms pressed to the worn white paint. He didn’t want to lose you, to lose this moment, to pretend like it never happened. Instead, he wanted to keep you tight against him, to memorize how it felt when the heel of your boots dragged along the inside seam of his denim jeans, the warmth spreading across his neck when you gently scratch at his skin as he suckled on your bottom lip and kissed a line across your jaw. He wanted to remember the sound of your soft breaths in his ears, how they increased in tempo as he sucked a hickey onto your neck, doubling his effort when you didn’t move to stop him. He’d seen you with them before and now that you were his—at least for the night—he wanted to give you one to remember him by.

Not that you could forget him. Not with Some Kind of Drug pounding in the speakers, his hips grinding into yours in the low lighting, his teeth nipping at your skin as you exhaled his name and a curse. He was unforgettable, that Harry Styles. Especially when he had your gripping his skin through his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as he pushed you higher and higher into the clouds, your mind a haze of just nothing but him.

Harry pulled away a hair, mainly because he was getting tired of just having you against a wall with people everywhere—he either wanted to move this into a private space or call this off. Although he didn’t really want the latter, not really. That was only if you didn’t want him. But from the way you stared at him as he created a half foot of distance between you, your chest heaving, lace edge of your bra peeking out from underneath your cropped tank top, he didn’t think that’s what you wanted.

“Do you want to stay or go?” He asked, one of his hands lingering at the wall next to you and the other moving to move a piece of your hair out of your face.

“Go,” you answered, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “If—if you want to.”

He didn’t even take a breath before he answered, “Yeah, I want to.”

Which was how you two ended up making out in the Uber back to your apartment, you straddling his lap and twisting over him as he kissed you, his hands cupping your ass. Neither of you were sober enough to think about the fact that you were in someone else’s car, but then again, neither of you would probably care. Especially when you sucked on the edge of Harry’s jaw and he tugged your hips down on his and groaned low and rough in your ear, the sound making you smile against his skin.

The radio was playing the background, but in the haze you didn’t hear anything, all you could take in was Harry: his touch, his smell, the soft sounds he made as you moved on him, the feeling of his jeans against your tights-clad skin. It was chilly out and you had a thin pair of stockings on, sheer enough for your skin to show through, but enough to give you a bit of protection from the nip of the cold. His hands had already rucked up the edge of your favorite leather skirt, and your bra was poking out of the top of your cropped tank top that was tight over the swell of your breasts.

You were a sight in Harry’s eyes, something he couldn’t get enough of. Even though he lived with you, saw you in every outfit, especially the ones involving mismatched sweats and tired eyes, he never thought you were anything other than beautiful. Sometimes a bit rough around the edges, but who wasn’t? But now, with you like this, on top of him, he didn’t know if he’d ever seen you quite this gorgeous. This delicious, even though he hated describing people that way. But how else could he describe you when you stared down at him, lips red from his kisses and eyes blazing for him, chest heaving and cleavage demanding his attention. His hands couldn’t stop curving over your legs, smoothing up and down your thighs. It was sin, he decided, how he felt right now, because he couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts in his brain.

The things he wanted to do to you.

The things he wanted you to do to him.

The things he wanted to see.

The things he wanted you to see.

The things he wanted to hear.

The things he wanted you to hear.

The things he wanted to feel.

The things he wanted you to feel.

It was like a freight train running through his head, all of the images and thoughts and concepts barreling into his thoughts. It made the swirl of your hips over his and the way you curled your fingers into the thin fabric covering his shoulders particularly hard to resist.

Realistically, the drive to your shared off-campus apartment wasn’t that long, but in your heads, it seemed like ages. Ages of waiting for a bed and privacy, ages of waiting to shed layers and know what endless bare skin looked like. So when your driver arrived at your building, you pushed open the door, narrowly missing banging your head on the roof of the car.

Harry chuckled as he tumbled out after you, thanking the driver and wrapping his arm around your waist. You wasted no time before you curled your arm around him and danced your fingers up his opposite side, your lips sucking delicately on the fabric of his t-shirt closest to you. It made Harry’s eyes flutter shut and his breath jump.

Was this what you were always like? This was the thing about this situation—you two knew one another, but not like this. You’d never made out in the back of an Uber or made out on your doorstep while one of you fumbled for the keys like you were now, or felt your hands dig into exposed skin and singe of hot breath on your neck. This was new territory, and perhaps if you both weren’t quite so drunk you would’ve stopped to talk about it.

But instead, Harry was leading you to his bedroom with your legs around his waist and your fingers in his hair, his lips crawling up your throat, walking blindly because he knew the way.

The thing about hooking up with someone you’d been close friends with for over a year was that there wasn’t a layer of awkwardness because you didn’t know the person. Instead, it was a hint of unassuredness whenever clothes started coming off, a hint of awe, but nothing uncomfortable. You’d never felt quite this comfortable with someone, in fact. You’d never trusted someone you hooked up with quite as much as you trusted Harry. And he felt the same way. When you pushed his shirt up his torso and scratched your nails softly down his skin he had never felt so alive, so full of desire.

It was why he fell back on his bed and let you stand between his knees in a desperate attempt to get your clothes off so he could feel your bare skin. He’d been waiting all night to see you—to finally see you—and now that he had you, he didn’t want to let you go.

“They’re tights,” you mumbled against his lips when he tried to pull on the material on your legs, a chuckle leaving your mouth.

“I know,” he replied, smirking. “Not an idiot.”

“Never said you were.” You stepped away, deciding you could do this part by yourself with more ease, and unzipped your leather skirt, the zip down the front meaning it was easy access, and let the material fall to the ground. Harry’s eyes swept up your legs and to the place where the band of your tights dug into your waist, gaze flaming black with desire. Then, you hooked your fingers in the tight band and tugged it down, peeling the thin material off of your skin, hopping on one foot to get them off your feet.

Harry resisted the urge to laugh, and instead reached out to hold you steady, a smile winding onto your face from the action. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered, standing up straight in just your purple underwear and your shirt and bra. His hands held fast to your hips, palms curving around your skin and gaze dancing up your body. And when you pulled your tight shirt up and over your heads, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties, his heart about stopped.

You had on a set that didn’t match, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop looking at your breasts—it was cliche, that he loved boobs, but how could he not? Especially when you were breathing this fast and looking at him like that and you were wearing a red bra that barely held you in. How as he supposed to not lose his goddamned mind?

“What?” You asked, stepping back in between his legs, hands falling to his shoulders, sliding up the slope to cup his neck.

“You—you just,” he choked out, the words rough and dry in his mouth. “You’re so gorgeous.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just moved. You kissed him, lips caught between his, and pulled at his shirt, tugging it up until he shifted back to tug it off his body and let it fall to the ground. You stopped thinking, stopped using any sense in your body, and instead just felt. Felt how he made your skin sing and your body thrum with pleasure, how he made the worries at the back of your head fall away with each pass of his hands, focused on the way he kissed across your clavicle and sighed when you harshly gripped his hair. You let yourself drown in those feelings because you knew if you used your head that somehow you would succumb to your fears and lose this moment, and that was the utter last thing you wanted.

Instead, you wanted to drown in him.

And he felt the same way. He fell back onto the duvet and took you with him, flipping you onto your back so that your hair was pressed against the pillowcase, a cheap one from Target he’d brought at the beginning of the year that you’d convinced him was a good color. You looked up at him with awe and temptation in your irises, and Harry took only a minute to rip off his jeans and his t-shirt, leaving his boxers on only because he didn’t want to seem like an asshole. Then, he was back hovering over you, his curls falling into his face, your fingers reaching up to push them back.

A smile drifted across your face and he dropped to his elbows, peppering kisses down your neck and falling back to his knees as he made his way down your body. When he heard a chuckle rip from your throat, he glanced up at you. “Distracted?”

“No,” you said, poking his temple. “Thinking about how when we first met I teased you about how you must fuck girls with your snapback on because you wore it so much.”

Harry hummed a laugh into your chest, dimples peeking out and you thought it was downright adorable. “I was a bit of a whore when we met, huh?”

“Maybe a bit,” you answered, a teasing lilt to your words that Harry knew well. “Don’t worry, you’re only just a bit less of one now. Didn’t lose that title, I don’t think.”

“That’s a bit rude,” he said, sucking harshly at your nipple through your bra. “Bullying me while I’m tryin’ to go down on you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Couldn’t tell since you hadn’t quite made it there yet.”

You were taunting him like you always did, the alcohol in your veins making it more sexual in nature, and Harry loved it. It made it feel like the two of you, not like something that would be completely forgotten in the morning. “Am I too slow for you?” He asked, scratching gently at your sides and making you squirm as he fell farther down the length of your body. “I was trying to take my time but if you’re impatient, then—“

“Harry, please, fuck, just—“ A gasp fell from parted lips when he finally licked at the hood of your clit, your hands gripping his hair within another breath. Your words were nothing but pants, dry and heaving sounds that filled Harry’s head. He’d heard you through the walls before—it was a college-priced apartment, after all. Thick walls weren’t exactly something that fit in your price range. But hearing you this close, this sharp, the sound this crisp in his ears, it was making his hips rut into the duvet. It was his wet dream actualized, as horrible as that sounded.

Yes, he had wet dreams about you.

Yes, he knew that was probably horrible.

And no, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

Your mind, on the other hand, was blank. Like, literally blank. That was the thing about sex when you were drunk, all the thinking and nerves and walls dropped away and you just let your body feel. There wasn’t that niggling thought at the back of your head that questioned if you looked good like this, you just let go and let your back arch and hips circle and arms quiver. Your hands drifted from the duvet to his hair and then the pillow behind your head, trying to figure out what would hold your grip best as Harry absolutely devoured you.

So far, you hadn’t settled on your favorite thing to hold on to, but his hair was in the running for first place. The sight of his eyes peeking up at yours, an image you only got every once in a while because you could barely keep your eyes open to look at him, was enough to send you spiraling. But you were trying to hold yourself together because you didn’t want this to end. You’d just gotten him like this and you didn’t want the night to be over because who knew what the morning held?

Thankfully, though, your drunk mind didn’t let those disruptive thoughts linger. Instead, they focused on the orgasm rising as he curled his tongue over your panties and then under them, the heat of his breath on your sensitive skin making you moan deeply, his ring-clad fingers pressing into your hips. Harry loved watching you almost as much as he loved tasting you, doing this to you. There was a power in oral sex, Harry couldn’t deny that, and he loved it not because of the power it gave him, but the gratification of making someone else feel good. He loved watching women finish, and you were no different. In fact, you were blowing every woman before you out of the water.

Maybe that was the alcohol talking. He couldn’t tell. But either way, when he sucked on your clit and you squeaked out his name, he didn’t know how he could do this with another person for at least a month or two. Getting you out of his head would be his full-time job for a while, especially while living with you.

Your fingers threaded through his brown curls, eyes fluttering open, mind swirling and trying to focus somehow on the sight below you and the feeling swirling through your body, a tightness spreading up your legs, your toes curling and feet pressing down towards the duvet, scrabbling for something to hold onto. They ended up hooking around Harry’s shoulders, his hands holding your thighs close, as if not worried in the slightest about them getting too tight. Instead, he held you close and your breath came out in short pants, airways drying from not being able to even close your mouth and breathe.

His tongue was just so wet. There wasn’t really a better way to describe it. Oral while you were like this always felt this way—just overwhelming in the most basic sense. It was wet and warm and overwhelming and you never wanted it to end. You didn’t even know how long he was down there, his head tucked between your thighs, alternating between sucking on your clit and licking up and down your slit, poking his tongue into your hole for a second—just long enough to make you groan, deep and unabashed.

“I’m close,” you murmured, words broken and Harry could only understand them because he had heard you talk in the morning after you’d just gotten up and your mind wasn’t quite working yet. He parsed your words together with ease, and the result made him grin, and suck harshly on your clit, before dropping his chin and licking into you with fervor. “Fuck, Harry.”

“That’s it,” he mumbled, words garbled because he didn’t even raise his head to speak, he kept his lips right on your skin which meant the vibrations of his words flowed through your veins.

His fingertips pressed harshly on the outside of your thighs, holding you close, and somehow the combination of the pressure and the heat of his tongue had you tumbling over the edge, your chest rising and falling quickly as you struggled to catch a breath, your orgasm overtaking you. Harry watched as your fingers clenched the duvet, legs tightening and then loosening around his shoulders, before dropping to the bed with a satisfied sigh from your lips.

He could watch you for days.

“Come here,” you said, glancing down at him with a fucked out look on your face, eyes glassy and lips red from chewing on them, your hair a mess from thrashing your head back and forth. He’d never seen you quite like this and he liked the sight.

Liked it a lot, in fact. He moved up your body with ease, the soft skin of his legs rubbing against yours. Once he was at your eye level, you sealed the distance with a kiss that made Harry’s mind fumble for stable ground, desperate for you. When you ran your toes up his calf, though, the soft touch making him moan, he knew he was fucked. “You—need you,” he said, breathless against your lips.

You pushed his underwear down without question, sliding your fingers under the band so you could feel his warm skin under your palms. When he bucked up into you as your nails brushed against his butt cheeks, you smiled against his lips, loving how obvious he was. He didn’t hide anything, pretend like he wasn’t affected. You liked that in a guy. “Condom?” You said, tweaking his skin between your thumb and forefinger.

Harry lifted his head, blinking once. “Yeah—yeah, in the drawer. One sec.” He shifted, rolling off of you so he could do two things. The first was find a condom in the drawer, the second was push down his briefs. Well, technically three things, because after that he rolled the condom on with focus, lip caught between his teeth as you watched, head turned to take in the sight of his side profile.

He was gorgeous. You’d known that for a long while, but seeing him like this, under the glow of the bedside table light and the sweaty curls sticking to his forehead, his chest rising rapidly. You were even attracted to his smattering of chest hair, and especially liked the way his skin purged at his sides. In fact, you reached out and grabbed it gently, drawing his attention back to you.

With one look back at you, he rolled back over you, your legs parting with ease. You wound your fingers through his hair and appreciated that he didn’t ask you questions, that he didn’t try to talk about it because you didn’t want to. You wanted this, it was obvious in how you gazed at him with desire and kneaded at his skin, tugging his pelvis closer and closer. The talk, you thought, would’ve ruined it, made you question it. And you didn’t want to question, you just wanted him.

So when he pushed one of your knees up to your waist and brushed his condom-covered tip over your slit, the skin nudging the hood of your clit, your hips moved without thought. Circled up for him, trying to get the angle for him to slip inside properly. Because you were craving it, feeling him. Needed him in a way you never had before and you didn’t want to linger on it, just wanted it to happen finally.

Harry’s eyes caught on yours, and as if scared of what he found, he looked back down at where your bodies met, before pushing inside. A moan ripped from your throat, fingernails digging into his biceps which you were gripping as he slid in slowly.

“Shit,” you cursed as you felt yourself adjusting to him, “Shit, fuck, shit, Harry.”

“Sorry,” he said, a trace of what you could’ve sworn was a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, squeezing at his arms. “Go.”

And he did.

Holy fuck did he go.

Harry held nothing back when he fucked you. He found a rhythm almost immediately, one that had your torso moving up the duvet and your head raising from the pillow and slamming back down again, eyes fluttering shut and then open again when he hit a deep spot. It was hard to describe how good it felt to have him inside of you, but god, it felt divine. Something you’d been missing. And not that it was him you’d been missing, but sex in general, you’d missed it. Missed this feeling of just losing yourself in it, in the movement of bodies and the sounds and the sweat and that feeling of closeness when Harry’s head dropped down to your neck and he thrusted deep inside of you, an echo of your name on his lips.

Your ankles hooked above his bum, and the impact of his hips on your inner thighs you knew would leave a bruise in the morning and you relished the prospect of it. Of remembering this feeling, of reliving it every time you squatted down. Although the thought of being empty of him was something you were not looking forward to, you were excited about the aftermath on your body.

And Harry was losing his fucking mind as he moved inside of you. Not only because you were squeezing him tight and thought he was going to come within seconds, but because of the way you were wrapped around his body, your hands holding onto his biceps so tightly he was sure there’d be marks tomorrow. It was how your legs sat above his hips, the backs of your heels digging into his ass to make sure he drove into you with a depth and a speed that you needed. Your head tipped back and your mouth was open slightly, tufts of air and moans of pleasure floating from them and through the air, sending sparks down his spine.

When he dropped his head to your neck it was because he missed smelling you, being that close to you. So he lost himself on the column of your neck, leaving mark after mark as he drove into you, as you swallowed him whole—body and mind. This sex was consuming in a way he wasn’t used to and he didn’t think it was the alcohol and the marijuana. He didn’t know why.

Well, he did, but he pretended not to.

Especially when you pulled on his hair and murmured, “Faster, please, H—fuck, please,” in his ear.

Yes, he decided as he sped up and reached a depth that made both of you choke on air, it was a far better idea to pretend that what he was feeling right now was completely normal.

Usually you liked to be on top, to set the pace and keep control when you hooked up with guys, but right now, Harry was doing so good on his own that the last thing you wanted was to stop him. So you let him set the pace and instead kept yourself busy by touching every inch of his body available. You fingers ran down the length of his arms, across the black tattoos swirling across his skin, and towards his chest, making a line down to his belly. When you scratched softly over his skin he grunted—and not a weird sound, but one that you could tell meant he liked it.

So you pressed a little harder, experimenting a bit.

To your smug joy, Harry’s fingers curled in the duvet next to your stomach, arms tensing, and his eye snapped to yours. He didn’t even have to say anything—you knew. He wanted you to keep going.

And you did. You brushed your hand to the top of his torso and dragged a torturing path downwards, nails biting into his skin. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave an angry red trail. Harry was panting above you, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted into you.

He was close. Your nails mixed with how you squeezed him tight inside of you and the sounds you were making and the slam of the bed against the wall and your perfume lingering in the air—it all mixed together into a dangerous concoction that had him struggling on the edge. “Are you close?” He asked, words rougher than they had been when he last spoke.

When your chin tipped down ever so slightly, Harry smiled devilishly, the prospect of bringing you over the edge again spurring him on, a second surge of energy coursing through his veins. Any exhaustion he had been feeling before from lingering in the same position, any ache in his knees or tightness in his arms was gone, in favor of pressing your knees farther up towards your chest, earning a new angle that had your hands scrambling up his arms and nails digging into his shoulders.

He hissed at the touch and you panted the word Yes over and over again, eyes screwed shut as the orgasm built inside of you like a tidal wave, threatening to break as he twisted his hips a particular way. You were going to come, you realized only seconds before it happened, the depth Harry was reaching and the brutal pace against your hips creating a deadly combination.

As you did, a shudder of his name falling through the room, you squeezed Harry like a death grip and he choked out a moan before coming mere seconds after, unable to hold himself back any longer.

“Shit,” he said, leaning against your shins as he caught his breath. Your legs were still propped up against your chest, his hands caging in your body as he leaned his weight onto you.

Your eyes opened, the soft bedroom light seeming brighter after what had just happened. “Shit,” you answered simply, not knowing what else to say.

What did you say to your roommate after you fucked them, anyway? The alcohol still lingered, both of you plenty tipsy still. It was enough for your legs to drop open and happily let Harry kiss you senseless as he withdrew from inside of you, your hand cupping his jaw. His lips were fucking sin and you hoped you would be able to forget them. Because as he pulled away and mumbled about throwing away the condom, leaving you breathless on his duvet, you didn’t know if you’d be able to.

Harry woke up to an empty bed and a throbbing headache. He was still naked, but that wasn’t unusual considering he favored sleeping naked, and his duvet cover was around his waist. The side of the bed you had been asleep in when he’d shut his eyes was bare, the duvet cover askew from seemed to be you leaving.

He rolled over and picked up his phone, cursing at the low battery from not charging it last night. Then, he sat up in bed, letting the sheets pool at his waist and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake them up. His eyes were dry, probably from the weed, and his throat was dry, probably from the alcohol and the sex.

The sex.

His mind flipped through it in a series of images, like a slideshow on double time, the sight of you naked below him filling his brain. The thing about drunk sex was that you could remember the overall experience, the general highlights, certain specific moments, but it wasn’t like you could pick through it and remember each detail. But Harry didn’t even need the details to know it was fucking incredible.

Fucking you was literally a dream come true.

What wasn’t was the other half of the bed being empty, especially considering it was only eight AM.

He listened to the apartment, trying to decipher if he could hear you moving around. Usually he could hear your footfalls, considering how small and cheap the place was. But it was silent, meaning either you were still asleep or you weren’t home. Most likely it was the former, since it was still early and you usually slept late after a night out.

Although he didn’t know how you were the night after sex. And when had you gotten up from his bed?

More importantly, why had you gotten up from his bed?

Logically, he knew it was probably to avoid a weird interaction, but it was more weird for him to wake up alone and not know why. To not know how you wanted to handle this. Because his sober mind was increasingly realizing that although last night’s events were sensational, they were on the whole an utterly horrible idea.

The two of you lived together, for Pete’s sake. You were practically best friends. You still had half a year worth of a lease.

He groaned, his chin dropping to his chest as he took a deep breath. He could do this, he told himself as he kicked back the covers and slid his legs out of the bed. He could handle this.

So he put his phone on its charger, slipped on a pair of joggers, and went to find you.

What Harry didn’t know was that in the next room, you were wide awake. You had tried to fall back asleep after you’d crept out of his bed at six AM, and you had for a while. But then you woke up and the reality of last night came crashing back through your brain and you groaned, reminding yourself how fucking stupid you were.

Sure, Harry was hot.

That didn’t mean you had to fuck him, you idiot, you told yourself. He was your roommate, your friend. Not someone to sleep with. And yet, here you were, your thighs sore from his hips crashing against them and your body smelling like sex and his cologne.

You heard his door open—it was a small apartment after all—and your heart stopped for a second. You waited for the sound of his footsteps, praying he would just walk to the kitchen and not stop at your room. Listening closely, you heard him pause outside your room and then continue into the kitchen, where you heard the refrigerator open and close and then the kettle humming as he started a cup of tea. A part of you sighed, but the other part of you remembered that you had to see him eventually.

Why were you hiding, anyway?

It wasn’t like you could avoid him, and what did you have to avoid him about? Sure, you’d seen his naked body, sure he’d seen yours, sure you’d had mind blowing sex. That didn’t mean anything.

Right?

“Shit,” you groaned softly into your pillow and decided you would stay in your room until the last possible second. You never said you weren’t a coward.

Unfortunately, an hour later the desire to pee was overwhelming you and you couldn’t wait any longer. So you huffed out a sigh, threw on a pair of pajamas and pushed open your door, taking a tentative step into the hallway, trying to gauge where in the house Harry was. You’d lost track of him during a scroll through Instagram and couldn’t quite place him anymore and it was making you nervous.

Then, you heard the floorboards creak.

Your head whirled to the side, your eyes meeting his. He was standing not two feet away, looking at you with messy hair and wide eyes, a cup of tea clutched in one hand. “Hi,” you managed to say. “Bathroom.”

All he did was nod. He nodded as if this entire situation was somehow normal and completely not fucking with both of your brains.

So you strolled down the hall to the bathroom and shut yourself inside. If he wanted to pretend like this was normal, you could do that, you decided. You’d give him normal.

For the next two weeks, that was exactly what you did. You were the picture of normalcy—you pretended like nothing had happened, just made jokes in the kitchen and joined him for study hours and brought home takeaway for the two of you on Thursday night as usual. However, you couldn’t ignore how things had changed between the two of you. There was this…air between you. Charged with sexual tension that you couldn’t ignore, mixed with a hint of awkwardness and uncertainty that had you both on edge. Gone were the playful squeezes to your sides and you swatting him upside the head when he was annoying. Gone was any unexpected touch, in fact. It was like the Cold War in your apartment, a détente on both sides.

It was excruciating. So much so that you’d found yourself wondering if you needed to move out, which was a stupid idea considering it was mid-way through the year and you adored your apartment. It would also probably be more awkward to break the lease agreement than keep it, you decided.

So instead, you stayed, and you pushed through the uncomfortable moments and spent more time in your room than ever before, the living room a space you avoided unless you had to be there. Harry did the same, a look of almost panic on his face whenever you walked into the kitchen in the morning for breakfast. Was the idea of being in close quarters with you really that horrible sounding?

Apparently, it was.

Two weeks after the night of your greatest mistake, the two of you ended up meeting up with your friends. In fact, the exact same set of friends who you’d been with at the house party two weeks prior. You’d ended up walking over to Mariah’s apartment together, a case of Whiteclaws tucked under Harry’s arm. You were rambling about your art history course and he was nodding along, offering the occasional thought. It felt decently normal, and you were hoping it would last through the night.

At first, it did. But then, more and more people started showing up—some people in the debate club with Mariah, a few from the club soccer team with James, the entirety of Lilah’s a cappella group, and then some people you and Harry had each invited. The result was a packed apartment, the music blaring from a portable speaker, and alcohol bottles and plastic cups littering every surface. There was the faint smell of marijuana from when some people went to smoke in Mariah’s room, and it felt comfortable.

You were talking in a group of yourself, two of your friends from a summer internship you’d had, Harry, and Wei, a guy Harry knew from freshman year who had stayed close with. It took everything in your body not to let your gaze linger on Harry, the cut of his dark green t-shirt close to his body and his black skinny jeans gripping his thighs. His hair was a mess, as it always was when he’d had a couple drinks because he ran his hands through it nonstop. His green eyes were sparkling as he listened to a story Wei was telling, his full body laugh sounding in your ears. It was torture being this close to him and there being a wall between the two of you.

“Hey,” your friend Deliah said, her soft voice pulling your attention back to her. “You and Harry okay?”

She hadn’t been there two weeks ago and you hadn’t told her about what had happened. “Yeah, we’re fine,” you told her with a slight nod.

She studied you for a beat longer, but then seemed to accept the response. “I’m going to go get another, you want anything?”

“No, go ahead,” you answered, raising your still half-full glass.

Ronnie, who stood next to you, said she’d go along and then Wei pulled away and followed them, saying he needed another beer and wanted to find one of his friends and say hello, and suddenly, it was just you and Harry. You and Harry and both of you were fairly drunk and you couldn’t stop looking at his lips. The memory of how they felt against yours pushing its way into your brain and suddenly overtaking your every thought.

What was worse was how he was looking at you. He was watching you, something you knew because you knew him, knew what every one of his glances meant. This one was backed by thoughts, it was the result of him thinking about you and watching your face for something. What, you didn’t know. But you couldn’t take the way his eyes were trained on your expression, the feeling of his gaze on your skin. The distance between you felt like it was shrinking and you felt like you could smell his cologne even though in reality you couldn’t, and you wondered if your heart was pounding in your chest because of the alcohol in your bloodstream or him.

You couldn’t stand there next to him, you decided. You simply couldn’t.

“I’m going to get some air,” you said, pushing yourself off the wall. “Back in a second.”

He may have said something, but you were gone before you could hear it, threading through the crowd towards the patio door. It was a tiny patio, just enough space for a set of chairs and a narrow table, but it was enough. It was empty and the music was quieter as you shut the sliding door.

You could breathe out here, and you did, resting your cup on the railing and looking out at the street. Mariah’s apartment was nestled closer to campus, a bit more of an expensive place thanks to her parents and a high-paying summer internship. Distantly you heard the chatter of people walking on the street towards frat row, the honk of what were probably Ubers picking people up and dropping them off at parties.

Slowly, you inhaled, trying to calm the fast beat of your heart. Your thoughts drifted back to Harry, though, and how you had just looked at one another, had studied each other, both knowing that you couldn’t continue you like this. Something had to give and you didn’t know what it was. You didn’t know what to do. Mariah had tried to talk to you about it, but you’d pretended like it was fine because you didn’t want her meddling. You knew she would try to talk to Harry and then it would become some big thing for all of your friends to know about, and you didn’t want that. You just wanted it to be solved and done and over with. You didn’t want all of these feelings in your chest or these thoughts in your head, you didn’t want to think about this anymore.

You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to think about how good he’d felt, about how you wished it could happen again, about how you’d had fucking dreams about him, about how every time you heard his voice it sent shivers through your body because it reminded you of the way he’d said your name, rough and deep and rumbling in his chest.

And then you heard it: your name, in that rough and deep voice. “Y/N.”

“I want to be alone for a bit,” you said, not even turning to face him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, obviously ignoring your words and instead shutting the sliding door behind him.

It was quiet now, and because the balcony was narrow he ended up standing right next to you, his elbow mere inches from yours as he leaned on the railing. “Nothing,” you said with a sigh, the lie bitter on your tongue. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry.”

At first, he didn’t say anything, just let your words float in the slight breeze. But then, you heard the crinkle of his thumb pressing into his cup and you knew he was fidgeting, thinking about something, and you knew he was going to break that silence. “Did I mess everything up?” He asked, so soft you barely heard it over the music from inside.

That make you turn your head, eyes meeting his finally. “It’s not your fault. I was there too, we both are responsible.”

“Then, did we mess everything up?”

You sighed, searching for the words. “I don’t think we messed everything up,” you told him finally. “But I don’t know if it can be like it was before.”

“Do you want it to be like it was before?”

His words made your heart jolt. “When we were friends?”

“Aren’t we still friends?” His words were so soft, so full of emotion, you wondered if this was the kind of conversation to be having right now.

“Yes,” you answered. “But…”

“Nothing more,” he finished. You nodded, and both of you were silent for a beat, letting the truth settle between you two. It was the first time you’d even acknowledged that anything had happened. “I don’t want…”

You turned to look at him and saw his tight his jaw was set, how his eyes were trained on the street in front of the building. How he could barely look at you. “H?”

When he turned to meet your gaze, his eyes were glassy, and you realized he was nearly crying. “I don’t want to go back to how it was before,” he said, words broken in his throat. “I want…I want more.”

That made your mind grind to a halt. “You—what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” he whispered.

You realized he didn��t know. He didn’t know how much you felt for him, how much the night you’d spent together had absolutely destroyed any semblance of an ability to pretend like you weren’t into him, that you hadn’t had a crush on him for ages. He had no fucking clue. “Harry,” you said, reaching out and brushing your fingers along his forearm, “I want the same thing.”

His eyes widened, gaze falling to where your fingers touched his skin and back up to your eyes. “You do?” You nodded, a smile spreading across your face that he quickly mirrored. “Have we been absolute idiots?” He asked, turning on his heal so you were facing one another fully. Then, he reached up and ran his forefinger across your jawline, a shudder running through your body at the feeling of his fingers on your skin.

“I think we might have been,” you answered, ducking your head ever so slightly so that his finger ran up to your mouth, brushing across your bottom lip.

He cleared his throat when you dropped your jaw ever so slightly, just enough for his finger to press in-between your lips, a ghost of a touch. “Can’t even think when you’re looking at me like that,” he mumbled, words that same roughness you remembered from your night together.

“Right back at you,” you told him.

He stepped closer to you, closing the distance. “We’re such idiots,” he murmured, hand moving to cup your jaw, his fingers brushing under your ear.

“Such idiots,” you agreed.

And slowly, he closed the space between you two, his lips brushing yours hesitantly. But the second you felt his mouth slot between yours, you moved closer, pressing your body against his and your arms winding around his waist to hold him close. His other hand brushed down your side and the grip made your skin sing, finally being close to him was everything you needed. It healed the ache in your heart that had lingered ever since that morning, that morning when everything had gone so wrong.

His lips parted and he pulled away ever so slightly, just enough so your foreheads stayed touching.

“Why’d you leave?” He asked, his breath on your lips.

“I got scared you would regret it in the morning,” you replied. “I didn’t want to be there when you did.”

He chuckled softly, a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t regret it,” he told you. “I thought you did.”

“I’m so stupid,” you said, one of your hands moving from his back to encircle his wrist that held your face. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

“It’s okay.” He pressed his lips to your nose so sweetly your knees just about gave out. “Got you in the end, right?”

You hummed an affirmation and leaned up so that your lips could reconnect, kissing him with a passion you’d been seeking for two weeks. And when he kissed you back, the tips of his hair brushing your skin and his fingers pressing against your skin, you sighed, finally feeling settled once again. You’d missed this—him, being this close to him. Somehow, that one night had made you permanently miss him.

He’d truly done a number on you.

“Wanna go home?” You asked between kisses, loving the soft moan that feel from his throat at the thought.

“As long as I wake up to you still next to me,” he replied.

“Promise,” you said, kissing him once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The two of you ended up keeping the apartment for the rest of the year, your stuff slowly ending up in his room because the mattress was more comfortable, and eventually your old room became a shared study room. It was where your desks ended up and you’d study there together in the evenings or marathon study sessions on the weekends, music playing from a speaker between you two. Most of the time, you ended up making out, though, and occasionally having sex on one of your desks or on the floor because frankly you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. The sexual tension that had been there that first night had lingered, and it made it so you two truly couldn’t stop touching each other.

It drove your friends crazy, all of them yelling at you whenever you started making out at parties, reminding you that you were in public and you could hold off until you were home, thank you very much. And Harry just would kiss your temple and whisper in your ear about what he wanted to do to you later, and you’d pinch his bum to remind him that he wasn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeves.

Harry had never fallen in love with someone so fast, but with you it was easy. You had been one of his favorite people before you’d started dating, but now it was like you were truly the most incredible people in the world. He’d wake up with you snuggled into his chest, hair tickling his nose, and he’d get a kiss before you left bed since your class schedules started at the same time most days. You’d make his tea just like he liked it and rubbed his back when he got sick after a big night out, and when you laughed at one of his corny jokes your entire face would light up, a beaming smile that made his whole body ache. You were so gorgeous is physically hurt sometimes because he couldn’t stop staring at you, absorbing just how fucking perfect you were.

It was funny, because dating you wasn’t all that different from being your friend. He still got all the shared dinners and movie nights and hilarious stories the morning after a night out, but now he got to hear them while cuddling you on the couch, your head tucked against his neck. And when you teased him about how much of a boy he was (his snapback was your favorite target) you’d kiss him to make him stop pouting. But he was happy. He was so fucking happy with you.

He was thinking about all of that while you sat on the couch together, his head lying in your lap as you read a book for class, your fingers running through his hair absentmindedly. He was watching you, something he did often and you’d grown used to, and suddenly the overwhelming desire to finally tell you how he felt hit him like a truck.

And unlike previous attempts, he couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you,” he said, the words so simple and sure that they made you stop reading and look down at him.

“What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, drawing out the last word and tucking his face into your stomach, peppering kisses over your shirt. For some reason, he wasn’t nervous, knowing you’d say it or not and either way it was okay—he wasn’t expecting you to necessarily be ready. He just couldn’t hide it anymore.

He knew your mind was turning but he just kept kissing you, knowing the action would calm your anxious thoughts. “I love you too,” you finally said after a beat, and he looked up at you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you idiot,” you answered, setting your book down on the couch and smiling at him. “Wasn’t expecting to tell you quite like this, though.”

“How were you planning to tell me?”

You shrugged, rubbing a circle on his forehead. “Dunno. Something more monumental, I guess? I know you like all those romance movies, so I thought maybe something like in one of those.”

He adored the fact that you wanted to make it special, that you’d thought about it, but he just shook his head at you. “I don’t need it to be monumental,” he told you, brushing his fingers along your chin. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Shut up.”

“Never,” he said, sitting up and grabbing your hips, swinging you onto his lap with your laughter raining down on him. “Never going to stop telling you how perfect you are.”

He hooked his fingers on your neck and pulled you in for a kiss, one of those ones that made your thoughts all mushy and his heart pound in his chest because sometimes the way he felt about you just made his whole body go silent except for his heart. Or, at least it felt that way.

“Love you,” he mumbled against your lips, eyes catching yours.

“Love you more,” you replied, kissing his nose softly.

“Are we going to be one of those couples that is constantly competing over who loves the other person more?” He asked, nestling his head in the space between your shoulder and neck, settling there as your fingers swept through his hair. You wrapped around him like this was his favorite place to be.

“Probably,” you answered simply, a tender kiss to the side of his head. “Now, does this mean you’ll make dinner tonight? I’ve got a paper to edit.”

He laughed into your shoulder, picking his head up to look at you. “You make it sound like I don’t make dinner practically every night.”

You shrugged, a playful smile on your face. “You’re just better at it.”

“False, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“God, your ego has got to be massive now,” you mumbled, and he laughed, smile stretching across his face and dimples poking out.

“Alright, go start on your essay and I’ll cook something for us. Sound good?”

You beamed at him. “Perfect.” You bounced off his lap, grabbing your book and heading for your old room. “Love you!”

The words were called over your shoulder and Harry smiled at how perfect they sounded on your lips, how easy it was to answer back simply, “Love you more,” at your receding figure, the thought gracing his mind at how he’d like to be saying those words to you for a very, very long time.

HI I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!!!! COME TALK TO ME IN MY INBOX AND PLEASE REBLOG SO MORE PEOPLE GET TO READ/SEE THIS!!! XOXOXOXO LOVE YOUUUU

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #college harry styles #college!harry #college harry #roommate harry #roommate harry styles

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kissypoets · 4 years ago

Text

Liability (Reprise)

In which Harry panics about getting mobbed while out for dinner with you and tries to make up for his mistake.

a/n: hihihi omg... this is my first time posting my work on here [ or anywhere, actually ] so please be kind. this was inspired by the song liability (reprise) by lorde!!! was listening to it and this idea just came to me and I really loved how it turned out and really wanted to share. I hope you enjoy :] !!

Word Count: 6, 543

Harry unbuttons his sheer dress shirt, blowing out a puff of air as his chest and stomach relaxes due to being released from the tight space. He folds the sleeves up to his forearms, inked skin being exposed to the cool air in his quiet bedroom, the dimmed iridescent light making his tattoos vivid and clearer than ever before on his tan skin. All the jogging Harry has done at the beach has certainly paid off. His skin was glowing in golden hue, highlighted parts burnt and sunkissed to perfection, leaving a darkened red tone that made him even more captivating. This has always managed to strengthen Harry’s external confidence, finding extra comfort in his tattoos becoming more visible knowing that they covered a part of him he couldn’t imagine exposing bare and blank.

Silence surrounds him as he tears his eyes away from his arm, sitting down on the edge of his bed and letting out another large exhale.

It hasn’t been a great night for him and the fact that he has to come home in a massive space that was filled with nothing but eerie silence certainly makes it worse. He was hoping to stay out all night with you but the moment people got a hold of his whereabouts, he knew better than to sit still and wait for the chaos to slap him in the face. Instead, he rushed both of you outside the restaurant and worry has taken over him completely to the point where taking you home seemed like the best idea to keep you away from the hysteria. You had hoped he was thinking of a more secluded place to bring you to, but when he said you should go, you swallowed the thickening lump in your throat and just nodded your head, trying your best to be understanding of the situation.

He felt beyond stupid thinking about it now. Enraged, dismay and dejected doesn’t even cover the feeling in his gut. Harry was disappointed in himself more than anything, feeling like he’d let you down just within months of being together.

Settling his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, his fingers rubbed his temples due to the pain that was starting to flourish in his dome. He could have done so many things in order to prolong the night and make an effort in your guys' relationship, yet he let the intense fret win him over, causing panic in his brain and feeling like he had no choice but to take you home.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters under his breath as he clasps his hands and pressed it hard against his forehead, “you could have taken her here and cooked a lovely dinner, you dimwit.”

Harry also knew he could’ve been the one to keep you safe tonight. If he was going to cause mayhem in your life, the least he could do was bring you some sort of consolation and protect you from all of it.

He feels so beyond disappointed in himself that the ache in his head has started to squeeze his cranium, agonizing pain rushing through every vein in his body. He was so tired of this continuously happening to everyone important in his life. Even though he loves what he does and feels such vigorous happiness and triumph from it, he still looks at it as a miniscule disadvantage for all his friends, family and partner. If Harry kept tabs on how many times the media and a large crowd has hurt the most important people in his life, then he’ll have an endless stack of it collecting dust in a separate room in his large residence.

Harry takes a few more deep breaths until his shaking ceases, doing what he was instructed by his therapist when needing to calm his anxiety and getting rid of the trepidation forming in the pit of his stomach and on the deep end of his throat. He swallows thickly and straightens his back, inhaling and exhaling one last time.

Calling you to explain himself and checking in on how you were doing was the right thing to do right now. He reaches in his pockets, pulling out his phone and instantly putting you on dial. He has your number memorized and favorited in his contacts, the bold font of his nickname for you listed first on the section.

The phone rang once, twice, then four more times before it went straight to voicemail. It didn’t even vex him, he just stayed on the line and listened to your sweet voice echo through his ear drums, savoring every syllable that left your mouth. You sounded like how it felt to touch velvet, or the feeling of bliss that rushes through him whenever he finishes a song. You felt good, you sounded good.

A wave of calmness hits his body, the frustration and disappointment in him halting for a second as he focuses on your saccharine voice, “hey! So sorry for not being able to pick up your call. Chances are I’m sleeping or completely engulfed by a book. I promise to get back to you as soon as possible. Hope you’re well, bye!’

When the line cuts off, Harry looks at his phone screen, enthralled by the brief message. He wasted no time dialing your number again, standing up to pace around the room when worry creeps back in his abdomen. Hands settled on his hip, he bites his lip as he waits in vehement anticipation for you to greet him through the phone. But after several rings, it leads to your voicemail again and he’s left even more concerned.

“Fuck,” he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, shoving one of his hand inside his pants to bring some comfort in his physique, “one more call.”

The airconditioning in the room roared loudly, coming to life and blowing soft, cool air from the ceiling. Harry’s forgotten that he still had his dress shirt on, opened wide on the center and exposing his abdominal muscles and the large butterfly inked on the center of it looking glorious and fresh. The ventilation blew air right on his skin and he can feel the hair rising due to the coldness, not helping the nervousness that was already swallowing the entirety of his stomach.

He continued pacing as the line rings, his breathing in sync with each pause. He wasn’t entirely sure anymore if you’d pick up at all, but when the ringing stopped and there were seconds of silence, he looked at his screen and noticed the time stamp going.

He stopped in the middle of his bedroom and pressed the phone back to his ears, certain you’ve picked up. The knot on his stomach tightened and his chest started beating rapidly, palms sweating inside the pockets of his slacks. He wanted you to pick up but after already failing to hear from you twice, he wasn’t expecting it on the third call.

“Baby?” Harry calls. There was some groaning.

“No idea who the fuck this is, but some of us are trying to sleep, mate,” a deep voice rings through his drums, tiredness and sleepiness evident. Harry’s stomach drops as he stares at the wall in front of him. A male?

Harry’s head starts racing and he swallows a thick ball of swelling anxiety in his throat. He can feel his breathing becoming uneven. He checks the screen of his phone again, making sure that he called the right person. After seeing your nickname still typed out neatly and boldly on the front, he feels a quarter of relief. He shouldn’t think the absolute worst because it could be anyone. Harry has earned multiple different titles under the category of being overly jealous and he admits that it turns him into an arrogant son of a bitch, but he just really couldn’t help it. He wants to be the only one.

“Hellooooo?” the voice on the other end startles him out of his thoughts and he focuses back on the call. The man sighs when Harry doesn't answer. “Look, you’ve called three times on her phone while she was passed out on the couch. She’s in the shower now and I’ll let her know that a--hang on--” he looks at his screen, “that a Harry rang, cool?”

Whoever answered your phone didn’t even bother to wait for Harry to agree, he just hung up and did as he said.

The grip on Harry’s phone tightened without control, his eyes starting to water due to the intense stare he gave his wall. Shower? Why were you so tired beforehand? Who was that? Why, why, why… Multiple questions raced through his brain and he rushed to sit at the end of his bed. You’re too good and you’d never do anything to hurt him like this, he knows that. Or does he? His jealousy is getting the best of him and he senses it. He does his breathing exercises again as he waits patiently to hear from you this time.

The airconditioning starts to die down, the noise it was making starting to decrease and heat starts to radiate throughout Harry’s body. He wasted no time ripping his dress shirt off, fully exposing his toned thorax, muscles flexing due to his nervous breathing and brood.

You’ve mentioned Effy to him multiple times before, considering the amount of interesting stories you’ve told him about your drunken nights together and spontaneous trips; stories he’s certainly loved hearing and continues to anticipate whenever you’re together. He knew that she was your only roommate, that she’s enthralled by women and that you haven’t mentioned any guy friends yet. He even remembers correctly that you’re the only child, your family living across the globe and that the closest thing you have to a relative here in Los Angeles is Effy, no brother and no cousins.

Harry tries not to continue overthinking but he’s really shit in that department. It’s one of the many traits that he despises the most in himself, knowing that his past relationships had gone wrong because of it and he refuses to let that happen again.

Thank god his thoughts were cut off when his phone starts to ring and vibrate on his hand, the same nickname you’ve become accustomed to shining brightly on his phone screen. He stands up from his bed and quickly answers, “hello? Hi. I’m--”

“Harry,” you sigh in relief at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t know that you’ve been expecting a call for over two hours now since he dropped you home, “hi, baby. Are you okay? Finn said--”

“Finn. Is he-- who is he, exactly?” You notice a tint of vulnerability in his voice.

Harry looks down at his feet that were covered in baby pink socks, a hand on his hip while he waits for you to answer. He hopes he didn’t sound pathetic asking that. He felt ridiculous enough as it is and absolutely stupid for not asking about your wellbeing first. He was about to retract and take it back but you’ve managed to chuckle through the phone before answering and Harry bites his lip.

“Effy’s brother. He’s got a research trip down in San Diego so he’s here for a visit. Sorry for however he acted over the phone. I promise he’s a great guy,” you say, “how are you? I so badly wanted to call but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk especially because of what happened at Perch.”

You were always so honest and straightforward with your thoughts. Harry loves that so much about you. Somehow, it boosts his confidence even more whenever he’s around you and he’s never afraid to speak his mind and act however he wants. What he lacks in being able to communicate properly with his partners you make up for in the relationship and he was more than grateful.

“I’m fine. I’m,” Harry pauses for a second before exhaling and changing his words, “I’m not fine actually. I miss you and I’m so terribly sorry for dismissing you. It wasn’t your fault, I swear, I’m just an arse.”

He continues before you can disagree, “I got nervous. That was the first time that’s ever happened while I was with you and I didn’t want it to change anything between us. I didn’t want you to feel differently. I want you now. I mean… I want you to come over now. I want to cook dinner for you and make up for what happened.”

Harry’s heart starts to beat even faster against his chest as he admits his feelings in accurate words. He’s aware how late it is already and you probably have classes tomorrow but he’s hoping you’ll agree anyway so he can fix a wasted and ravaged night. He also thinks he can persuade you into wanting to stay, the need to hold and kiss you intensifying the more he thinks about it. He wants to show you just how sorry he is. He wants you to forgive him and let him show you just how important you are to him. He wants to make you his favorite homemade meal and demonstrate his outrageous skills in bed, which you have been pining for and missing so much.

You were about to answer but he cuts you off once more. You smile slightly as you listen to him speak, “fuck. How are you? How are you feeling? Sorry.”

“Deep breaths, please? You sound really nervous and you have no reason to be, it’s just me,” you have no idea how nervous you make him and how much he worries about you, but he refrains from saying it out loud, not wanting to speak over you again. “I’m bummed about what happened because I really wanted to have a lovely dinner with you but I also understand. I understand and I feel better now that I’m hearing your voice. You have nothing to apologize for, Harry.”

“I do,” he mutters and toys with his belt, eyes still on the floor, “if it weren’t for me, no crowd would have showed up and we would still be sitting on that rooftop with a nice glass of extremely expensive wine. They’ll have no choice but to kick us out.”

You giggle and the sound makes Harry’s anxiety melt away. The tension in his muscles starts to soften and his heart starts to slow down, instantly feeling healed.

Harry looks up and his lips finally curl on its sides, dimples popping out on both of his cheeks and he feels more than relieved. He had no doubts about you understanding the unfortunate circumstance but he was one to always need validation and he feels undeniably reassured by your simple words, and even just the sound of your laugh.

At times, strange happenings like that would commence an argument with his exes. Looking back at it now, it was very odd to him considering he had no control over it. Plus he trusts his fans enough and knows that they wouldn’t do anything to put him and his loved ones in danger. Though mobs happen, he’s aware that they will never cross a line that damages his respect for them.

But you discepher and accept it, without him having to beg you to or explain to you. Another reason why he’s so enamored by you. You just know.

“Yeah, that would have been lovely. But we can always go another time. I saw you today and it was enough for me,” you replied. Harry’s cheeks tightens as he smiles wider, dimples deepening and crinklers appearing beside his eyes. He feels himself flush because of your words and he crunches his nose to calm himself.

“We can try again tonight,” he brings his suggestion back into the conversation, “so, will you come? I can pick you up, I don’t mind.”

You frown. “I’d love to but, it’s almost eleven, classes tomorrow and Effy--”

“Please, darling?” Harry begs, sitting down on his bed again. He hears you inhale upon hearing the sudden word of endearment and he grins. He knows how much you love it when he calls you random pet names, but mostly the sweetest ones that will have you turning into goo.

“God, you’re good,” you admit and tilt your head back, laughing quietly. Harry’s grin grows, “fine. But I can drive myself.”

“No,” he butts in. “I can pick you up. It’s just a twenty minute drive.”

It was a tactic. Harry figured that if you didn’t have your vehicle with you then you will be more likely to stay. But he knows that he’ll cave in on driving you back anyway if you really wanted to go home for the night.

“Harry,”

“Honey,” he throws in another nickname. You inhale. He smiles.

“Fine,” you say in defeat.

Harry’s heart almost leaps out of his chest in triumph and excitement; the fact that he’s seeing you again tonight lit up something in him. He’s grateful that you can’t see the idiotic smile he’s sporting right now, otherwise his body will flush in humiliation and you’ll tease him about it all night. Little does he know, you’ve got the same look on your beautiful face, also thankful that he couldn’t see you. You’re both a mirrorball to each other’s life, lighting one another up in a way that you’ve both always craved.

“See you then, baby,” he says.

___

Due to the lack of traffic, Harry was able to make it in your apartment complex in just under 15 minutes. Mulholland Drive was packed as usual but it still didn’t prevent him from arriving too late. Dressed in black joggers and a black hoodie, curls tied up in a black scrunchie and pushed back in a red bandana, he looked absolutely cozy and at ease.

The brief conversation between the two of you over the phone has brought him slight serenity. He’s still hoping to somehow bring it up tonight and apologize once more knowing what he said through the phone wouldn’t be enough. And he also wants to put his compelling abilities in bed to good use as a way to show you how sorry he was, if you’ll let him.

He adjusts the cool air that left his car’s ventilation, making sure it wasn’t too warm nor too cold once you get in the car. He stares at the open space of your building, waiting for you to come down through the stairs while exhilaration rushes through every vein in his body.

Harry feels absolutely nonsensical because of how much he misses you despite seeing you hours ago. A minute, hour, day or weeks even, will never be enough time and he’s fully aware of that. But thinking about everything he wants to do with you just brings back the same intolerable thoughts; getting mobbed, harassed and surrounded by hundreds of people even if you’re just having dinner in a public restaurant together. He suddenly starts to feel unsettled, desperately needing you to show up within his sight already so he can forget about everything and just focus on you and taking care of you, which is what he has started to love doing most.

Just in time, before Harry’s thoughts can get darker and deeper, he catches you walking carefully down the stairs looking irresistible as always. Your hair was in a low bun, bits of hair falling loose around your face while you sported a lovely white frock dress and matching fluffy slippers.

His whole face lights up in jubilation, mouth almost hurting due to how big his smile was and the wild elation in him sharpens. Harry chuckles as soon as you get in the car, more than delighted to see you. Your scent engulfs him in a wild wave, the air conditioning circulating it throughout his car and he didn’t mind it one bit. He hopes that it would stay in there forever, surrounding him to bring a sense of tranquility.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he greets you, wasting no time and leaning forward to catch your soft lips with his. He feels you take a deep breath and you can feel his smile against you, his hands coming up to stroke your cheeks. Your shock is evident when you laugh quietly while his lips continue to tackle yours, cupping his jaw as you kiss him back and Harry slowly melts due to the feeling. His body slumps from where he sat, savoring your taste and marking you with his.

You pull back, pecking him lightly once more before greeting him back, “hi, handsome.”

His body heats up as he leans back in his seat and starts driving, “cool enough in here for you?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you answer, putting your seatbelt on. “How was the drive?”

“It was fine, no traffic so we’ll be home in no time,” he says, catching a quick glance at you while you fixate your eyes on the road, “you look beautiful, by the way. Love the dress.”

Your breathing changed for a second upon hearing the word home, but you chose to ignore it. Instead, you smile lovingly at him, your hands reaching out to lightly massage the back of his head. He hums at the soothing feeling.

“Thank you, baby,” you reply, a tint of blush creeping up your cheeks. “I missed you.”

Harry feels his body heat up at your confession. He has no idea why you have this much of an effect on him but he loves it. He feels utterly loved and happy, which is something he hasn’t felt in awhile and always wanted to have. Instead of saying it back, he teases you, “sod off, you just saw me hours ago. Clingy much?”

You look over at him in slight surprise, not missing the humor behind his words. He glances at you sideways, lips tilted up in a smirk and his eyebrow lifted jokingly. You pull your hand away and cross your arms over your chest, “you know what, yes, absolutely. I can’t get enough of you.”

Harry didn’t expect you to say that so when you notice his face getting flushed and serious, you couldn’t help but giggle. His whole body went rigid for a couple of seconds, eyes still focused on the road. Instead of answering, his hand reaches towards your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze to show his appreciation. His thumb brushes against your skin a couple of times and he feels it get bumpy, hairs rising because of how good it was making you feel. Harry grins to himself, perceiving the effect he had on you and completely enjoying it.

You put your hands on top of his, feeling the warm veins against your palm and you look out the window, watching the bright lights pass by.

Harry loves going on drives with you as much as you do with him. He hates it that his radio was old and wouldn’t work, but he also refuses to get it fixed. He finds comfort in the silence within the confined space and also enjoys the way the noise outside surrounds him. He loves it even more when you’re on the passenger seat experiencing the therapeutic moment with him. Knowing that he can be with you in comfortable silence gave him a lot of hope in your relationship.

Minutes pass by and only a couple of miles are left until you reach his beautiful Malibu home. Harry remembers the elephant in the room, his chest tightening upon the thoughts of what brought you two in this situation in the first place. Should he address it now or wait until you both get to his house? There’s never really a right time and he knows that. He wasn’t even sure if it was something you want to talk about or if you wanted to ignore the whole thing and instead continue on to have a peaceful time together.

But, you were just patiently waiting for him to address it. You knew that if you brought it up, it’ll make him uncomfortable and he’ll start blaming himself. It was an admission in his part that you certainly want to avoid. The thought of him feeling like he puts you in a dangerous environment squeezes your heart so disturbingly that you can feel it all the way up your brain. You’ll get upset and he might assume the worst; when really, you just want him to understand that you know he can’t control it and that despite everything, you adore him and will never leave, unless, for unbeknown reasons and god forbid, he wants you to.

“Almost there, love,” he cuts his own thoughts off, including yours, clueless about how in sync they were. You look over at him the same time he took a quick glance at you. He looks back at the road and whispers something about how pretty you are but it was so quiet you could barely hear it.

Instead of acknowledging it, you put your hand back where it was on his hair and softly massage his scalp. You feel him lean back a tad, clearly finding peace in your touch. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying those three words you didn’t know he wanted to say too, both of you too scared to admit and profess it out loud.

_____

“Is there anything I should be doing?” you ask Harry from where you sat in his kitchen, a glass of extremely expensive red wine in your hand. He wanted to open a bottle of Ichiro’s Malt, hoping that it’ll make up for the ones you both could’ve had at Perch.

He twists his body slightly to look at you, answering in the sweetest tone, “nope. Sit there and look pretty, that’s all. I’m making this for you.”

Harry looks absolutely handsome, striking and sexy from where he stood, chopping a bunch of vegetables like it was his professionalism. He’s changed to a plain black shirt, the material hugging his toned body perfectly and emphasizing the muscles on his arm, back and stomach. He even had a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, adding to the whole look. You sipped your wine as you continued to stare, noticing the way his body is flexing as he moves and his tattoos moving along on his skin. You sighed, feeling so lucky.

You decided to walk over to him to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. Harry has certainly mastered the art of cooking; having been able to experience life in Italy, he had acquired the new skill flawlessly. It’s something he’s always wanted to be better at, considering the only thing he knew how to make was his grandfather’s special sandwich recipe and god only knows how tired people are of eating it.

Harry feels your presence beside him as you lean back against the smooth counter, sipping your wine. He looks over at you as he cuts the food, holding an admirable smile on his face. He loves having you here. He loves being this close to you, knowing that you’re within his sight and he was able to be unapologetically affectionate without the judgemental eyes and words of the public.

He speaks when you look back at him with a shine in your eyes, “how’s the wine?”

“Hm, tastes like money,” you say jokingly. He laughs at your answer and you smiled so wide at the sight of his head slightly thrown back, white and perfectly aligned teeth showing with his nose scrunched up.

“I have no doubt about that,” he says, looking back down at the cutting board.

The bottle costs roughly around twenty thousand dollars, more if you count it in pounds. But he chooses not to say it. Instead he asks about your day, as he usually would every single time he sees you or talks to you over the phone, “how was your day? Any progress in your thesis?”

Your ears perk up at the question about your dissertation. Harry has always been interested in it and you fail to understand the fascination. You’ve asked why before and he always admits that it was something that matters to him too, but you feel like that isn’t a good enough reason to be rapted in a boring essay by a grad student.

He tremendously admires the fact that you’ve continued your studies to get a masters in English. He envies it and he wishes he had taken your footsteps. But Harry is so beyond proud of you and just the thought of you becoming a famous novelist like you’ve always wanted makes him feel over the moon. You deserve nothing but good things and he can’t wait until you finish uni and finally build your self publishing pursuit.

“A lot of progress which I’m so relieved about. Remember when we read Course of Love together? I annotated it in the process and a lot of the quotes really came in handy for my essay,” you tell him, “I’ve reached probably eighty-nine pages and we only needed to write a hundred, but I’m aiming for one-fifty, max.”

“Always pushing yourself to work harder than you need to,” Harry says with a soft smile on his face. He starts to mix his ingredients together in the pan on the stove and you watch him work his magic cautiously, “but that’s really good, love. I’m proud of you. I know you’re gonna kick ass and everyone else's thesis will suck.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” you nod teasingly. You’re actually really nervous about it and he knows that. But you’ve mentioned before that talking about it doesn’t really help calm you so Harry doesn’t take the conversation further than that, “what about you? How was your day? Wrote anything new?”

Harry shakes his head and looks over at you as he starts to shake the pan to mix whatever was on it, “you haven’t even told me how your day was, babe.”

“Crap, sorry,” you have a habit of completely disregarding certain parts of a conversation. He found it adorable most of the time but when it came to arguments or discussions between the two of you about serious topics, it vexed him to no end. He remembers you missing the whole point of your conversations sometimes and he loathed it then, “one of my professors ditched today so I only had one class. Took a lot of naps after lunch which was nice then-- then whatever happened at Perch. My day was alright.”

You try to soften a part of your answer with the last statement but it was very clear Harry didn’t miss it. He looks over at you for a quick second and you sipped your wine to avoid eye contact.

You didn’t mean anything by it. It happened today and he was asking about today so you decided to slip it in there in honor of your promises to always be honest, free-spoken and up front with one another. It didn’t necessarily ruin your day, it was just simply dejecting and unlike anything you’ve had to deal with before. But you’re with him now and he’s cooking you something that already smelled absolutely delicious so you were willing to look past it. But Harry couldn’t and you knew that.

He lowers the heat on the stove to keep the food sizzling but not to the point where it’ll burn. He wipes his hands with the towel on his shoulder before approaching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You lean back further against the counter as his hand guides your arms to wrap around his neck, putting his hands on your waist and squeezing affectionately. He stares deep into your eyes and you wondered how he was so good with that; how it didn’t make him look nervous despite being the shyest person that you know.

Softly, he speaks, “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry about that. I’m a dick.”

Mirth creeps into your eyes at his last word and your lips unintentionally curls on its side. He has no idea why you started smiling but he did too. He feels you interlock your fingers against his skin as you answer him, “the way you say dick is really amusing. But you aren’t and you have nothing to apologize for. You have no control over it.”

You’re so humorous and he loves it so much. He loves you. “I am a dick and I will apologize because even if I can’t control it, I’m still the reason why it happens. The way I acted afterwards was very irrational too. Just admit it, I’m a dick.”

“If I agree, will you stop apologizing and calling yourself that?”

“Yes,”

“Fine, you’re a dick,”

“I know and I’m sorry,” he smiles at you.

You squint your eyes as his whole face beams, your hands squeezing his face and squishing his skin, “cheeky.”

He laughs and pulls you closer to him, “come here, baby.”

Your noses touch as he leans down to get closer to your face, his lips barely touching yours. Whenever he inhales, your engrossing scent engulfs his nostrils and it brings him great comfort. Your hands cup his jaw, thumb caressing his cheeks as he opens his mouth once more, “I mean it. I regret taking you home and acting the way I did. I should’ve apologized right there and then. I should’ve taken you here and found a way to make the night better but I’m trying to make up for it now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in a really fucking long time and I don’t want things to change because you finally got a glimpse into another part of my life. I won’t let anything happen to you, please know that, but it will get worse. Mobs happen and it’s horrifying at times.”

It’s something that really worries Harry and you see it take over his whole figure. His face shows vivid perturb and his body has become slightly tensed from his words. It’s true; it will get worse and when you witness it, you will be horrified. It’s something Harry has always had to worry about before making the decision to fully commit to someone. It’s affected his past relationships abdominably and he doesn’t want the same thing happening between the two of you. Like he said, you’re far too important to him and for something as riotous as this to come in between that will be heart shattering and utterly painful. This was his life, it will always be like this and if you can’t accept nor understand that, then who will? He only wants you.

You have no idea what to say, eyes boring straight into his pale irises, clear brood written all over it. Your thumb continues to massage his skin which slightly soothes Harry’s tensed muscles and he’s worried about what will come out of your mouth. He leans back a little to read your face but your mind is so empty that the only thing you can utter really was, “I love you and I’m here for as long as you want me to, okay?”

Your words made Harry lean back further out of reflex, a sharp intake of air filling his lungs upon hearing your revelation. The sudden realization of what you just blurted out forced your eyes shut, hands covering your face in slight embarrassment. You weren’t ashamed that you said it, you were just scared whether or not he felt the same way. You hear Harry laugh and you peak out of your fingers, making him laugh harder. You take your hands off to playfully scold him, your skin saturated with redness, “oh god! Will you stop? I love you and I’m not scared to say it. Nothing’s funny about that.”

Harry chuckles some more, making his way forward to you again and takes your hand in his. He wraps it back around his neck, leaning down to take a good look at you.

His heart is beating so fast in his chest and he was so happy that he didn’t even care if you could hear it. He’s been wanting to say the same three words to you every single time he’s with you; even when he’s just admiring you while you read a book or watching a movie, or when the two of you are simply hanging out and talking. He catches the obvious adoration in your bearing and always notices the twinkle in your eyes when you look at him. He hopes he’s been showing it as well because there’s no better feeling than loving you and he wants you to know that.

You shy away from his stare and he titters. He tilts your chin up, teeth on full display on his face while his cheeks deepen into dimples, “you love me?”

“Yes,” your noses touch and you sigh. “I’ve said it like twice already and you, zero times.” You poke his chest in a light hearted manner.

“Actually, you just couldn’t take the hint before,” he teases you. “I thought it was very clear that I love you.”

You bite your lip to keep your smile from widening and you close your eyes momentarily before locking eyes with him again. He scrunches his nose to keep himself from becoming too joyful because of the exchange between the two of you. You tease him back, “you’re just doing a shit job at showing it, that’s all.”

Harry gasps at your comeback and wraps both of his arms around you without hesitancy, squeezing you as tight as he can and lifting you gently off of the floor. You laugh so loud that his ears perked up at the sound, making his heart beat rapidly and somehow faster than it has ever done before.

He loves you. And you love him back. There wasn’t any doubt about it between the two of you, it was just a matter of finding the right moment to admit it at last to each other. And what better moment is there than this one in the kitchen, where the food on the stove is at its edge of burning without the two of you even noticing.

Harry puts you back down on the floor and both of you catch your breath. You took the lead this time and grabbed his face, smashing your lips against his. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he grasps the back of your neck with one hand and the other softly cupping your jaw. He smiles against you and you feel it, butterflies forming in your stomach as you tangle your fingers in his soft curls. He kisses you so deep, hard, full of love and savors your taste like there was no tomorrow. You feel his hand start to crawl up to grip bits of your hair but before you can let it get further than that, you pull back and you both inhale so loud it erupted an echoing chuckle.

“Food’s gonna burn, babe,” you tell him, breathing hard.

“I’m so in love with you,” he simply says back.

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hogwartsmarvelmommy · 3 years ago

Text

Spin the bottle. H.H 🤭❤️

Warnings: kissing, maybe some references to sex.. alcohol consumption.

🌼🌸 Masterlist 🌸🌼

This situation could have been prevented, you scolded yourself as you sat in the small circle on the floor. What were you anyway? A child? Grown adults don't do this kind of stuff. But here you were sitting in a circle as Tom grabbed the bottle and spun it around, you prayed it did not land on you.

The bottle stilled after what felt like an eternity, pointing directly at Harrison.

“Oi i think it's time for me to go mate,” Harrison said, jumping up to his feet. Harry and Sam were both a laughing mess on the floor as Jacob insisted that the rules were the rules. Leaving Tom and Harrison both a frustrated mess as they shared a rather quick and disappointing peck on the lips, but when the bottle had landed on you and Z they had insisted that there was tongue and groping involved. Classic boys you guess.

“That's not fair,” you called out as the boys took their seats back in the circle. “Z and I had to nearly make out but the two of you got off with some lame ass peck?”

“There was no getting off, I can promise you that much Y/N,” Tom quipped, making you nearly fall over in a fit of giggles. It probably wouldn't have been as funny as you thought it was if you were sober, but with the obscene amount of alcohol coursing through your veins, just about everything was funny. Harry grabbed the bottle from the ground as it was his turn. You felt your breath hitch as he spun it on the hardwood surface watching it go around, and around, until it slowed, and finally stilled. Pointing directly at YOU. You felt a sudden stillness in the air, as you registered what had just happened.

“Let's make this interesting,” Harrison said, having noticed the way you had reacted when the bottle stilled on you. As you stared at the curly haired ginger sitting across from you, you glanced over to Harrison to see him fishing around in his pocket, pulling out a small coin. “Heads, you guys kiss, tongue included,” He paused and looked between you and Harry, “Tails, you go up to the guest room closet and share seven minutes in heaven,” Your stomach tightened. You looked back over to Harry to see him smirking and staring directly at you.

“What do you think, love?” Harry's voice rang in your ears. What do you think? You couldn't possibly tell him the thoughts that immediately started to flood your mind with just the sheer possibility. You and Harry, alone in a closet, for seven minutes. What could fuel your fantasies better than that. You could feel an ache deep in your core already starting at the thought of Harry's lips or hands anywhere on your body. To say that you had imagined it would be an understatement.

“Okay,” You stuttered with a nod of your head. You looked back at Harrison as he threw the coin in the air, catching it and placing it onto his arm. His eyebrows raised as he shot Harry a grin.

“Head on upstairs, I'll be up to get you in seven minutes,” Harrison told the two of you. You felt a sudden nervousness rush over you as you tipped the red cup to your lips and downed the liquid in hope for a bit of liquid courage. Harry got up to his feet and walked towards you, extending his arm for you to take his hand. He pulled you to your feet and then pulled you behind him towards the guest room. You followed him all the way to a small dark closet, with the door closed it was pitch black, you could feel Harry's breath close to your face and you were sure that he could probably hear your heart nearly leaping through your chest with each beat.

“You know,” He said, his fingers tracing down your jaw. “I've seen the way you look at me,”

You weren't sure how to respond, or if you could respond. Every fiber of your being was screeching at how close Harry was and how bad you just wanted him to close the distance that was between you, no matter how little.

“I..Uh,” you sounded like an idiot trying to find something to say, but Harry didn't mind, nor did he mind all the subtle things that had been said and done over the past few weeks. He enjoyed the way that your eyes found him in a big group and how when he would be talking, and everyone would lose interest, your ears were always open and eager to hear anything and everything he had to say. He had noticed a while ago how you would get all giddy and nervous when it was just the two of you compared to when you were with Harrison or Sam, and he would be lying if he told anyone he wasn't jealous when any male prospect tried anything to woo you. It was strange for him, as overtime his heart had slowly yearned for yours without him even noticing, and now standing in a dark room with the impending task at hand, he was nervous. Nervous he had read it all wrong, nervous maybe he had begun to fall for you when all you thought of him as was a friend.

“Harry,” You whispered, finding his hand in the darkness of the closet.

Your voice seeking him out was enough for him to close the small distance between you, lips crashing into yours. A slow mess of lips on lips, your fingers finding home in his mess of beautiful curls. As soon as his lips had connected with yours the nervousness had washed away, it all felt so right, like it had been like this for years. For you this was a dream, you had always felt differently towards Harry, his humor and sarcasm pulling you in and his sweetness and heart holding you there. His hands slipped down the center of your back, pulling you impossibly closer, until they rested on the small of your back. Lips on lips, tongues grazing teeth, it was all a haze. His lips left yours only to find home on your neck, making you a mess in his hands. You couldn't believe this was real, but the little nip to your earlobe made you know for certain this was happening.

Neither of you had noticed the time that had passed as your bodies had been pressed flush together with lips and hands traveling, until Harrison swung the door open, with force, light flooding into the dark area, and burning your eyes. You buried your face in Harry's neck to block the light, and even with one of his mates right there, he still held your body close to him.

“Times up,” Harrison announced, noticing how cozy you both looked, “But I could leave if you are needing more..”

“No, we're coming,” Harry said quickly, pulling both of you from the closet. You followed behind Harrison and next to Harry back towards the group. Your fingers brushed Harry’s and he interlaced your hands. You looked up to his face, shocked at the intimate gesture, to see him smiling down at you with the same smile you had been giving him for weeks.

“By the way,” Harrison laughed as you made your way back to the group. “The coin was heads,”

You shot Harrison a playful glare, before laughing. Harry's arm slung over your shoulder pulling you closer to him.

Seven minutes in heaven..

Who would have thought.

#harry holland #harry robert holland #harry holland imagine #harry holland smut #harry holland x y/n #harry holland fluff

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mediocre--writing · 4 years ago

Note

what if when neil found out steve and billy are dating, instead, he goes and beats the shit out of Steve to teach billy a lesson

“billy, shut up or i’m telling steve!”

the pause in the air was so pregnant that nobody dared to move.

billy felt his pulse shoot up so high he was sure he was going to vibrate off of the chair he sat on. he could see the fork in his hand wobble more and more violently as he willed it to stay still.

this was exactly what happened last time.

being too joke-y and playful, max saying something just incriminating enough, and the whole universe coming to a pause, just to jeer and laugh at poor billy hargrove.

the dinner was nice, one of the better ones susan had made, and everyone in the house was smiling.

max and billy were closer than ever, even before the move out to indiana, and felt like true siblings, much to the delight of both parents.

neils nose scrunched. he looked back and forth around the table before raising his steel eyes to meet max’s.

“who’s steve?”

max knew she’d done it this time. she was cornered and her face was burning with shame for what she brought on billy, what she brought on herself, what she brought on the house.

“one of billy’s friends. he babysits dustin sometimes. drives him around, ya know?”

max sounded causal. and it wouldn’t have been suspicious had the room not had a tense air that hadn’t been present prior to the move.

“friend?” neil moved his eyes over to billy, who instantly straightened his posture and set his face as blank as possible. “billy, you’re finally making good friends here?”

billy’s eyes scanned up and down his fathers figure before nodding, “yes, sir,”

neil smiled, “well, that’s great to hear,” and continued eating his vegetables.

billy didn’t move. this seemed like a trick.

there is no way that neil hargrove had so easily brushed off a comment like that without causing a fit or threatening to kill.

billy could still feel the phantom pains that came with the beating after neil had found out about harry.

billy had never experienced that much pain, never felt so fearful for his life as his dads boot pressed into his neck.

how bad it hurt when neil ripped out his original earring and pulled out his hair.

how he couldn’t sit straight for weeks, but still forced himself to in order to seem proper and kind and sweet, like the good son he is.

billy remembers the crunch of his ankle when he fell down to the floor. he remembers the threat on his life if neil even found a trace of billy acting the way he did.

worst of all, he remembers the way his heart ripped itself in half, every string connecting it being brutally ripped and burned on the ends to ensure there was no connecting it back together on the night he told harry he was leaving.

told him not to stay in touch, not to find his new number or his new address. not to even so much as think about billy for too long, in fear that neil would just know.

how he sat in the johnson’s backyard sunroom in the late afternoon and sobbed in harry’s arms.

how he had his right leg on the side of the couch, a big blue cast making it heavier and the splint he had on his wrist making it hard to grab at harry’s shirt.

how harry stroked at his hair and never mentioned the patch in the back that was gone, completely bald in that one spot. never mentioned how billy’s earring had moved sides and how there were three small stitches holding the other ear together.

and, now, billy having to see neil sit at a table and act like nothing happened, he almost felt more afraid than he did then.

monday morning, after billy’s weekend from hell. and no, it’s not what you’re thinking.

billy didn’t get hit once. didn’t get any dirty looks or obsessive nagging from neil.

of anything, neil seemed to smile at billy more that weekend.

billy didn’t dare step out of line, though. he offered to do dishes every night and did everyone’s laundry. he sat in the family room at night and was kind and sweet. didn’t leave the house once, nor did he make any phone calls.

and he was more on edge than ever.

driving him and max to school that day was like a breath of fresh air. even if it was kinda cow-shitty air, it wasn’t neil’s air.

billy pulled up to the middle school curb to let max out, but she didn’t move.

when billy turned to look at her, he saw her staring, slack jawed at something in the high school parking lot.

when billy turned his head, he wished he hadn’t seen it.

steve.

steve with his arm in a cast and sitting in a sling. steve with his face bloodier and more bruised than billy had ever made it look. steve waking with a limp as he got into the school doors.

“you don’t think—“ max couldn’t even finish her sentence before billy felt rage take over his entire body.

“get out. go to class. if i don’t pick you up today, go home with one of your friends. do you understand?”

max quickly said yes and got out of the car, billy whipping into his usual parking space before getting out and running, yes running, to steve, who was still trying to get through the front door.

“steve—“ billy stopped a few feet away as steve finally got the door open and walked into the halls.

billy chased after him, which wasn’t hard (steve was limping) but the sheer amount of people in the halls was hard to get around.

“steve! steve, stop!” billy forced himself through the hallways, never remembering them being this crowded before, or maybe that was his anxiety talking.

“steve,” billy finally stopped as he got in front of steve.

“billy, i really don’t want to talk to you right now,”

steve’s eyebrows did that weird thing where they scrunch in the middle and make the ends push down. they make him look more tired than he already is.

“no, no!” billy was freaking out. even without looking, he knew his hands were shaking worse than they ever had before.

“just—“ billy looked around before seeing the boy’s bathroom, gently pushing steve through the doors before locking the two of them in there together.

“bil—“

“is anyone in here!?” billy asked as he peaked under the stalls and checked every inch of the bathroom.

“this is my fault, but you gotta tell me what happened, steve,”

“i—i don’t even know!” steve looked around the bathroom as he leaned, defeated, against the wall next to the towel dispenser.

“you don’t know!?” billy was shouting, “did he come to your house? was this like an ambush thing? did he say anything to you? you have to give me something, steve!”

“i—i,” steve was floundering for the words to tell billy.

“he just�� saturday night, i was coming home from dustins and i had to stop and pick up some milk from the 24-hour store and i came out and three of my tires were slashed.

“so i set down my stuff at the car and go back in to ask to use a phone, but someone yanks me back to the alley behind the store and beats the shit out of me, billy!”

billy was rubbing his hands over the stubble on his chin as he tried to process steve’s story.

“told me to stay the fuck away from his son and that he’d kill me if he found out i even looked at you again, alright! all while he’s shoving his foot into my elbow, but not before he pulls up on my wrist and breaks my arm!”

“oh my god,” billy stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall between the sinks, then he starts to slide down until he’s sitting on the floor, forcing himself not to cry.

steve huffs out something that sounds like “yeah” before moving to sit down too.

“did you tell anyone?”

“i didn’t know if i should,”

“you didn’t tell anyone!?”

“what was i supposed to say!?”

“that a psycho jumped you in the alley! what did you tell the hospital?”

steve was quiet for too long.

“you went to the hospital, right!?”

“not... exactly,”

“you fixed your own broken arm?”

“no.” steve looked down then around at the stalls, “i had jonathan help me,”

“steve!”

“well i needed someone to pick me up and i knew he wouldn’t ask questions!” steve admits. “would you want me to tell people?”

yes.

billys first thought. of course steve should have called the cops or gone to a hospital. neil hargrove should be arrested for what he did to steve.

no.

the logical part of billy’s brain says. if they take him to court over something like this, it could have too many repercussions.

for one, neil could tell everyone that his son and steve harrington are gay and fucking each other.

plus, it would force neils... home tendencies to come up at some point, and if it didn’t work out in a pretty liberal cali, then nobody in conservative indiana is going to berate neil for ‘taking care of’ his gay son.

it’s a lose-lose situation.

“billy?”

his blue eyes snap back to steve’s face: still kind and reassuring with the huge, grotesque scabs and swelling scattered everywhere.

“it’s why he didn’t do anything,”

the comment, said mostly to billy himself, caught steve’s interest, “what?”

“max... talked about you at dinner friday, and he didn’t do anything. i was waiting all weekend for him to snap and he never did, smiled more, even. now i know why,”

they sat together in thought for a while, a good ten minutes after the late bell rang, before billy cleared his throat.

“you said he slashed your tires?”—steve nodded—“you get ‘em replaced?”—steve nodded again—“did you drive yourself to school today?”

“yea—billy where is this going?”

before steve even got a read on billy’s face, the bathroom door was unlocked and swinging open, billy racing out.

steve, crippled as he may be, managed to get off the floor with his bum leg and broken arm, walking after a brief glimpse of billy as he turned corners before leaving out to the student parking lot.

billy was at steve’s car before he was, reaching through the open windows and popping the trunk, bitching about how steve needs to roll his windows up because people are gonna steal his car.

he reached into the trunk and grabbed the nail bat he knew steve would have there (the bat goes where steve goes).

“hey! billy!” steve is yelling to an empty parking lot, the only response being steve’s trunk slamming shut and billy marching over to his own car before getting in and screeching out of the lot.

steve was still standing there, speechless, as he watched the quick blue car shoot down the road.

steve, ever being the hero, limped back to the school, rifling through his pockets for loose change to push into the phone before dialing the byers house.

joyce picked up after two rings.

“hello, byers house,”

“is hopper there!?” his voice came out scratchy and worn.

“steve?”

“joyce! is hopper there?”

“he’s about to leave for work, why do yo—“

“put him on the phone! now!”

“o—ok,”

there’s rustling and muffled voices on the other line before steve hears hoppers gruff voice ask what he needs.

“i need you to do me a cop-like favor but as hopper, not a cop,”

“kid—“ hopper sighed and steve could just imagine him running a hand down his face. “i’ve gotta get to work and i don’t have t—“

“i think someone may be getting really hurt but i’ve been asked—well, not asked, but it’s been implied—that i shouldn’t get cops involved but i need you to do this for me, hopper!”

“is it... lab stuff?”

“no! this is like—halfway murder stuff!”

“who and where?”

“billy’s house. i think,”

hopper sighed and was quiet for a moment before giving a quick ‘i’ll go check it out,’

“not as a cop!”

“not as a cop,”

and steve felt useless. he knew he wouldn’t be able to go into class and feel ok.

hell, even if everything turned out alright, steve wasn’t sure when this fluttery, anxious feeling in his stomach would go away.

so, as a sane person would do, steve started slowly driving to billy’s house. not slowly, but the speed limit. just to give billy and hopper time to do something and steve wouldn’t get yelled at by billy for ‘getting in the middle of it.’

but when steve does get there, boy oh boy!

there’s a truck that’s got holes and dents all around it, windows smashed in and the wheels all flat, billy panting with the nail bat held limply in his hand.

neil, however, was standing on the porch, dressed ready for work, holding a shotgun at billy.

steve was parked a bit down the street, but the screaming could be heard with just his windows rolled down.

nothing sounded like anguished yells of pain, just hurtful jabs and ruthless words being spat back and forth.

steve couldn’t have wished harder for hopper to hurry the fuck up.

steve was intently watching the two men, both seeming to think they had the upper hand, when he heard the cocking of a gun taken off safety.

he sees billy’s blond hair start moving backwards, away from the house right as he catches a glimpse of a tan truck in his rear view mirror. hopper.

neither of the hargroves have noticed hoppers truck.

neil shoots a warning shot, one that goes a foot above billy’s head and into the wooded area in front of their house.

billy backs up quicker.

hopper turns his sirens on.

billy’s head shoots left to see the two cars.

neil’s finger lifts off the trigger.

hopper parks the truck, having already called for backup the second he saw neil holding a gun at his son.

he gets out, has that intimidating air about him that makes everything else quiet.

“we doin’ alright here?” hopper asks, hands resting on his belt, close to his gun.

“everything’s fine,” neil grits out.

“‘everything’s fine’ but you’re holding a gun at your boy. explain that to me,”

“listen here, pig, i don’t need you tellin me how i can raise my kids!”

“not questioning your parenting, just your choice of punishment,”

“he broke up my car!” neil yelled, hopper looked over to the (absolutely demolished) truck. “i told him, i told him he ain’t messin with what’s mine and the boy didn’t listen! so i’m just showin’ him how the real world is gonna come at him!”

“the real world is going to shoot him?” hopper asks with a quirk of his eyebrow.

billy has backed up all the way to the end of the driveway, behind where hopper was standing, and steve has gotten out of his car and was walking across neighboring lawns to get closer to billy.

he finally reaches billy.

“what the hell are you doing?” billy asks with wide eyes at steve, trying to keep quiet and not alert his dad and hopper.

“i—i’m not really sure,”

“jesus, you’re an idiot,” billy grumbles as he watches hopper and neil get closer as they talk.

the men are getting within ten feet of each other when hopper gets neil to put the gun down, even closes the part on his tool belt that has his gun.

neil comes off the porch, he and hopper are close, like two feet.

they’re talking quietly, and as much as steve and billy want to know what they’re saying, they don’t dare move any closer.

“—that boy!”

they only catch the end of the sentence, but neil is pointing at steve and hopper has his head turned with a disappointed look at steve.

“you couldn’t have waited in the car?” hopper groans and neil looks outraged.

“you’re telling me you support this abomination!? this is your doing, isn’t it? you allow things like this in your town? do you!?”

hoppers face looks calm.

“yeah, yeah i do,” he smiles, the mustache lifts with the rest of his face. then neil takes a swing at him.

they get into a brawl, but neil, however easy it is for him to beat up teenagers, can’t take hopper. not even on his best day.

hoppers backup shows up soon after, neil getting shoved into the back of a cop car with handcuffs (god, billy wishes he could get a picture of that).

hopper gets statements from steve and billy and susan and max. even mrs. garibaldi, the neighbor whose window looks right into the hargrove house and has written down dates and descriptions of what she sees (what a godsend, that woman is).

hopper has friends with high positions, good lawyer friends who don’t mind doing a good thing for a bad situation.

everything works out in the end.

plus, steve has a gnarley scar along the side of his neck, leading to his ear that billy enjoys kissing all the time. (and a lifetime of aches from waiting three days to do to the hospital for his backwards arm!)

#stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #tw homophobia #tw gun violence #tw guns #tw gun #tw abuse #mw harringrove #mediocre—writing

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sweetsubharry · 4 years ago

Note

hi! can you give me your hottest, dirtiest, filthiest bottom harry fics?

Hiya!! Yes I can! ^-^

Now there are 41 different fics under this list, so it’s quite long! Obviously what people find dirty/filthy can be a large range, so if you ever want to narrow it down just send another message like ‘no plot’ for example :) and then I can make it more suited to your taste if this one isn’t! I hope you enjoy this though love ❤

In case no one gets to the bottom of the page I’ll say it again here too! Please make sure to stay safe and read the tags!! ❤ ❤

you're my favorite ride by louislovesharry

no summary

At Least As Deep As the Pacific Ocean (I wanna be yours) by babylouis

Louis can’t help but stop and watch him for a moment, how beautiful he looks, sprawled out on the bed, his cock red and hard against his tummy, collar snug against his neck and the bow still placed neatly in his curls to keep them back from Harry’s face.

His boy may be the most beautiful creature on the planet.

Especially tied up like this, body begging to be fucked. Begging to be destoryed.

Louis likes to push boundaries, and Harry takes what he gets. Lots of subspace Harry and fonding Louis ensues.

redder than the devil by mercutionotromeo

It's half past 9, and all Harry wants is for Louis to touch him. Preferably after a good spanking.

If you combine a lazy Saturday afternoon with a distracting, pouty Harry, you'll end up with Louis spanking his baby over his knee in the middle of a paused FIFA match.

Pretty please, take care of me ? by kurtcobain

Louis is stressed. Harry wants to help.

Step into the Light by Smolbeanandhisqween

Harry is on the set of his new music video "Lights Up". His husband, Louis, is watching him film the video. He gets jealous of all of the people touching Harry and teaches him a lesson.

Destroy Me, King by stylinsexualxo

After SNL, jealous Louis has a little surprise for Harry when he arrives home.

Can We Pretend (honestly reality bores me) by SadaVeniren

He felt Louis chuckle. “Dreaming of being my supportive, no-name boyfriend again?”

“Always,” Harry whispered. It was true. After all this time together there was no point in hiding any of his fantasies from Louis, no matter how innocent they were. So Louis was well aware of Harry’s desire to be anonymous sometimes - the “no-name” as Louis called him - loyal, a constant presence at Louis’ side.

aka Harry comes and supports Louis at his Scala concert

Let Me Be Good For You by onlyhuman for haroldtbh

His distress over the bun is nothing compared to the thrill Louis feels shoot up his spine at the outfit Harry’s donned. He’s changed into leather jeans that cling to his legs, hugging his thighs snugly. On top of it, a floaty, black sheer shirt is contouring his frame, doing absolutely nothing to hide his puffy nipples or the endless array of tattoos scattered across his torso. It’s Louis’ favourite outfit in the entire world.

Or, Niall's only birthday wish is to go clubbing with his boys in Vegas. Harry ruins it all by wearing that god forsaken black sheer shirt.

You Like Playing Games by orphan_account

Louis knows Harry likes to flirt and tease. Louis knows that he doesn’t particularly like when Harry flirts and teases. Louis knows that Harry knows that Louis doesn’t particularly like it.

But what Louis doesn’t quite know is why, despite that, Harry’s decided to grind against 5 Seconds of Summer’s Luke Hemmings during “Teenage Dirtbag” in the last show in Melbourne.

Basically pure smut.

Do Not Disturb (kiss me beneath the milky twilight) by SadaVeniren

“I was talking with Nick a couple months back and he was saying how our sex life seemed boring and we’d need to keep doing new and interesting things to keep it exciting or else we’d become boring and heterosexual and I defended us of course but then work picked up and we started living off of studio handjobs and missionary position sex in the dark and so I panicked. I googled BDSM and after looking into it I really want to try some of it because I think we’d enjoy it but we just don’t have the time.”

aka Harry doesn't want to become a boring old married couple a year into their relationship and tries to spice up their sex life.

Forgetting Frisco by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry probably knew when he decided to wear that goddamn sheer shirt onstage in Toronto that it was going to drive Louis absolutely insane with want. He probably didn't know that Louis was going to proceed to fuck him so good he had flashbacks for years to come just like Frisco, but then again, you won't hear him complaining.

(Basically 6k of Louis worshipping Harry's body and doing it all in front of a mirror so Harry can worship, too.)

Mon Petit by coffinofachimera

Harry wears the 'Mon Petit' sweater while Louis records them on their private

falling for you, i can't keep away by hegotthedagger plane

Harry wants Louis really bad and Louis might want him just as much.

Always In My Heart by sweaterpawstyles

The tweet itself was not startling at all. Harry saw people retweet it nearly every day for years now. It always made him smile to see how many people had retweeting Louis showing his love for Harry on that day.

What was startling was underneath where the fan had retweeted it, Harry saw the small number 1M written on it.

Harry froze, completely unable to move anything in his body. He knew Louis had the second most retweeted tweet of all time, but it reached a million retweets. One million people believed in Louis' love for Harry. Or AIMH hits 1 million & facetime sex ensues

You and Me by louisgrindsonharry

Harry and Louis have dabbled in the idea of BDSM but Harry finally wants to take it farther and Louis has to figure out how to take care of his boy.

they shake, you conquer (and I'm left to their devices) by butidontreallycare

smut. a little love for Harry's thighs, but mostly just smut. I am not ashamed

Daddy Came Home by RuinedBy5Guys

“You got yourself off.” He says quietly, his eyes locked on Harry’s. Harry’s face flushes and he tries to cover it, shoving himself towards Louis. He drops to his knees, leaning close between his husbands spread thighs. He puts his hands on his dress pants, carefully feeling the material at his knees.

“How did you know?” He asks quietly. Louis drops his face, grabbing over Harry’s hands with his own. Harry lowers his gaze, staring at the carpet underneath him.

“You were asleep. You always get tired after an orgasm. Not to mention how flushed you are.” He says quietly, raking his eyes over Harry’s body. Harry glances up at him, his actions becoming more clear to him now that Louis was home.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, dropping his eyes again.

“What was that?” Louis snaps, reaching to bring Harry’s face up again. Harry gulps, shuffling closer on his knees, the joints aching already.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Harry says, his green eyes locked on Louis’ blue ones. Louis smiles slightly, stroking his fingers over his husbands cheeks softly.

“Just gonna have to spank you now, aren’t I?”

OR... Harry teases and Daddy punishes him in the best ways possible

take me into your loving arms by blankiehxrry

twas the night of the brit awards

I Wanna Do What Bunnies Do With You by MoreThanTonight

“Lou.. Not here?” Harry pulled off with a gasp. “There are people in the next room. What if they hear us?“

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you, love?” Louis winked.

It's Harry's birthday and Louis wants to make it a birthday he won't forget. Louis is an art student, Harry is his boyfriend and muse.

if they find out, will it all go wrong? by blankiehxrry

madison square garden shenanigans

Happy Birthday by sleepingalone

“You wanna use that right now?” he asked incredulously, wondering how horny Louis must be. They had just fucked a few hours ago, before falling asleep. Surely he didn’t want to use it already.

“You said we had to wait till my birthday, and it’s my birthday,” Louis said cheekily, throwing Harry a small grin. Harry groaned into the pillow, burying his head in it.

“But I’m tired, Lou. I need my beauty rest.”

“I already undid the packaging,” Louis whined. “Please, can we just do it real quick? It would really make my day. My birthday,” he added. “You can go to sleep afterwards, Sleeping Beauty.”

Louis just really wants to use his new vibrating butt plug on Harry and turn him into a broken mess.

I Knew Right From the Beginning That You Would End Up Winning by aalexandravictoriaa

"I remember the first day I met you," Louis says, using his thumbs to make Harry open up to him even more. "I remember wanting to take you right there on the fucking street. I wanted to bend you over and bury myself in you over and over again. I couldn't then, but I'm going to now, baby. First with my tongue, then with my cock."

Harry is Louis' favorite camboy and Louis becomes his Daddy.

In Motion by FictitiousFanatisch (orphan_account)

They'd only talked about it once a few weeks ago. Harry always liked it when Louis was in control and he said there was something about being denied constantly that made him even more turned on.

It's a lazy day and Harry wants Louis to edge him. (That's literally it.)

I'm Gonna Love You (Until You Hate me) by sweaterpawstyles

As if reading his mind, Louis glanced over his glasses at Harry, presumably because Harry didn't reply to his statement earlier.

"I decided to get my glasses out again," he chuckled, winking at Harry. "Do you like them?"

Harry felt his face heat up. No, he didn't just like them. He fucking loved them and wanted to ride Louis and call him daddy while he wore them. But he didn't want to just tell Louis this.

Louis wears glasses and Harry doesn't like to be teased

I have often prayed for an angel by orphan_account

“Daddy,” he whines, voice already growing high in pitch. “Can I? Please?” “Of course angel,” Louis whispers fondly, hand tangling in Harry’s hair as he brushes it back. He loves Harry’s long strands, maybe even more than Harry does himself. “You look so beautiful on your knees like that, so eager to suck my cock.” “Mhm,” Harry hums, already licking at Louis’ slit. He begins to suckle softly at the head, peering up at Louis with wide eyes. The angel wings stretch on either side of him, and it’s so obscene, how filthy the act they’re doing is in contrast to the white feathers adorning Harry’s back. “Love your cock Daddy.” Or, the one in which Louis fucks Harry in the VS wings after he wears them onstage.

down and dirty, you're loving me so loud by orphan_account

Harry's finally twenty and there's a few things he wants.

feels so good getting what i want. by stylescantstop

Harry is a slutty yoga teacher with his sights set on Louis and Louis wants to pull that long hair of his while he fucks him really hard from behind.

Empyrean, You Fool by becauseitrhymes

Louis only realized it was actually happening once the reality of getting to carry boxes to his new flat settled in. He’d moved out of his parent’s just two days prior, with a stomach full of butterflies and no knowledge of how to do anything remotely adult, like, at all.

He’s only twenty-three years old, too, and he thinks he’s done pretty well for such a young age, considering he’s bought a flat with his money and had driven his car to get there and hadn’t cried (much) when leaving his parents. All in all, Louis thinks it’s pretty cool.

And then he’s sitting on his couch watching football in his lounge in his flat and hell yeah, it’s pretty cool.

AU where Louis moves next door to Harry, Louis falls in love with Harry, sex ensues.

Love Me Like You Do by sweaterpawstyles

Of all of the things Louis had imagined, never did he expect to become a chief editor for a magazine and to date the world-famous model Harry Styles. But he certainly never imagined one day that he would be anxiously awaiting a phone call from the top floor of an office building to tell the Harry Styles to get himself dolled up and ready to wait for his Daddy to come home before he got fucked into the mattress.

Harry is a famous model and Louis is a quiet writer who may or may not be his Dom

A Hard Day's Work by louisruinedlife (orphan_account)

A bad day at work for Harry usually means turning in early. A bad day at work for Louis leads to something else entirely.

*Can be read as a stand alone.

the big idea by orphan_account

University students Harry and Zayn are filming a prank for YouTube that requires Harry to walk around campus asking random men if he could suck their dick. One of the guys, Louis, who agrees to such offer is too attractive for Harry to pass down.

He doesn't think its much of a prank anymore after that.

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown by orphan_account

“That's why you were late, eh?” he teases as Harry frantically tries to hide the dildos and the collar in the drawer. “Having too much fun to think about good ole Louis?”

“You were having fun too,” Harry replies weakly. Louis honestly has never seen a person be in such a shade of red.

“Yeah, but my fun didn't involve colourful dildos and nipple clamps.”

or the one where louis really needs to pass his a-levels and harry is his tutor who doesn’t really own a dog.

Give It To Me (I'm Worth It) by sweaterpawstyles

"Who the hell puts lube packets in their sock?"

"A boy who wanted to get fucked in the locker room by his daddy," Harry said innocently. "I have my good intentions, Lou."

Louis can't resist Harry in the red shorts that he wore during the James Corden skit. Featuring locker room sex.

don't let nobody touch it (unless that somebody's me) by stylescantstop

written for this prompt:

"louis knows Harry gets handsy when he's drunk, but that doesn't stop him from showing harry who he belongs to."

or the one where harry dances with other men and a jealous louis reminds him he's the only one who can make him come completely apart.

causing trouble up in hotel rooms (baby, I'm perfect) by felixandtae

A fan threw a Green Bay Packers crop top on stage and Harry kept it. We all know what happened after that.

sweet like cinnamon by brainwaves for SuburbanWarrior

It all started with bumping into Louis at Gemma’s mate’s wedding. Well, maybe it really started with Harry making heart eyes at the boy in jersey number 17 all those years ago. Now all he can think about is getting into Louis’ pants and maybe staying there for a really, really long time.

Or the one where Harry calls Louis daddy and it all spirals out of control from there.

Fulfilling Your Needs by unmeshed

“You want to be messy, baby? Filled with Daddy’s come? So much that you can barely hold it all in?"

Harry nods softly and Louis leans in to kiss him on the lips with a smile. “Want Daddy to plug you up after? Keep it inside of you all day?"

“Lou,” Harry whines, softly rubbing himself against his boyfriend, biting down on Louis’ bottom lip before he deepens the kiss, sneaking his tongue inside.

Louis’ll be damned if he can’t make Harry’s dreams come true.

Louis buys Harry an ejaculating dildo because Harry wants to feel full.

Like a Kitten by peaceloveandlarry

"Erm, I, uh, well, I think... I think you're really pretty, and I, um, I want to fuck you- I mean! Oh god. I- I want to go out? Yea! I want to go out."

Or Harry likes to wear kitten ears, and Louis happens to think Harry looks nice with them.

into another serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry's the yearbook photographer who's been assigned to take pictures of Louis, the new captain of the football team. Harry's got a massive, obvious crush on Louis and somehow, Louis feels the same way.

Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

need a little sweetness in my life by mercutionotromeo

Harry's always liked feeling desperate and small when Louis touches him, but when he sucks Harry off...it’s fucking otherworldly. Desperate’s not really the word at that point - it’s helpless. Like… like the fucking world could stop spinning and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until Louis finished him off with his lips and his tongue.

Or, Harry and Louis go to university together. Harry really likes it when Louis sucks him off, and Louis really likes it when Harry calls him Daddy.

(Sequel to "into another serotonin overflow")

Cheeky Princess by Noelle1224

Harry and panties. What more is there to explain?

I'm Tired Of Using Technology, I Need You Right In Front Of Me by Phillipa19

Louis goes away on yet another business trip, but when he stops calling Harry to check in, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

OR- Louis is Harry's sugardaddy who has gone away on business and Harry feels neglected. Louis is possessive and gets a camera installed in their bedroom so he can check up on Harry, so Harry decides to use the camera to his advantage.

Got A Lot You Wanna Show Off Baby by Phillipa19

Louis had been in meetings all day, he should have known that Harry wouldn't be ignored for much longer.

-OR-

Louis is Harry's sugardaddy and his younger boyfriend is definitely not happy being ignored whilst Louis holds meetings in his home office. There may also be Harry in lacy knickers involved.

As always please make sure to stay safe and read the tags!! ❤ ❤

#Larry Stylinson #fic rec #fanfiction #fanfic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry fanfic rec #larry stylinson fic rec #bottom harry #top louis #sub harry #dom louis #smut #I'm probably going to hell for some of these #ask lots #Lottie fic rec

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hobbitsnapes · 4 years ago

Text

the elf in the café chapter 6

A corpse husband story

(I do not own this photo, nor do I know where it originated from. All credit goes to the artist.)

Summary: Never in his life, did he think going to a cafe and meeting a Harry Potter nerd could change his life. (I’m shit at summaries

A/N: H/N means his name, being that we don’t know what his actual name is currently

Days past, and each one she grew more stressed.

It wasn’t due to him, if anything, he had been keeping her from having a breakdown. Truly becoming her rock as she did some days prior.

She had a presentation Friday, with today being Wednesday. She had done plenty of speeches, presentations, and public speaking. While all are nerve racking, none came close to this one.

It was open, as in more than just her classmates and teachers were present. She was frightened by this,knowing just the sheer amount of people that could be there. She just hoped and prayed she wouldn’t mess up.

It was now Thursday, and she was nearly on the verge of ripping out her hair from nerves. She red over her speech for probably the hundredth time that day, knowing exactly what to say, but going back and adding things or taking away things.

He had convinced her to spend the day and night in his apartment, promising that he’ll be busy the entire day, giving her the entire spacious living room to herself. Plus, his apartment was much closer to her college than her home. She jumped at the idea, thanking him profusely.

He finally emerged from his filming room, having been filming for the better part of the entire day. He would come out once in a while, grabbing a drink or a snack or to fill her glass of water, a soft thank you making him smile and chest bubble with warmth.

When he walked out, he was taken aback. Her usually neat, softly done hair now a disheveled mess. Her glasses nearly falling off her face as she looked close to having a breakdown. Papers of all kinds strung around her, along with opened books and her glass of water barely touched.

While the sight most would call cute, he found concerning. In the 2 months they had been going out, he’s been able to pick up on a few things about her. He was nowhere near her level, but he could pick out key things that depicted her moods when she wouldn’t voice them.

He walked over to her, making sure as to not step on any of her papers.

He crouched down to her, making her head leave her paper, a tired smile on her face. “Hey.” Her voice was strained, tired, like it wasn’t her who spent the better part of the day speaking. Her eyes looked bloodshot, even with the help of her glasses, he could tell they did little to help her. But even with the clever exhaustion written over her face, she still had her dazzling smile and sparkle to her eyes when she looked at him. Making his heart skip at the look of endearment she gave him. “Hey, you alright baby?” He had started calling her baby as of recently, it was an accident at first, but each time he did, her cheeks would flush and a small laugh would bubble out of her. “Not really, I’m about ready to cry.” His heart sunk at her words, hearing just how tired she was in her voice.

He put his hands on her shoulders, instantly noting how they dropped under his warm touch. “How about a break then, go into my room, pick out a shirt to wear and come back out okay?” He pleaded, a smile on his face when she nodded her head.

His breath caught in his throat again, only this time, his cheeks flushed when he looked at her. A laugh he tried with all his strength to keep down.

“What made you choose that one?” He chuckled, trying not to double over in laughter. She shrugged her shoulders, the shirt momentarily raising up,showing she also grabbed a pair of his boxers. “I gotta ask hun, why did you spill what I assume is wine on your white tee shirt?” He finally broke at her question, throwing his head back in laughter. If only she knew.

There they sat on the couch, his arm strung around her shoulders as they attempted to watch a film, but he could tell her mind was elsewhere.

Her eyes fixated on her papers she had neatly put into her folders, her books stacked and her speech later on top of everything.

He looked over to her, a small sigh leaving him. He wasn’t annoyed or upset at this, rather concerned for her. He could tell she wouldn’t relax properly without making this speech perfect, reminding him of himself in that way. Despite the ever present exhaustion on her face, her eyes still sparkled when she looked at him.

“What?” She chuckled, seeing his deep eyes looking at her. “Come here” he mumbled, pulling her body flush to his, her back against his front.

She relaxed almost immediately, leaning into his warm body. “How about you read it to me?” “What?” She mumbled, turning her body to face his. “I can tell you’re more nervous about the speaking rather than what you wrote. So, maybe reading it to me can help?” A soft smile adorned his face as he looked at her.

She reached for her papers, nessling back into his hold, smiling when she felt his lips press against her temple.

His heart hammers in his chest when he walks into the large auditorium, the amount of people in the large room making him want to run. But he couldn’t, not today at least.

He had toyed with the idea of going to her speech since she told him about it, something he never dreamed of doing for anyone else.

He truly made his decision the night prior, when she red through her speech into the late hours of the night. He was captivated not only by her voice, but the cast knowledge she bestowed in her. He knew she was intelligent beyond her years, beyond anyone he had met in his time. Her words flowed perfectly together, so much to say she so beautifully said. He didn’t know if he was captivated by the words, or because it was coming from her. But either way, he couldn’t say no to himself that morning when he got up, leaving an hour after she had left.

He sat in one of the many seats, only 3 rows away from where she’d be standing in only a few short minutes.

He was beyond excited for her, his nerves blending with the sheer joy and excitement inside of him for her.

His foot tapped against the floor, his hands clammy in his lap as he stared at the stage, waiting any minute to see her walk out.

His breath caught in his throat when she walked out, his eyes widening in shock and awe at her. He saw briefly what she was wearing, but seeing her on the stage, looking like an angel, he couldn’t help but let a large smile creep on his face.

Never had he been so captivated, enamored, and so proud as when she delivered her speech. Every word that fell past her lips had a purpose, a true deep meaning into her passion of the human mind that he didn’t think a human could comprehend. It was as if she was all knowing, could read anyone’s mind with just a glance at them. Never had he been so happy for someone in his life.

Claps heard around the room, hun joining in with pure happiness and viger in his face.

Her eyes locked with his, a large shocked smile on her face when she saw him. Never had he felt so proud as when she smiled at him, knowing it was only for him. This girl, this absolutely magnificent girl had stolen his heart, and vise versa. He was proud to say she chose him, out of everyone in the room, her eyes only for him. And he had never been so happy to say that.

Her heels barreled down the stairs when her eyes landed on him, her heart fluttering rapidly in her chest.

She fell into his arms, nearly making both fall over as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, picking her up and spinning her around. Laughter broke out of both of them at just the sheer joy in the air, nearly making both tear up at the range of emotions between them. “I can’t believe you came.” She exclaimed, a large smile on her face. “Of course, I couldn’t just hide in my apartment when something as big as this was happening.” He chuckled, his head resting on her shoulder.

She pulled back from him, resting her forehead on his, large smiles on both of their faces. “I’m so proud.” He whispered, making her smile. “And I’m so proud you overcame your fear and made it.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, “All because of you.”

Laughter broke out in the living room, her head resting against his chest as they clutched their stomachs.

They shared a few glasses of wine, brought out by him as a celebration.

They were so happy, not because of the alcohol, or the events of the day, but just being together again. It’s like there was an invisible pull between them, that neither could describe to anyone but themselves. They didn’t feel right without one another, neither feeling at peace or home unless the other was present. It was as if they were meant to be.

#corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fanfic #corpse fic #corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse

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cricketchaology · 3 years ago

Text

cold, kind, and lemon eyes

this fic includes violence, including descriptions of wounds and gun usage. if these things are triggering to you, please proceed with caution!

READ ON AO3

in a way, it’s human instinct to fight against the bonds. it’s an abstract thought, passing in and out of harry’s mind between winds of panic and a daughter he might not see again, he might never apologize to. it’s hard to think over the hollow static of the busted earbud nestled against the drum, the screaming of his heart, the thoughts all blurry and loose-lipped. his wrists are raw against the rope, not quite budging.

the men are gone now, but they could be back any moment. with guns, or knives, or hammers- with a ransom request if he’s lucky, and death if he’s not. worst come to worst, they’ll flay him open and leave him there for the dogs.

needless to say, if you told the mr. wilson of a dozen years ago that being consumed by wolves would be his fate, he’d laugh in your face over a glass of chardonnay. and maybe in a different world, harry might find the contrast funny.

instead, though, he finds his stomach sinking as feet pound down the hall, fast approaching in a way that screams a threat. his entire body aches at the thought, anticipating fresh blows that he isn’t sure his already worn skin can take. the shadow in the window looms over like a reaper, stretching across the concrete and dancing at harry’s feet as the bulb flickers, dying out over the guard's shoulder.

the shadow covers the whole window, leaving harry in the darkness of the cell for a moment, and he curls in on himself, fighting the innate desire to cry as the figure of death comes upon him. he closes his eyes, shivering weakly as the air in the room chills, the footsteps closer.

“hey, get up,” a voice is saying, and harry feels weightless when the gruffness of it registers. because it’s eliot, it’s eliot , and his rough fingers are working a fresh comms piece into his ear, are quickly unknotting the ropes so harry can move his hands again, and he hadn’t even realized how numb they’d become till the blood blew back into them.

“eliot,” harry mutters, because what else can he do? the relief is so intense that his thoughts white-out, becoming a silkscreen of escape, of tomorrow morning’s and sunsets he was saying goodbye to. because eliot got him, eliot always gets him, and he knows this and he should never have doubted it. but it’s during this thought that the guard wakes up from his blackout prematurely. that he gets on his comms and calls for backup, fast arriving. unaccounted for guns arriving at the scene as eliot tries to coax harry back into coherence.

before harry registers the sight of fresh men in the doorway, eliot’s head is turning to the click of the gun. he’s too late- the bullet rings true into the concrete room and lodges itself in the wall just right of harry’s head, though not before ripping through eliot’s shoulder. the spit-spray of blood blasts across harry’s skin, and he winces, blinking the red out of his vision and rubbing at his mouth wildly, unable to think, to help. his now unbound hands go to his hair, tearing, and to his tie, pulling. panicking.

“mr. wilson, get it together!” sophie is calling in his ear, and if he were a better grifter he would be certain of all the fear laced beneath the calm-construct of her voice. he can hear parker shouting eliot’s name, can hear breanna whispers, “oh god, oh god,” to something he’s sure she doesn’t quite believe in. he can hear eliot’s panting breaths two-fold, once in the room across from him and once in the earbud, amplified and so, so much worse up close.

a second shot rings out, and harry finds himself slowly able to push himself up the wall, crawling till he’s standing on uneven feet, trying to speedrun the regaining of his sea legs. sophie begs for a visual from breanna who’s fighting tooth and nail with the security systems. the guard is down, has been down for some time, and eliot is taking on a fourth- no, fifth? sixth? it’s not clear enough for harry to count the bodies as they hit the floor- armed militia man with nothing but his fists. the last one- third or fourth or more, maybe- goes down the same time harry rights himself, rushing across the room to get close to eliot who means safety, means stability.

it’s wihh horror harry realizes that eliot is bleeding. the shoulder of his shirt is soaked through, and his side isn’t faring better. the material of his jeans is torn with a long laceration, a knife that found its way deep into the meat of his thigh and harry shudders to think of the way eliot’s fingers probed into his own wound, feeling for the blood flow to make sure it didn’t strike an artery. the guns lay discarded on the ground now, unloaded and sprawled amongst the downed men. eliot is shucking off his shirt, tying it around his thigh gracelessly as his left arm lags, his breaths thinning. “eliot,” parker is hissing into their ears, the desperation in her voice laid so thickly with love that the two meld into one. “eliot, answer me, or i’m coming in.”

“no,” he’s biting out through clenched teeth. “there’s too many. no one else comes in. i’ll get us out.”

“eliot,” sophie’s voice comes in, uncharacteristically nervous. “i’ll get us out,” eliot repeats, his voice shakier by the second. “breanna, you got a visual? i need you to lead us out of here. you got that? away from guards.”

“yeah, yeah. got it. i got it,” she says, and for a second harry doesn’t believe her. the sound of eliot’s breathing distracts him in the lull between breanna’s assurance and her answer, her saying “go right out the door, then head down the hall until you see the janitor's closet. turn left after that, and you should be at the exit.” “any guards?” eliot asks, and breanna hesitates. “come on, we don’t have time. any guards?”

“one more. armed.” she mutters, and eliot nods, making eye contact with harry that means trust me. means i’ve got you, i’ve got you.

eliot reaches back, takes harry’s palm in his bloody hand. it’s a sticky sensory nightmare than grounds harry, pulling him out of his own head as eliot takes them out the door and down the hall, each of his steps less certain than the last. he intercepts the last guard, practically halfway to the ground when he unequips her with what looks to be sheer muscle memory, the muzzle of the gun gripped tight in a shaking hand. he drops the gun, fingers lost and limp and it takes everything in harry to think to sling eliot’s good arm around his shoulders before he drops to the ground just like the guard.

they hobble out the doors more so than walk out them, the pale shoulder of harry’s suit growing redder by the second, like a rabbit shot on the snow. absently, he realizes he doesn’t have any idea where the van is- he doesn’t even think to ask, just keeps running, keeps moving, dragging eliot into alley after alley in an attempt to put as much distances between there and here as he can. he doesn’t stop until eliot loses consciousness completely, becoming deadweight against harry’s side and they wind up crashing into a trashcan, street-light shielding them from the overwhelming dark.

it’s then that the adrenaline drains, harry’s body going limp against the brick of a building he can hardly register the color of.

///

the peace of unconsciousness doesn’t last long. instead, eliot jabs his elbow bruise-deep into harry’s ribs, muttering, “christ, wake up, man.”

the words feel distant, like the crackle of the earpiece is a stone cracking water-surface rather than a friend directly beside him, begging him to get up. he blinks cautiously, clearing his field of view as much as possible. the alley is dismal and dark and still. the pitter patter of a rat's claws provide ambient sound, the dripping of gutter. his back is cold against the brick, pulling him instinctively to the hot furnace of eliot by his side, still whispering and-

eliot. eliot, still bleeding , his face pale and eyes bloodshot. one of his arms jabs at harry incessantly, begging for attention, while his other clutches at the wound in his shoulder, his side. almost on instinct, harry moves his body, shucking off his suit jacket, the colors of which have moved from beige to beiger, meat-marred. he passes it to eliot who takes it, pressing it against his bleeding side. if it comes away redder than it already was, harry doesn’t know. he can’t bare to look.

“you good, man?” eliot asks, and harry laughs loosely in that crazed way he did that first day, fists clenching at his side with the weight of it. “no,” he huffs out, half hysterical. “no, of course not- not at all.” “okay, well,” eliot mumbles, his head clacking back against the brick wall, brow christened with sweat. “you’re gonna have to be, cause i’ma bleed out if we can’t get outta here.”

somehow, that snaps harry out of his stupor, a fresh jet of panic rushing through him.

“what about-” “comms are out, somethin’ must’a happened while we were down. i dunno what. must’a,” he grimaces, shifting slightly, “someone must’a found the van or somethin’. we’re outta range.”

“okay. okay,” harry says, though his breaths only come faster. his hands are shaking under eliot’s eye, watchful as always despite his waning consciousness.

“harry, you gotta breathe,” eliot says, reaching out with a hand, the digits surprisingly icy against harry’s skin, holding his wrist. his fingers probe the hollow of harry’s wrist, finding the pulse and eliot begins to breathe in sync with it. the contact is grounding though eliot’s palm is sticky with still drying blood.

slowly, harry regains his composure, inhaling with eliot’s even counts even as his voice grows fainter. it’s a familiar technique- one he remembers his daughter using before her fifth grade spelling bee. the memory floods him with something- mourning, maybe, but maybe determination too, that human desire to survive rising in him.

“okay, i’m good. i’m good.”

eliot studies him for a long moment, keeping his breathing at that even metre and harry realizes distantly that it might be partially to cope with the pain. helping harry, though, was certainly a conscious choice.

“where’d you learn to do that?” harry wonders, hoping eliot will understand the question.

eliot adverts his eyes for a moment, weighing the vulnerability of his next statement. “hardison has anxiety attacks, sometimes,” he says simply, and harry can tell no further questions will be allowed. a beat passes, the quiet of the city street outside overtaking them. cars drive by, though sparsely populated, and the laughter of drunk friends is far away. its so discongruent with the bloodied, shaking figure of eliot that harry almost becomes sick to his stomach. “okay,” harry lets out, “okay. what do we do now?” “we needa... get back in range of the comms. get somewhere they can find us, but not somewhere where someone calls the cops. the thugs got ties to ‘em, ’s how we got made in the first place. if they get me sent to a hospital, that’s it.”

“that’s it?” eliot glares at him, his lips twisted. harry swallows thickly.

“yeah. that’s it.”

///

it’s not that eliot is especially heavy- really, he’s lighter than harry might’ve expected a man with that much muscle to be. rather, its that harry hasn’t eaten in three days, and his limbs are still working to regain their independence after being strapped back for so long. his legs can barely support himself, muchless the weight of eliot spencer, living legend, who is dripping blood from god only knows how many wounds.

“are you okay?” harry asks, and eliot hides behind the curtain of hair currently falling past his face, his head hanging low on his neck as though keeping it up requires too much energy. still, he nods tersely, and harry knows it’s a lie, but there’s no point in pressing now.

they hobble across the alley, pausing every few moments to regain strength before dragging each other a handful more steps. eliot tells harry to leave him, to go ahead and get help, but harry won’t even entertain the idea.

“parker would throw me off the roof for real this time,” he parses through inhales, “if i came back and didn’t have you with me.”

if eliot laughs, harry can’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

they make it to the mouth of the alley, the lips of which kiss the sidewalk, spilling out into the city street. it’s quiet, almost uncomfortably so, as eliot brings a hand to his ear, fiddling with the comms to no avail. he mumbles something quietly, a misplaced damnit, hardison, before lulling slightly, becoming heavier against harry’s side. “are you gonna pass out again?” harry questions nervously, but eliot shakes his head, gritting out a weak, “nah.”

they start down the sidewalk, sticking to the shadows granted by the awnings against the gentle moonlight. the city streetlights are weak, weepying a yellow that never quite reaches their heels as the dredge down the way, calling the rest of the teams names repeatedly and begging for connection.

the seconds slip by slowly, and harry has no clue how much time passes between the alley mouth and eliot halting, his heels digging into the asphalt. he’s turned his head to the threat before harry has even processed there might be one. eliot pushes himself away from harry, getting himself back to his full height and sparring harry a glance, just long enough to say, “run.”

“what? eliot-” “i said run!” he shouts, shoving harry aside and placing the bulk of his body between harry and the gun. he’s charging before harry can completely catch himself from falling, rushing across the sidewalk with a speed harry didn’t realize a human being was capable of.

it’s human nature to flee when given the opportunity. harry isn’t a fighter- never has been. he prided himself on years of carefully not choosing a side, of never being in the fight, instead finding the loophole out of it.

it’s human nature. fight or flight. harry hits the ground running.

///

when the hiss of the comms in his ear forms into the shape of static, he knows he’s going in the right direction. he follows the lead, reading the lines and what hides between them, until the crackle turns to whisper, and whisper into word. “eliot? harry? god, oh god,” breanna is saying- sobbing, almost, into the earpiece. “breanna?” he asks, and he’s certain he heard her, not because she responds but because her incoherence suddenly shifts into a wet gasp of relief. “harry? harry, where’s eliot?” parker demands, and harry hesitates. “he- he stayed behind. he was fighting someone, and he told me to go and i-” “you listened to him?” parker cries, a rage to her voice that harry has never heard before, and he swallows, nodding weakly before remembering she can’t see him.

“yes- yes. but he’s hurt and i- i can’t help him, you need to-” “calm down, mr. wilson,” sophie says, like it’s simple. “get us to you, first. where are you?”

the world spins around him, the colors dulled and hard to grasp. he can’t get his eyes to focus, the wind whipping at the short hair on his head and he tries to suck in thin inhales of the icy air.

“i- i don’t know, i-”

“harry, please,” parker begs- and it’s begging, it’s begging , and he hates the sound of it in her voice so much that the vertigo almost swallows him whole. instead, he grabs onto it- imagines it like an anchor he can hold onto, her grief that will destroy him if he can’t fix it. his eyes land on a sign, the lit-up letters flickering in and out desperately. he has to squint to piece them together in the right order.

“there’s- there’s a restaurant called marleen’s, i’m right by that. is that-”

“i got it,” breanna announces, and he can hear the pounding of her keystrokes through the comms. “we’re just seven minutes out.” “hold tight, mr, wilson. we’ll be right there.”

///

the tires of the van screech upon arrival in only three minutes, and he’s unsurprised to see parker tumbling out of the driver’s seat. her jaw is set, her hand clenched around the taser that harry has heard tales of. sophie is not long after, nor breanna, and the intensity radiating off the three in waves is enough to nearly knock harry off his feet. “where is he?” parker shouts, light on her feet and before him in seconds. he points weakly behind himself, and she disappears into the night as fast as she appeared.

sophie comes upon him then, her spindly fingers brushing over his face dutifully for a moment before she ushers him back to the van, breanna staring awkwardly as she holds open the doors.

“are you hurt?” sophie asks, and he cannot even begin to think of the answer. his entire body aches, but he’s not bleeding. as she pulls out alcohol wipes, beginning to brush the red out of his eyes, he realizes she can’t tell- she doesn’t know most of the blood isn’t his.

“eliot, he-” “parker will get him,” sophie tells him, something unplaceable in her voice. “he’s okay. it’s okay.”

harry finds himself nodding, though he isn’t so sure he believes her. he allows her to clean his skin, unearthing bruises that were buried beneath a sea of red as she tuts her tongue. breanna does say anything, but the fearful way she looks at harry reminds him of his daughter watching him walk out of the doors of their family home for the last time. he flinches, and sophie pulls her hands away abruptly, not knowing she did nothing wrong.

a weak grunting echoes from outside, and breanna thrusts open the doors. the city is dark behind parker’s back, the hollow light crecenting her as she pulls a limping eliot along. his face is twisted into an eternal grimace, teeth worrying over his lip in an attempt to silence his groans. one of his legs drags behind, his good arm cupping his side where blood overflows, draining between the slits of his fingers and to the ground, a quaint drip, drip, drip. it makes harry’s stomach ache, the dread of it all.

sophie extends her hands, helping parker hoist eliot into the van. he’s barely conscious, and sporting a rapidly swelling-shut eye and bleeding nose he didn’t have last harry saw him. a wave of nausea rushes over him as they settle eliot on one of the benches, breathing heavily as sophie gets back into the driver’s seat. the car peels away from the curb, leaving a spray of loose rocks dislodged in its wake as they leave the city, escaping to the temporary home base they acquired for this job.

harry lets his head thunk back against the metal wall of the van, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see parker begin stripping eliot of his shirt, the red pooling down him and onto the floor. so he doesn’t have to see breanna, too young for any of this, though he can still hear her ask half-desperate what she can do to help.

he imagines being elsewhere. a beach day in cape-cod, a gala at the grand. he imagines the life he used to lead, blissfully unaware- or intentionally obtuse- of the blood raining in city streets, instead focused on the glass of pinot grigio in his hand. he imagines that peace of being blameless as eliot drifts, parker frowning down at him. as breanna pretends not to cry, and sophie drives.

///

eliot doesn’t wake up when they arrive at the safe house, and it scares everyone. sophie and parker lift him, taking him to a different room where they can tend to his wounds safely (and out of sight). it leaves harry and breanna standing in the doorway, ambling around the living room absently. there’s nothing they can do, really. nothing but wait.

he settles on the coach, head in his hands, and breathes to the sound of her pacing, short strides back and forth, across and across and across the room. she’s humming slightly, a tune he doesn’t quite recognize but doesn’t hate. eventually, she wears herself down, sitting at her computer and plucking away at the keys in a way that speaks to her distracted mind, the usually hundred word per-minute speed nonpresent, slowed to a dozen.

sophie reappears from the room, her brow furrowed but otherwise unmarred. harry stands to greet her, much like a waiting room wife to a doctor, rife with anticipation. breanna swivels her chair much the same, though neither of them breathe a word, waiting. “eliot will be fine,” sophie says, and harry all but wilts with relief. “but we’ll take time off so he can heal. a month or two, maybe. he’s down pretty badly.”

sophie pauses, momentarily glancing over harry in a way that, if he were a greater man, might embarrass him. instead, he swallows down the look of pity, the way her eyes drag over him with grief.

“clean up, mr. wilson. then we’ll tend to you, too.”

///

it’s a new experience, the way the blood looks rushing down the shower drain. it’s dried to the skin, takes scrubbing to remove. some of the flakes stay whole rather than dissipate into the water, and he watches them fall from his skin and go away to nothing. his body is sticky with sweat, and it takes several lathers to get him even remotely feeling clean. he’s not sure he ever will, not with the ghost of eliot’s blood still haunting his cheek, omnipresent. he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way the spray felt against his skin. still, when his fingers are so pruny he doubts even the team could lift a print from him, he cranks the water off. the steam does a good job disguising him; he can barely see his own feet through the thick plumes of it. he pulls back the curtain, a rush of cold air hitting him and-

“parker! what are you doing in here?” he exclaims, instinctively pulling the curtain again to shield him from her eyes, although she covered them with her hands when he exclaimed.

“eliot told me to talk to you,” she says simply, muffled through her wrists. “tell me when i can uncover my eyes. i- i didn’t think about it. sorry.”

harry sighs, reaching carefully out from the shower to grab a towel even as she keeps her eyes covered. he dries himself off quickly, slipping into the joggers and shirt that sophie handed him earlier. they don’t fit quite right, clearly not his. they’re eliot’s, he realizes, with a dull pang in his heart.

when he finishes dressing, he lowers himself onto the toilet lid, looking at parker as she keeps her eyes dutifully covered. her breathing is even, but even so, he can hear the gears turning in her head.

“eliot’s up?” harry asks, not knowing where to start. parker nods, her hands bobbing up and down with her head.

“he was in and out for a while. he’s resting now. he told me to talk to you.”

“what about?” “he said i need to tell you how i feel, because you won’t know that i’m not mad at you if i don’t. and he’s right, i know that. just sometimes eliot does the thinking for me and tells me what’s going on in my brain.”

harry furrows his brows, still perplexed by the complexities of the team's relationships. he’s almost jealous he wasn’t around to see them fall in love with each other, parker, eliot and hardison. a beat passes, parker still on the counter, her legs crossed on a space that seems too small for anyone to sit on. “can i uncover my eyes?” she asks, voice small, and harry fumbles.

“oh- yes, yes, sorry. i didn’t realize you were-” “it’s okay.” she pulls her hands from her face, revealing slightly blood-shot eyes, her nose red from tears. “i don’t blame you. for eliot getting hurt, i mean.”

harry flounders a bit at that, ringing his hands in his lap.

“i left him, though. he came to save me and he got hurt, and i let it happen. and then i left him. it’s- it’s my fault, parker, i-” “no, it’s not,” she says, and she’s glaring at him like she did hardison when she found out he was leaving. it’s not a look harry enjoys being on the receiving end of.

“it’s not your fault because eliot told you to leave. it’s what he wanted you to do, and you listened to him, so if i wanna get mad at someone for that it has to be eliot. but i can’t get mad at eliot, and i can’t get mad at you, cause i would’ve done it. maybe not now, but ten years ago i might’ve left him to die if i had to. you were scared; you weren’t thinking straight. i get that.”

she sighs slightly, eyes glued to the tile. harry sits, waiting for her as she thinks, rolling thoughts over in her head. eventually, a distant smile graces her lips.

“we can do things the others can’t,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes when she looks at him. “and that doesn’t make us bad. it makes us… us.”

though he feels like he’s missing part of it, as he often does talking to parker- and the rest of them, for that matter- it settles something in his chest. he breaths out, the hollow of his lungs lightening. she smiles at his gently; gentle in a manner harry doesn’t think he’ll ever deserve. he smiles back, hoping it reaches his eyes. with that, parker springs from the counter, leaving him alone in the bathroom with nothing but his thoughts.

///

later, when he goes to see eliot, he is still hesitant, though certainly no more than he’d be without parker’s conversation. the dim lighting of the room barely kisses the wooden walls, framing a semi-conscious eliot. he’s been stripped down to a pair of black shorts, his chest and side swathed in bandages. they crawl up this legs too, appearing in patches along his arms. simply put; he looks like shit. still, he rises upon seeing harry, sitting up carefully. one side of his face is swollen, almost unrecognizable.

“hey, man,” eliot grumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “you good?”

“shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

eliot shrugs, flinching at the pain spurs in his shoulder. he readjusts, his head lulling slightly as he blinks against the sleep trying to overtake him. “nah. parker talk to you?” “she did.” “good,” eliot says, looking at harry seriously. “i ain’t mad either. you get that? i get hurt sometimes. ain’t anything to lose sleep over. i went in to help you because you’re important to us.”

“i’m not a good man, eliot,” harry mutters, not quite able to meet eliot’s gaze. “me either. that ain’t what it’s about. can’t get your soul back if i let you die, now can you?”

“...no, i suppose not.” “we all got roles to play. your’s is to not get kidnapped next time, got it?”

harry can’t help the laugh the barks out of him, a hand going to cover with mouth. it gets a hearty smile on eliot’s lips. it’s a look harry thinks he’d like to see more of.

“alright,” eliot says, still smirking as harry’s laughter trails off. “get outta here. i’m gonna sleep for a week.”

“alright,” harry says, heading towards the door. “rest well.” “you too,” eliot mumbles, half asleep already.

harry feels a smile pull at his lips, a sense of peace filling him. it’s only human nature.

#leverage #leverage fic #leverage fanfiction #eliot spencer #harry wilson #i am once again not going to reformat this for tumblr. sorry if u read it here #whump #listen. i dont think this is good #but i spent too much time on it to not post #harry is fucking hard to write #for me at least #anyway. pls give me feedback on this one lol #okay bye no more tags

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comfortwriting · 4 years ago

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A Walk To Remember - R.W

Ron Weasley x Fem Reader - Part 1/2

Masterlist, Request Rules, Part 2

A/N: To the lovely angel that requested this, thank you so much - this has been so therapeutic and enjoyable for me to write; thank you for being so patient and kind. I hope I’ve done this right!

Based HEAVILY on the movie: A Walk To Remember.

Warnings: mention of cancer, death, heavy theme of religion and god, blasphemy, fluff, sadness.

Since Ron and Harry fell out in fourth year because of the Triwizard Tournament, Ron unfortunately found himself surrounded by the wrong people, he didn’t have Harry anymore - his one true best friend and he didn’t have Hermione anymore to keep him level-headed. Ron wasn’t himself and everyone could see it, he cared more about his social status than being a good classmate, and a good wizard.

His parents were sending more Howlers to Ron than they had ever sent to Fred and George, no one could recognise him from the kid who put himself in the line of fire to protect Harry and Hermione when they were trying to retrieve the Philosopher stone, but you - you still wanted to see the good in him, you knew under the ridiculous attitude and his stupid behaviour, lay a heart of gold and lots of potential.

“He’s late again.” Lavender rolled her eyes, standing around in the dark, looking at the Hannah Abbott .

“Ron will turn up, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Hannah replied, continuing her conversation with Dean Thomas.

“Took him long enough.” Seamus pointed towards a very tired Ron walking alongside Nigel Wolpert from a few years below.

Ron and Nigel continued to walk towards the rest of the group, Nigel shivering every now and then in his thin plaid pyjamas. Finally meeting up with the rest of the group the six of them continued their stroll to the Great Lake.

“Sleep well?” Hannah taunted Ron.

Ron shot her a sarcastic smile “brilliant, actually.”

Lavender instantly tried making a move on Ron but he blew her off “if you want to have a dance go and ask Neville.” causing everyone but Nigel to go on a tangent about how geeky, strange and pathetic the herbology student was.

Nigel wanted to speak out to defend Neville but in front of such cool people, especially Ron, he didn’t want to ruin his chances of climbing up the social ladder.

“So what is it that I have to do?” Nigel beamed up at Ron.

Obviously getting into any friendship group requires some sort of need to prove yourself, whether it’s promising to not share secrets, to never date another's ex, the usual ‘bro’ and ‘girl code’ but when it came down to this group, they would go to unfair and extreme lengths.

Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Hannah all stood at the edge of the lake, smirking.

“go on, tell him.” Seamus glided his outstretched hand, presenting the lake to Nigel.

“Well, uh, Nigel - you’re going to go for a swim in that lake, mate.” Ron tried to act coolly, unbothered and the least concerned.

Nigel’s face dropped, starting to panic. “But there's Merpeople in there, Grindylows - the Giant Squid!”

“It won’t be that bad” Hannah laughed.

“Yeah, dear Ron will be going in with you.” Lavender bit on her lip, staring at Ron.

Ron remembered to keep his act up, “yeah, you won’t be going in there alone” he lied.

Nigel nodded his head and agreed to go through with the orders he had been given, he took of his pyjamas and was left freezing cold in his boxers, he turned around to look at a fully clothed Ron.

“Are you not getting undressed?”

Ron shook his head, his arms folded. “Nah, I’m sensitive to cold temperatures, reminds me of uh.. you know.”

Nigel remembered the second challenge during the Triwizard tournament, not wanting to ask any questions or mention Harry and Hermione.

Nigel and Ron got closer to the lake, Nigel tipping on the edge.

“We’ll go on the count of three, alright?”

Nigel continued to shiver, nodding his head and wrapping his arms around him to keep him warm.

“Three, two, one!”

Instead of joining Nigel and swimming, Ron pushed the younger student into the Lake, causing him to fall head first into the water. The group broke into laughter, yelling at Nigel and cheering but the cheers soon turned into screams and sheer panic.

Nigel tried to swim but couldn’t his body went into shock due to the temperature of the water, and his fear of being attacked and dragged away by the residents under the water. His arms waved up above him as his head went under.

“Someone do something!” Lavender yelled, “Ron!”

Ron swore under his breath and quickly stripped out of his pyjamas, making a rope for Nigel to grab to pull him aside. Whilst Ron hurried into the water, grabbing a hold of Nigel’s arm, trying to get him out of the water. Nigel’s head fell back and his breaths shallowed, his lips and skin turning blue.

The yells coming from Mr Filch rang out through the school grounds - panicking everyone.

“We’ve got to go!” Hannah grabbed Lavender’s arm “if we get caught we could get expelled!”

“Hurry up, Ron!” Dean hissed, following the girls.

Seamus stayed for a moment as Ron got closer to the the edge he and Nigel were standing minutes ago, Ron got all of strength and lifted Nigel up, placing him down on the grass, Seamus pulled Nigel back and helped Ron out of the water.

Once Ron got back on his feet Mr Filch and now a yelling Hagrid stormed across the grounds, getting closer and closer to the three boys.

“We’ve got to go now!” Seamus glared “leave him here, he’ll be fine, lets go!”

Ron going against everything good within him, fled with Seamus and left Nigel, alone and inches from death.

Unfortunately, to Ron’s distaste, he didn’t get away with what happened that night - his friends did, but thanks to Professor Snape, he didn’t. Ron got caught moments before he got to the common room, Seamus miles in front of him. Ron spun his impressive web of lies, although Snape didn’t believe him - but everyone else did.

Stuffing toast into his mouth his eyes locked with yours for a moment whilst you took a sip from your goblet, you and Ron had known each other even before Hogwarts, you shared almost every class together, but that didn’t make you friends - you were far from it.

Deterring himself from your gaze, Seamus laughed.

“Stare any longer and your the pumpkin juice in your goblet will turn to wine.” Seamus teased.

“or my potions book will become a bible” Ron teased back.

You were a half-blood, your mother a witch and your strict religious dad a muggle - you found it hard to believe at times that you were even allowed to attend Hogwarts but your dad wanted the time that you had left to be enjoyable, he even moved to Hogsmeade so he wasn’t too far away if you needed him.

Ron and Seamus both swore under their breaths as Professor McGonagall stormed towards them.

“Mr Weasley, a word in my office.”

Professor McGonagall sat down, picking up her long piece of parchment that sat on her desk “after being caught up in such a serious incident, don’t think for one moment that you will go unpunished.”

Ron slouched in his chair and grinded his teeth.

“For this term, every weekday after dinner you will be helping the house elves clean down in the kitchens, every Saturday mornings you will be helping a handful of first years with their brooms bright and early! and you will also be taking part in a theatre production in Hogsmeade for the rest of your Saturday, to ensure that you won’t skive, you will be transported to Hogsmeade with other students.”

Ron’s face dropped, everything he hated all mixed together had been thrown on upon him whether he liked it or not, and worst of all, he couldn’t get himself out of it if he wanted to graduate.

Dean, Seamus, Hannah and Lavender found it hilarious seeing Ron clean up with the house elves, they too mocked you and your faith in god every chance they had.

Walking outside to join the rest of the students in Hogsmeade, you heard Lavender’s laughs from behind you.

“Oh Ronald just look at her, she’s as helpless as it gets. Clinging onto that bible as if her life depends on it.”

Ron stayed quiet, his eyes burning into the same sweater you wore every single day without fail.

“We should go together sometime” Lavender spoke out again at Ron.

Ron looked at his ex and almost grimaced “I’m not doing that again alright? we’ve been through this.”

Ron departed from his group, waving goodbye and walking slowly behind everyone else. Noticing Ron behind you, you slowed down so you could walk next to him - you were always alone when you went to Hogsmeade and you felt like having some company before your theatre class.

“So, you’re going to be in my group right?” you smiled, hoping the small talk wasn’t that bad.

Ron ignored you, continuing to follow the other students.

You didn’t want to give up on the golden haired boy just yet, you didn’t know why but there was something in him that stood out to you, something his friends couldn’t see - perhaps something Harry and Hermione missed.

“I think a change of scenery will be good for you - Nigel is also recovering slowly, you should visit him-”

Ron stopped in his tracks and gave you a horrified look “don’t you have bible verses to stress over? shouldn’t you be focusing on the mythical man instead of me?”

You raised your eyebrows and felt quite taken aback, you were used to having your head bitten off but you were trying to break the ice, you weren’t pushing your faith on anyone.

“You don’t know me at all” you replied, pursing your lips, storming past him.

You, like many of your group enjoyed theatre with a passion, the guy in your class had written the play himself and you were so proud, his writing more than a work of art and you could tell something beautiful would come from it.

After being assigned your roles, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied knowing that Ron had a role of his own, even if he wasn’t expecting such a thing. You felt a tinge of excitement inside of you, knowing that the two of you would be spending more time together.

Going through your lines, Ron was slouching in his chair as usual, speaking in monotone whilst he read his parts, you couldn’t understand why he didn't want to be here - to redeem himself.

After your first class, you didn’t go back to Hogwarts with the other students, you were allowed to visit your dad whenever you needed and today you felt like spending sometime with him, going through your bible and getting the reassurance you desperately needed.

Ron, who did not have permission to stay out, went against the rules anyway, getting himself a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks and some jelly slugs from Honey Dukes.

Leaving the extravagant sweet shop, Ron bumped into you, almost dropping his treats.

“what are you still doing out?” he asked, chewing down a slug.

You smiled sheepishly at him “I could ask you the same thing”

The two of you walked back to Hogwarts, going through the constant back and forth of him trying to test your faith and speak against god, trying to get you to reach breaking point - but it wouldn’t work. You had patience, you were full of love and you could see the beauty in everything - the exact opposite of the boy next to you.

“you shouldn’t dumb yourself down to fit in” you sighed, snuggling into your sweater. “you should care less about your social status and more about your future.”

Ron shoved another jelly slug into his mouth “you think you know me, do you? well you don’t.”

Ron and Seamus sat on the sofa in front of the fire, the two of them scrutinising the play, picking apart the script piece by piece and acting it out sarcastically.

“It’s gonna be brilliant” Seamus grinned, flicking through the pages.

“You sound like my brothers, it’s going to be a bloody nightmare.” Ron groaned, looking miserably into the flames.

“That's why its going to be brilliant, you’re going to make a fool of yourself!”

After another week of feeling tired and nauseated, you tried your best to pull through it, focusing on god - his love - his warmth, you focused on seeing your dad at the weekend, being able to drown your fears in the path god had chosen for you.

“Oi, y/n” Ron whispered, pulling you aside and tearing you away from your thoughts.

You stared at him and waited for him to continue talking, holding your bible to your chest.

“Look, can you help me with my lines after class on Saturday?” he asked, his mouth barely moving so everyone around him would find it hard to lip read.

“As long as you aren’t doing it only to benefit yourself”

Ron rolled his eyes “yeah, whatever - can you help me then or what?”

You nodded your head, ticking off a box from your list “I don’t see why not” you smiled “thanks to you I have one less box to tick”

Ron gave you a strange look, then noticed his friends walk down the hall towards the two of you.

“We’ll go to my dads, we can practice there, but promise me one thing?”

Ron started to become inpatient “bloody hell, what?”

You took a deep breath, facing your fears “promise you won’t fall in love with me.”

Ron felt delighted, he thought making this promise was the easiest thing he had ever done in his life “I didn’t think it would be that easy.” Ron’s friends stared at him, pulling faces behind your back “I’ll see you on Saturday” he paused before walking away “I promise.”

Little did Ron know, the promise he made would be the hardest one to keep.

“Ronald Weasley?!” Your father freaked out “I’ve told you to stay away from lads like that!”

You sighed, hearing a knock at the door, you stood up from the table “the lord preaches forgiveness, dad.”

Walking over to the door, you opened it, Ron stood there with another bag of jelly slugs, swallowing one down “can I come in then”

“Yeah - make yourself at home, wait in the living room, my script is upstairs.”

Ron walked around your living room. searching the moving faces in the picture frames, the candles on the mantle piece, pictures of Jesus and multiple mini statutes of him surrounding one another on a shrine.

He couldn’t help but feel the hairs stand up on his neck, he wasn’t used to all this religion thrusting itself into him, the eyes of a higher being judging him for each and every sin he committed.

“You must be Ronald.” Your father spoke out, almost making Ron jump out of his skin.

Ron turned away from the altar, holding out his hand for your father to shake, but withdrawing it soon after your father declined.

“Thank you for-”

“I didn’t” you father spoke over him “that was y/n decision.”

After being grilled for his behaviour from your father and running through the same romanticised script, Ron couldn’t wait to break free from it all, from judgement of the lord, your fathers none existent approval, slowly getting friendlier with you.

The more Ron noticed you, the more you stood out to him. You weren’t just the girl devoted to god that was glued to a bible - you loved animals, you thought they were magnificent and spent hours reading about them.

After finishing breakfast you walked over to where Ron was sitting with his friends, you felt confident and excited to see him again outside of Hogwarts.

“Will you be coming back to my place tomorrow?” you asked, smiling at him.

Seamus started laughing, almost choking on his juice.

Ron felt mortified, there's no way he could allow his friends to get the jump on him for being your friend.

“yeah, in your dreams” Ron spat, making Seamus laugh more.

Your butterflies wings felt like they had been ripped off, your smile fell and your heart ached, but you refused to curse him, instead you swallowed hard and walked away - reminding yourself that this was a good thing; he wasn’t falling in love with you.

Playing the piano and singing with your father, the two of you were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, you ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away but they didn’t. Standing up, you walked over to the door and saw Ron standing in same spot as he always did on your porch.

You tried to close the door before he stopped you, shoving his hand in the way.

“Look, don’t take it that personal, alright?”

You crossed your arms, pulling on the sleeves of your sweater.

“I still want your help, it’s just, you know what my friends are like.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, you couldn’t believe how heartless Ron was in this moment.

“Are you trying to say you want us to be friends in secret?” you faked a smile, noticing Ron’s face brighten up.

“exactly that! yeah, brilliant!”

You however didn’t brighten up, your fake smile crumbled and your expression turned sour. Tears made your vision glassy and you felt like taking your sweater off you were that hot with anger.

“I can’t believe you, Ron - I can’t believe I saw something good in you, let me go and cry to god about it.” you replied angrily, slamming the door in his face, going upstairs and questioning whether or not waiting the next few months out would be worth it.

Your confession struck something in Ron and he couldn’t explain it, out of nowhere he was practicing his lines without sarcasm but with seriousness instead, he genuinely worked hard at helping first years with their brooms and even encouraged them to give Quidditch a thought. During minor dress rehearsals of the play Ron was taking constructive criticism onboard, pushing himself to do better, to remember his lines and to be a persuasive actor.

He felt himself feeling guilty for what he had done and said to you each time his eyes landed on you, each time you shared the stage together, Ron wanted nothing more than to make things right, even if he found it to be incredibly difficult to begin with.

You noticed these changes in Ron like you had noticed everything else about him, you could see how much the first years appreciated his hard work, how much fun he was having away from the bad influences he wanted to impress so badly - deep down you were praying that he wasn’t doing all of this just to benefit himself.

Ron took a deep breath and walked through the hospital wing, seeing Nigel sat in his bed, reading a muggle children's book.

“Alright, Nigel?” Ron greeted nervously, standing at the end of his bed.

Nigel looked up at Ron and closed his book, staring at him. “Considering the fact I almost died and went into shock, I’m not too bad.”

Ron bowed his head in shame and felt like he did when his mum would scold him for misbehaving.

“I’m really sorry mate, I am.”

Nigel looked at Ron and shook his head “I was stupid for believing you’d go in there with me, I’m asking myself if it’s stupid of me to forgive you.”

Tonight was the night you had been looking forward to the most, the one and only performance of the play - the one night you were able to get yourself dressed up - your hair and make up done, the dress you rented fitting you perfect.

Dean, Seamus, Hannah and Lavender were sat in the front row, Lavenders camera at the ready taking pictures of Ron in his suit every chance that she could. The rest of the Weasley family were sat watching, Fred and George having the time of their lives thinking of ways to embarrass their little brother, Molly and Arthur feeling so relieved and proud that their son had started to pull himself together.

Your father sat at the front row also, feeling excited to see you come on stage, for you to experience such a special moment in the time god had left to give you.

The two of you read your lines, talking and acting like a couple who were in love, finally not hiding it amongst the other characters. Ron sat down in his seat and you pulled the cloak off your body and sat down next to him, continuing with your lines.

Ron suddenly forgot his lines that he had worked so hard to remember, your presence making him feel as if he was in the presence of an angel - this was how he felt when he saw Hermione at the yule ball, only making him more determined to make things right with you.

As soon as you revealed yourself, Lavender stopped snapping pictures and put her camera away, the jealousy she was now feeling eating away at her. Seamus had to close his mouth it was gaping open for that long, he couldn’t believe you were the same girl that wore the same sweater that only devoted herself to god.

Fred and George stopped bitching about their brother and like everyone else, they were captivated by you, trying to find out if you had bewitched the audience or took a potion before hand.

Reaching the last legs of the play, Ron failed to deliver his lines and had to improvise instead, his eyes roamed your angelic face and he blurted out such a compliment it made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re beautiful”

You wanted to correct him but at the same time you felt flattered, you weren't used to compliments unless they came from your dad. Getting lost in the moment, Ron leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, the two of you sharing a kiss whilst the red curtain knitted together, putting an end to the show.

Your breath hitched in your throat, you told yourself over and over that it was just a kiss - just part of the show - nothing more, nothing less - Ron wasn’t falling for you and you couldn’t allow yourself to fall for him.

Afterwards, Ron’s family praised him for doing such a good job, but Ron couldn’t stop himself from watching you, your father pulling you away from the big crowd. Walking out of the theatre, Ron spotted a familiar face, approaching him out of the crowd. It was Harry.

“You did an amazing job, Ron.”

Ron stared at the lad in glasses he once called his best friend, he stared into his eyes and allowed his anger to consume him.

“Clear off” Ron replied “I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

Burying yourself in another book about creatures, you couldn’t help but giggle at the illustrations of Nifflers holding gold in their hands. Ron walked into the Great Hall, everyone staring at him and Lavender whispering to her friends about you and him.

Ignoring them, Ron walked over to you and sat down beside you, seeming more cheerful than you had ever seen him.

“Reading another book about creatures are we?” Ron smiled.

You looked up from your book “it’s another box on my list, read one hundred books.”

Ron smiled “I think you’re brilliant.”

You felt a wave of irritability swirl in your stomach, you couldn’t tell if your health was crumbling even more or if it was because of Ron.

This was it, he was falling for you and you were falling for him, the two of you breaking such a sacred and important promise, committing one of the biggest sins that reined heavily in your head.

You stared at Ron and started to panic “what are you doing?” you barked, shutting your book “stop trying to figure me out”

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest, you kept drilling the path god had chosen for you into your brain, telling yourself over and over that you and Ron couldn’t happen, no matter what it couldn’t happen.

Ron didn’t give up like he used to, instead he chased after you and trapped you into the corner outside.

“I thought a girl like you wouldn’t be afraid” Ron said in disbelief “don’t be a plonker, y/n. Don’t deny how you felt that night, I’m not denying it-”

You put your hands over your ears, shaking your head, if he knew why you were running he wouldn’t be so forceful, you wanted to tell him the truth right there and then but you were terrified.

“you have no idea what I feel Ron!”

“I do and you know it! you want to be with me like I want to be with you!”

Tears streamed down your face, your big secret sitting on the tip of your tongue, trying to pry your mouth open and set itself free.

“I can’t!” you cried “I warned you!”

Ron stayed still and watched you walk away, his heart and head screaming at him to follow you, to kiss you one more time, to just say screw it and start over again.

#ron weasley #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley oneshot #fred weasley #george weasley #Weasley #weasley twins #fluff #oneshot #imagines #romance #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #ron weasley fanfic #ron weasley fanfiction #hogwarts

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ladyhallen · 4 years ago

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Growing Flowers for the Sunrise

Content Warnings: chronic pain, talks of death, terminal illness

Harry woke to pain.

He didn’t scream, but took a deep stabilizing breath. He was used to the lightning slivers that seemed to live in his veins. But whenever he was doing nothing, it seemed to intensify until sleeping was the last thing in his mind. Muggle medicine was a good friend to him these days.

Another breath and Harry finally placed his feet on the floor, moving through the shivery cold that intensified with every step.

Moping would get nothing done and he was absolutely tired of lying in bed - in pain - all day.

“Winky,” he called. “Breakfast.”

The house-elf popped in, took one look at his face, and popped back out. Breakfast involved a lot of healthy food, along with Willow Bark Tea that he was starting to taste in his dreams.

“Agenda for today?” he asked his frustrated healer.

Daphne Greengrass huffed irritably, hands moving gently along his shoulders and testing his muscles with wandless magic. “Nothing too strenuous. You’re too tired from the last treatment, but Granger’s theory is actually bearing fruit.”

That was very concerning. Harry would have cried if he wasn’t so tired of being in pain.

“That I have too much magic?” he asked. “It needs to get out?”

Daphne nodded, prodding at his collarbone and his ribs with gentle fingers. “I have no idea what magic was going on while you were dueling with You-Know-Who, Potter. But you are practically bursting from it. You need to let it out.”

Hermione’s theory was the Theory of Conquest. No one had actually fulfilled a prophecy in a few decades, but each and every one of those who fulfilled it died in a couple of days. Her theory was that something was given to each person at the end of those prophecies.

It said something about Harry’s pain threshold given that he had survived for two months in constant pain.

Magic being the obvious choice was hindsight.

How to expend magic faster than it replenished was the problem.

Annoyingly enough, that was a problem unique to him.

The Department of Mysteries had a love-hate relationship with Harry.

Oh, they loved him for the challenge he presented, of helping an international hero stay alive and all the troubles that came with it.

They also hated him every time a suggested solution was rejected.

It would be hilarious if he wasn’t dying slowly with too much magic. Harry’s humor had developed a sort of morbid cast to it that made Hermione uncomfortable and Ron smirk unwillingly.

The solutions presented were weird though, ranging from a magic siphoning lotion, to a generator-like machine that needed magic to run.

The latter was the closest thing to a solution Harry had ever had and he actually spent the whole day lounging on the machine, having his magic sucked off and feeling more relaxed in months. (It didn’t last, the machine overloaded with too much magic. The inventor didn’t account for what would happen to all the magic after it got sucked off.)

They still used the MagGen when he had a particularly bad day, with Hermione on the team that modified it and made it better each time, it went from only one day use to a three day use.

Harry hoped Hermione would find a portable solution soon, because being attached to the hip to the MagGen was great, but he wanted to be able to go to Diagon Alley without feeling a thousand needles lodging in his feet every step he took.

Harry woke to the scent of flowers.

“Neville? What time is it?” he mumbled blearily.

Neville helped Harry sit up, the scent of damp earth and various green things clinging to him intensified for a moment.

“Just past lunch,” Neville answered. He patted Harry on the shoulder gently and presented his potted flower, along with a floating tray of food.

“I thought belladonna’s were poisonous?” he asked. The berries on the potted plant were the distinctive ones of atropa belladonna. The color was memorable.

Neville tucked the edges of the blanket around him better. “If you use too much, then it’s poisonous. It’s actually medicinal.”

Harry tried to wriggle free and gave up under a minute. “Neville, I need to eat. I need my hands to eat.”

The herbologist ignored him, grabbing the floating tray and looking, for all intents and purposes, like he was going to spoon-feed Harry.

“Neville, no!” Harry said, renewing his struggle against his blankets and succeeding in getting an arm free. “I’ll eat, I’ll eat.”

Harry ignored Neville’s self-satisfied smirk to at least retain a semblance of dignity. The herbologist was very good at wrestling misbehaving plants and it seemed to apply to ill wizards too.

The answer came to everyone when Harry woke up to his bedside covered in a riot of flowers, having slept a full eight hours without pain.

The only thing different was the belladonna that Neville had left on his table and it had gone through an accelerated growth overnight.

“Of course!” Hermione exclaimed, examining the plant. Whatever feedback she was getting was making her so excited that her hair was forming a cloud around her.

“Plants absorb magic from wizards and emit clean magic. They’re part of the reason why the greenhouse effect hasn’t actually killed off everyone, you know?” Hermione said, expression rapt as she stared at the belladonna. “Magical plants work, but I think it would work better with non-magical plants as well.”

Plants were his answer.

Harry called his lawyers and Neville Longbottom immediately.

Harry bought an entire mountain and commissioned Neville to help him.

They took long walks around the mountain as Harry’s strength started to return and he got more and more optimistic. He got very good at making hammocks as he spontaneously slept and did not feel any pain.

It was amazing and Neville’s smiles were golden as he did his best to harvest plants so that Harry could have space to do his crazy magical plant growth.

Herbology was a very specific trade and soon, they had enough profit to sell the magical plants to the wizarding world and the mundane plants to the muggle world. Neville had teams and shifts to work the mountain overnight.

Harry’s magic expanded but at the same time, the plants absorbed enough of the replenished magic that Harry felt safe holding his own Holly wand. It didn’t felt like a single spell would tear it apart and Harry actually cried holding the familiar wood.

“Of course,” Hermione said after two weeks of careful observation. “This isn’t a permanent solution. You are not stuck in your mountain, Harry. I’m working with Saint Mungo’s for a temporary pill suppressant? It would allow you to leave your mountain for three days.”

“I don’t actually find it bad?” Harry volunteered. Daphne huffed as he moved his shoulders. With an apologetic shrug, he went still as she poked him with her wand again. “I mean, I might need to build a house here eventually. I can’t sleep on hammocks forever.”

“You’ve been sleeping outdoors in hammocks!!!” Hermione shrieked. “You’re going to catch a cold and die! I’ve not been working my arse off just for you to die of a cold!”

Harry cringed but listened to the lecture with a smile. Hermione hadn’t felt comfortable saying the d-word near him. That she could meant that she must have felt better.

Before both witches could leave, Harry caught her hand and said, “Hermione. Thank you.”

Thank you seemed too small of a word to encompass everything she’d done for him. But Hermione understood.

Hermione teared up. “Oh, Harry. You’re welcome.”

Ron visited whenever he could spare time from the jokeshop.

Harry, who knew how insanely busy the jokeshop could get, was just grateful that Ron could spare him two hours.

“It’s still crazy that you own a mountain now, mate,” Ron said. The stress lines in his face had faded away when he saw Harry stand up and walk to him without a cane. “I mean, wasn’t it crazy expensive?”

“Well,” Harry mused. Fame was no longer a sore point for Ron, being a sort of war hero himself. But money… ”Remember during the war when we found those horcruxes in the items from the founders? Well, turns out, most of them were goblin made and the goblins were grateful to have them back.”

Ron looked concerned. “Harry. Didn’t we destroy Gringotts and let loose their guardian dragon? And weren’t those items destroyed beyond repair?”

Harry smiled. “Well. It turns out; it’s not the item that’s important, but the metal. Goblin metal is incredibly valuable and I just gave them three pieces full of it.”

“Hence, the mountain,” Ron said, nodding.

“Hence, the mountain,” Harry agreed. “And that I and all my descendants would stay as far away as possible from Gringotts.”

They walked a couple more feet and Ron looked up at the crazy height that the trees were reaching.

“Where are you living, mate? Mum did ask me and I don’t see a house,” Ron asked. “Not outdoors? Camping is all well and good, but I’d have thought you’d be done with it after what happened.”

Harry remembered Hermione’s shriek of outrage and shuddered involuntarily. “Nah. I’m talking to the architects and the herbologists about making a tree house.”

Ron smiled. “That sounds crazy. On these trees?” he gestured to the absolutely humongous trees that had sprung up after Harry settled in the mountain. “Wouldn’t they keep growing?”

“Ah, no,” Harry rummaged through his trousers for a piece of parchment and a quill. He flattened them on a flat rock and sketched out the idea. “What I was thinking was this. I’d take five trees, hollow out the insides some, the central one would have a hidden staircase and then I’d just have a bunch of houses up there in the five different trees, but they’re actually different parts of the house.”

Ron laughed a little. “That’s crazy. It sounds like you. That house sounds big, Harry.”

Harry’s smile didn’t die, but only because he pasted it on through sheer force of will. “Well, you’re gonna visit, aren’t you? You and Hermione?”

“Of course I will!” Ron exclaimed. His watch chimed an alarm. “Ah, shit. I have to go back to London. Your place is great, and you look better, Harry. I’ll tell mum so she can stop worrying about you.”

They embraced, Ron left and Harry sat on his rock and cried.

Neville had become a sort of therapist to Harry, which probably wasn’t healthy because Neville wasn’t a licensed therapist and Harry’s issues needed an entire team of them to deal.

Still, the herbologist, who had accidentally found the solution to saving Harry’s life, didn’t complain and visited every time he could spare.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Harry confessed to his friend. “And I’m just here on borrowed time.”

“Harry,” Neville said quietly. “Is the pain back?”

Harry munched at the muffins and swallowed, feeling like he was eating concrete. “No. But, I can feel it at the back of my mind. It’s there. It’s waiting for me to slip up. To make a mistake. And it’s going to be back, harder, stronger and more painful than ever. That…this relief is temporary.”

Neville looked pained. “You’re not getting better, are you?” he whispered.

Harry set down the muffin and clasped his hands, wishing, idly, for tea or something stronger. “It’s been months, Nev. How much magic did Voldemort have? How much magic do I have? It’s not good for one body to hold two people’s magic. It’s just…not possible.”

“You will stabilize,” Neville whispered. He got up, rounded the little table, and engulfed Harry in a hug. “I’ll not stop. Me and Hermione, we’re working on it.”

Harry clung to his dearest friend and swallowed his sobs. He wouldn’t cry. If he did, he would never stop.

Luna, who had fled the country as soon as the war was over, hadn’t seen Harry since that fateful day in Hogwarts. She returned after a furious letter exchange with her father and visited Harry immediately afterwards.

Her protuberant eyes grew even wider when she saw him.

“Oh, Harry,” Luna whispered. “You’re…”

She hugged him.

Harry felt the tears stuck in his throat struggle to get out. He swallowed them down and hugged her back.

“You look great, Luna,” he told her sincerely.

Her dirty blonde hair had darkened to burnished gold under intense sunlight in the African desert and her skin was smattered with freckles and cheeks were sunburned. She looked alive.

“You look tired,” Luna said. “But you are standing upright. Tell me everything.”

Harry absolutely didn’t want to, but Luna, like Neville, was one of those people used to wrangling difficult things. Magical plants for Neville and magical animals for Luna. This translated well for Harry.

“Ah, it’s been a difficult few months, Luna,” he told her with a smile. “It’s nice to be able to see you.”

Her pale fingers tightened around his. “And it is nice to see you. Would you like some tea? I found some really nice herbal blends in Africa.”

Helplessly, Harry allowed her to feed him truly terrible herbal tea, until he cracked and told her everything just to stop the tea.

“You have too much magic,” Luna mutters. “It’s not that simple. You have incompatible surplus of magic.”

That’s the first time Harry had ever heard that about his condition. It was also the first time he had felt that much hope.

“Do you want to talk to Hermione?” he asked her.

Luna made a face. “Ah. For you, I will.”

Harry remembered belatedly that Luna and Hermione didn’t get along very well regarding magical theory even if both of them would kill for the other.

“I cannot ask for better friends,” Harry said, kissing her forehead gently.

Luna beamed.

Even with four people working on it, Harry didn’t get better. But he didn’t get worst either.

“We’ve stabilized it,” Neville told Harry. “You’re alright, Harry. You’re alright.”

It didn’t seem to sink in, until a year later, when Harry was cooking for a small group of his friends, who had their own guestrooms in his treehouse and he didn’t feel that bone deep pain hiding. That he hadn’t been feeling that pain for a while.

Harry dropped the spatula and had to grab the kitchen counter in a hurry.

“Harry!” Ron cried out, getting out of his chair and running to him. “What hurts?” he asked.

Hermione and George rushed in a beat later, wands out and alert. Neville looked terrible. Ginny’s hands were over her mouth.

“I’m alright. I’m fine,” he gasped. “I just realized. I’m happy.”

They all crowded around him and gave hugs and pats. Harry choked on tears.

“It’s alright,” he hiccupped.

“You are,” Hermione soothed. “You are.”

“I’m alive,” he said, almost a question.

“You are,” Ron said, hands on Harry’s shoulders. “You’re alive.”

It took a while but finally, Harry believed that he was.

Please tell me if I’ve written anything offensive for people who have chronic pain and I will do better.

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silvanable · 4 years ago

Note

UwU hello~ I hope I'm following your rules, kinda read them several times :")) ehem– may I request for an ikevamp hc of Harry potter au, with an fem MC/reader who's a mud blood(? I think) and joins Hogwarts (with your choice of suitors). How she meets with the vamps and their reactions~ somewhat like that! Wishing you a lovely day~❤️

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

this is such a cool idea. i really enjoyed it and i have to say i now have a list of possible house alignments and blood statuses for all of our ikevamp boys!

i only went with 4 here though and i hope that’s okay!

feel free to wiggle with the assumption of the age brackets here because HP students are young but also i can just casually slide canon under the rug for a hot minute.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

↪ GUIDELINES

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

it’s very likely she run into him in the library.

and i mean she runs into him.

he’s was just picking out a few more books for referencing material when it happened.

not to be dramatic but books in her arms and his ended up everywhere, pages flying, somehow a quill is stuck in her hair.

after the initial shock she’s apologizing, a quick string of “i’m so sorry” follow.

arthur is a man with very specific tastes pretty much anything that moves and seeing such a flustered little dame kicks his flirt into overdrive.

“no, no, i’m just glad i could catch such a beautiful woman”

there is an endless amount of flirting from him and she denies his pretty words do anything for her.

but we all know she’s lying it absolutely works and she just can’t admit she likes the attention.

though it’s not all about that, i see her and arthur finding common ground either in sharing a house, similar hobbies, or common likenesses in things.

she would absolutely make a muggle culture reference, absolutely expecting it to fly over his head like is does with almost all the students.

“this search would go so much faster if we just had wifi to look it up” let me have this okay i didn’t know what else to say

instead she finds him staring up at her from his parchment, eyes focused on her from behind his glasses.

“you miss wifi too?”

and in the next moment they’re both laughing and complaining about how with all this magic...

it’s revealed then that not only is she a muggleborn, but so is arthur.

his reaction would range from excitement to relief to joy because finally someone else is like him, who gets this wifi-less struggle.

BONUS:

he is a slytherin, a very subtle one, and it’s not uncommon for him to be mistaken for a ravenclaw sometimes because he bears a very creative, witty, and observant streak. not to mention he’s extremely intelligent and practically the castle’s personal mystery solver.

ー COMTE DE SAINT-GERMAIN

pureblood, no question. comes from a serious well known and powerful family but not a pureblood supremacy family.

he’s the ancient studies professor fight me.

ends up meeting her on her first day of the job as a professor of muggle studies, arts, musics? probably.

it’s customary for the staff to meet and greet new members, get them familiar with the castle, offer them introductions, etc.

comte naturally volunteers for the job.

so there is the new professor, shining with absolutely determination and excitement and maybe a little bit of nervousness.

the tour is light, she is in awe ( who wouldn’t be it’s hogwarts ) and conversation mostly consists of the school and its students.

then she asks a question of what is expected of her, as she quietly adds “i’m not exactly sure how muggles and wizards differ in etiquette and behavior”

comte already knew her her field of study and what she would be teaching, but her muttered statement fits the last of the pieces together.

comte lets out a short laugh, “i can teach you if you would like to know?”

expect this man would definitely want to learn the differences as well, so really it would be a win-win.

her blood status would probably never be brought up directly and if she does bring it up, comte would likely just smile and say he knows.

BONUS:

comte is a ravenclaw in my book. i find his personality and the infinity corridor magic door, as well as his enjoyment of the other cultures and travels make him a very curious and studious ( or willing and eager to know about ) of other cultures.

ー LEONARDO DA VINCI

like comte, leonardo comes from a well known pureblood family.

the first meeting is because leonardo fell asleep outside on the steps. she didn’t notice him until it was too late.

she trips over him a very graceful entrance.

he’s fine though, she however is not only dazed, might have bumped her head, and now is in a panic over whoever she landed on.

i entirely believe he would hardly be phased by being stepped on, so he hardly moves.

that scares her a little more because her concern goes from hurting someone to she might have found a dead guy.

her panicking led her to do the first thing that came to mind: VIOLENTLY gently shake him awake and ask, “are you alright, are you hurt?”

it was the consistent disturbance that woke him up.

can’t a man nap in random places without someone wondering if he died, like please.

it becomes a consistent thing for them to encounter one another exactly like that, except the worries of her hurting him become more of a “you need to stop falling asleep in weird places to get stepped on!”

it’s honestly very endearing.

finding out she’s muggleborn does come up in a later conversation, rather nonchalantly in regards to his sleeping habits and how her parents were doctors who could help figure out why he’s always so tired.

nothing is wrong with him he’s just the humanoid persona of a cat it’s fine.

that piques his interest enough to ask her about what they do as doctors. that’s when it comes up that both of her parents are muggle doctors.

her blood purity would never really come to mind with leonardo, as he does not believe in purebloods having supremacy.

BONUS:

despite seemingly nonchalant and aloof, leonardo is a gryffindor. he shares a lot of their other traits besides the generally tag of “loud and prone to danger”. he is a very practical and playful person, but also he has a firm belief of right and wrong for himself and that’s not something he’s willing to back down from.

ー THEODORUS VAN GOGH

probably met her on the first day because of vincent yes blame the brother.

the train ride has a bunch of new students, all excited and nervous at the same time.

theodorus and her ended up in the same train car during the ride.

he strikes me as the person not into conversation while she needed the conversation to ease her own nerves.

even if he did not respond or called her an idiot in his own way, she found over time that she was not as nervous.

she might have spilled her life story to theo though and that’s how he figured out she was a muggleborn before even she had a clue what it meant.

i see taking some time for her and theo to actually become closer because he’s a lowkey grump who needs to be bribed with pancakes but he most certainly would enjoy having her around.

it would first strike her what a mudblood was when pureblood losers harassed her about her background.

theo would intervene to protect her.

it most certainly would linger with that hurt in her and she would probably bring it up to theo, “why are you okay with being around me if i’m not a pureblood?”

“that doesn’t matter, hondje”

and if that isn’t enough to settle her mind he’ll tell her that both he and vincent are halfbloods.

coming from both a muggle and wizarding family he doesn’t care that she’s a muggleborn.

BONUS:

theo is definitely a gryffindor in my book but he has slytherin undertones that show in his ambition, focus, and sheer determination in his goals. but he has a very brave and compassionate personality under all the sharp remarks.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

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chiseler · 3 years ago

Text

The Silva Screen

Howard Da Silva

Am I the only one who constantly gets character actors Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva confused?

Howard Da Silva was born in Cleveland in 1909 and was working as a steelworker when he decided to go to drama school. He first appeared on Broadway at age 20, and made a name for himself playing Jud in the original production of Oklahoma!.

Da Silva (born Silvablatt) was a burly, jowly man with a boxer’s face, thinning hair and an unmistakable voice, half-midwest, half Lower East Side. He made the move to Hollywood in the mid-thirties and, over the next decade and a half established himself as a familiar screen presence playing gruff but ultimately understanding characters. He was the tough but fatherly criminal mentor in They Drive By Night, and Nat, Ray Milland’s wise but increasingly frustrated bartender in The Lost Weekend. He played opposite Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake in The Blue Dahlia, Edward G. Robinson and John Garfield in The Sea Wolf, and portrayed Wilson in the 1949 adaptation of The Great Gatsby.

After actor and fink Robert Taylor, while testifying as a friendly witness before HUAC in 1947, described Da Silva as a troublemaker “who always has something to say at the wrong time,” Da Silva himself was called to testify about his supposed communist sympathies. When brought before the committee in 1951, Da Silva became the first of over three hundred writers, actors and directors to refuse to answer questions, citing the Fifth Amendment. He was promptly blacklisted and for much of the next decade vanished from movie and television screens, though he continued to work in theater.

When he reappeared in the early Sixties, older, balder, and jowlier, he found himself playing an array of historical figures from Ben Franklin to Franklin Roosevelt to Boss Tweed to, ironically, Nikita Kruschev in The Missiles of October and Louis B. Mayer in Mommy Dearest. He also appeared in the 1974 adaptation of The Great Gatsby, this time around playing Meyer Wolfsheim. He made his final screen appearance in 1984’s Garbo Talks, and died of cancer two years later.

Henry Silva

Henry Silva, meanwhile, was born in Brooklyn in 1928. Although often accused of being Puerto Rican, he insisted his mother was Spanish and his father Sicilian. His father walked out on the family when Henry was three months old, at which point he and his mother moved to Harlem.

Silva, who had decided early on to become an actor, dropped out of public school at age 13 and enrolled in acting classes, taking a dishwashing job in a local hotel restaurant to help support him and his mother. Fourteen years later, he’d finally worked his way up the ranks to become a waiter in that same hotel.

Then twenty-seven, Silva, having grown into a darkly handsome young man standing six-foot-two, decided to apply to the Actor’s Studio, and was accepted. He soon made his Broadway debut in in 1956 in A Hatful of Rain, with classmates Shelley Winters and Ben Gazzara. The play became such a hit it soon landed Silva in Hollywood, where he co-starred in the 1957 film adaptation.

His commanding stature and sharp, angular, swarthy good looks not only made Silva an easy choice for producers looking for a suave but sinister villain, they also allowed him to play everything from Mexicans to Russians to Italians to Middle Easterners to Asians to Native Americans with very little extra makeup. He was a chameleon without even trying.

In the Fifties and early Sixties he played a string of suave and sinister gangsters, killers and thieves on TV series like The Untouchables, Climax and The Outer Limits and in films ranging from Green Mansions to Ride a Crooked Trail. He became a regular Rat Pack satellite, appearing in Ocean’s 11, Sergeants 3, and making guest spots on The Joey Bishop Show, as well as playing one of the evil stepbrothers in Jerry Lewis’ Cinderfella. In what may have been his breakthrough role, he again co-starred with Sinatra in 1962’s The Manchurian Candidate as the double-crossing Korean guide who delivers Sinatra’s company into the hands of those dirty commies.

He earned his first starring role the next year as the titular Mob assassin Johnny Cool (co-starring fellow Rat Pack alumni Joey Bishop and Sammy Davis Jr.), after which he accepted an invitation from an Italian producer and moved his family to Rome. Over the next decade he would become a star throughout Europe, appearing in dozens of Spaghetti Westerns, occasionally even playing the hero.

He returned to the States in the mid-Seventies to once again co-star with Sinatra in 1977’s Contract on Cherry Street. Following that, he would spend much of the Eighties playing cartoon villains in comic strip movies (Buck Rogers, Dick Tracy) and and endless string of cheap jingoistic action films (Megaforce, Code of Silence), as well as a few sub-lowbrow comedies (Cannonball Run II, Lust in the Dust). He was admittedly spectacular in his brief turn as Brock, the would-be Great White hunter out to kill a monstrous alligator roaming the Chicago sewer system in Lewis Teague’s 1980 darkly comic monster movie Alligator.

After co-starring in Jim Jarmusch’s 1999 Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai and a quick cameo in the 2001 remake of Ocean’s 11, Silva retired from acting at age 73.

But back to where all this started—namely, am I the only one who gets Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva confused?

Yes, Howard Da Silva was some twenty years older than Henry Silva. And yes, Howard was born in Cleveland to Jewish parents while Henry was a Spanish-Italian kid from Brooklyn. And yes, Howard was a steel woorker while Henry washed dishes in a hotel restaurant. And yes, Henry was some four inches taller than Howard, and had thick black hair to boot. Yes, Henry tended to play suave and sinister villains while Howard tended to play gruff but lovable types. Yes, Henry played everything from Italians to Mexicans to Asians while Howard was as decidedly American as they come, and yes, Henry is still alive while Howard died in 1986. But if you’re going to say “Yes, you dunce, you’re the only one who gets them confused, because you’re stupid,” consider the following.

First, Henry Silva’s official biography is suspiciously inconsistent. Despite repeated claims about his heritage, a 1930 U.S. Census entry states that both of Silva’s parents were from Puerto Rico. But I guess being half Spanish and half Sicillian is much more Romantic than being just another Puerto Rican kid from Brooklyn. That same form also lists Henry’s given name as “Harry.” What’s more, after supposedly working at the same hotel for fourteen years, shouldn’t he have worked his way up to something more than waiter? You’d think he’d at least be night manager or something, right? And despite his claims he made his film debut only after the 1956 Broadway premiere of A Hatful of Rain, his first screen appearance was actually in 1952’s Viva Zapata!.

Now, given we can clearly not trust a thing Henry Silva says, or has ever said, about himself, ask yourself the following questions:

Is it mere coincidence that Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva, as prolific as both were, never appeared onscreen together? Their careers overlapped for some thirty years! What are the odds of that? I mean, Sinatra co-starred with Groucho Marx, for godsakes!

And is it sheer coincidence that Henry Silva’s film debut in Viva Zapata! occurred at the precise moment Howard Da Silva had been blacklisted? Think about it—Howard vanishes and Henry steps in. Hmm, right? Plenty of other blacklisted artists worked under the radar by using pseudonyms. Maybe Howard, given his troublemaking reputation, decided to take the idea of thumbing his nose at HUAC a few steps further. I mean, take a look at the two of them side by side. Give Howard some lifts, a little swarthy makeup and a black toupee and BOOM! He’s Henry Silva.

And what better way to throw off the scent than to play a completely opposite character type from the one you were known for? And how better to flip the bird, just for fun, than by playing a bunch of evil communists and revolutionaries?

After the blacklist ended, Howard was faced with a dilemma. He could work again, which was great, but what to do about Henry? Kill him off? Retire him? His career had just taken off and was going great guns in the early Sixties. Then it struck him—with Henry still around, he had two solid income streams flowing. Why give that up? Both Howard and his alter-ego Henry were character actors, after all, meaning they were rarely needed on set for more than a couple days on each picture. Easy as pie to do a Howard role one day, then a Henry role at the end of the week.

My god, it’s all so perfect! What an ingenious scheme! And what better way to throw everyone off the scent for good than to have Howard “die” in 1986? At that point, after all, Henry was awfully busy with those stupid action movies that paid so well, while Howard’s own jobs were becoming more sporadic and low-profile.

So there you have it, and remember you read it here first—Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva WERE THE SAME PERSON! I likely never would have figured it out for myself had Howard just put another minute’s worth of work into choosing a name for his alter ego back in 1952.

By Jim Knipfel

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let-me-write-shit · 5 years ago

Text

Like We Used To: 19

A/N: Not sure if anyone is actually still reading this, so let me know if you want more!

[Click Here For Previous Chapters]

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CHAPTER NINETEEN:

The last few days have been hectic the best and most nerve wracking possible way that it was almost hard to believe that Kate and Lewis only got married two weeks ago. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. Harry and Elizabeth stayed up half the night sharing a sleeve of oreos and reminiscing about all of the things that happened in those two weeks and how quickly they became attached to each other again. They’ve been essentially attached at the hip, which made the notion of them flying back home tomorrow a bit daunting for Elizabeth. Yes, they had plans to have dinner with Harry’s mom next week, but that was it. Harry hadn’t said or done anything of the contrary, but for her, it almost felt like their whirlwind romance was fleeting. That could have just been her insecurities talking, but it was hard to imagine that this could continue.

Harry woke up early today to do an interview over the phone with a radio station while Elizabeth slept in, having caught up on all of her work for the week, impressed with herself as it was only Thursday. He had scheduled studio time that afternoon for himself and the band to continue working on a few songs, but that night Harry had planned to have a little get together with some of his LA friends so he could see them before he left. She wasn’t entirely sure who all was invited, but she did know the people who she flew in with would be there, so she was excited nonetheless.

Elizabeth spent most of the day preparing for guests by tidying up, preparing cheese boards and snack bowls, getting cups and plates. Harry told her that she didn’t have to, but she wanted to make herself useful. Besides, it got her mind off of the Ellen episode that aired that morning, practically unedited. If people didn’t think Harry and her were dating before, they had serious doubts now. She had to admit, though, Elizabeth was starting to be more open to the idea of officially dating Harry. He had been extremely patient with her and gave her no reason to not trust him. In fact, he was being more open about his feelings towards her (to people he knew personally, at least. He didn’t mention it in any interviews in respect of Elizabeth’s wishes).

It’s not like Elizabeth wasn’t on the same page as Harry. She expressed this to her older sister on facetime as she sat on the lounge chair by the pool. Even though it was nearly 1 AM in England, her sister, Jenny, was up breastfeeding her 3 month old daughter.

“I can see it on your face, Lizzy,” Jenny said in a hush tone, not wanting to startle her daughter, “You look happy. Like you’re in love. I haven’t seen that look on you in a while.”

Elizabeth blushed, slightly embarrassed, “I wouldn’t go that far, just yet. But I am happy. I don’t know, he’s just...great. Like last night, we stayed up all night we played charades. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that much.”

“So if he’s good to you, you have fun, you care about him, and he wants to date you, why don’t you?”

“I don’t know, ‘cuz I’m an idiot? I mean, I was telling myself that it was because I didn’t want to end up hurt again like I was with Kyle, but I’m starting to think I might be ready now.”

“You should talk to him tonight. Tell him.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, “I don’t know. Maybe. Anyways, how is my niece?”

“Mia is good,” Jenny’s eyes twinkled down at her infant’s face who was suckling away at her breast, “been having a bit of trouble sleeping through the night, but she’s still a happy baby. She misses her Aunt Lizzy. Can’t wait for you to visit us next week. You’re coming over on Wednesday, right?”

“Yes, and I can’t wait to sniff her head!” Elizabeth did her best imitation of baby talk, scrunching her knows and inhaling dramatically, making Jenny laugh. “Guess where I’m going next Saturday, though.”

“Where? Paris?” Jenny teased.

“Harry’s mom’s for dinner.”

“Come again?” Jenny’s eyes widened. “Is that not a big deal? I mean, I know you’ve seen her plenty of times. But this is under different circumstances, no?”

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth shrugged, “I don’t think she knows what’s going on between us. I mean I’m sure she’s heard the rumors, but I don’t know if she believes them or what Harry’s told her.”

“Hmm...well I’ll be interested to know the details afterwards. Are you going to visit mom and dad while you’re down there, then?”

“I was thinking of stopping in, yeah.”

Elizabeth heard a distant echo and her name being called before turning to see the sliding door open. Harry came barreling out, beaming, and lunged on top of her, covering her in kisses. She loved when he was in his silly mood.

“Harry!” Elizabeth gasped in between giggles, “I’m on the phone!”

Harry rolled off of her, shooting her alarmed eyes, “Oh, shit.” he breathed, “I’m sorry!”

Elizabeth grabbed her phone that had fallen onto the ground and pulled it up, showing him her sister who waited on facetime, smiling amused. He cringed, “Hiiiii, Jenny. I’m sorry! I didn’t see the phone up. How are you? Congratulations on the baby!”

“It’s alright,” she chuckled, “And thank you, we’re all good here. I was actually just getting ready to go put Mia back to bed, so I’m gonna get going. But, I hope to see you soon, Harry! Lizzy, I’ll see you next week.”

“Alright, Love you!” Elizabeth called as Harry shouted out a ‘goodbye’, and she hung up.

Harry turned to Elizabeth, pausing a moment before standing up and slinging her over his shoulder, shouting, smacking her butt, and running around the yard. It was evident that he was in a good mood and she laughed with him, smacking his back to be let down. Eventually he planted her feet in the grass and smashed a kiss on her.

“Good day at the studio?” Elizabeth giggled as he pulled away.

“Yeah, we finished a song. Need a few more days in the studio to tweak a few things, but we can do that in London. We’re almost done. I can’t believe it!”

“I’m so happy for you!” Elizabeth bounced on her toes, smiling widely while holding onto his hands, “When will you be going to the London studio.”

“Jeffrey is booking some time in London the day after we get back. We’ll probably be there all day. But anyway, I saw all the snacks you made. Thanks for that. People should start arriving in about three hours, so what do you think? Should we make dinner quickly then get ready?”

The two of them headed inside and teamed up making a caprese salad. The only song Harry let her listen to off of his new album was a song he had written over a year ago that was supposed to be on the previous album called ‘Cringe’, which was actually a pretty amazing song, despite having been about a previous breakup of his. They both belted out the lyrics while slicing tomatoes and mozzarella, laughing at each other as they dramatically acted out a live performance. They quickly ate and then ran upstairs, taking a shower together.

Harry buffed the sponge down her back in circular motions as she finished washing her face under the cascading water. He let his fingers trace the falling drops of water before lightly kissing her shoulder blade and pulling her closer to him, digging his face into her neck. She smirked feeling him start to harden between her legs. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself this week, they’ve had sex at least once a day since he first got to her house. And as much as she wanted to, she also wanted to see him want it. She didn’t want to just give in that easily.

She turned to face him, wiping the water off of her eyes, and pressed herself against him even more, bringing her lips to his. She could feel him hold his breath, leaning in in anticipation of her kiss, but she just whispered, “it’s all yours” before shimmying out of his grip and stepping out of the shower, ringing her hair into the towel that hung on the wall. Harry looked out at her with his jaw dropped as she wrapped the towel around her body.

“Hold on! Get back in here!” He called after her.

“Sorry! Gotta get ready!” She called back, snickering to herself.

She slipped into a pair of sheer black tights, a black turtleneck long sleeved shirt, and layered a leopard print spaghetti strap mini dress on top with a pair of ruffled white socks and black combat boots, drying her hair and quickly running it through a curling iron to give it a bit of loose waves. She smoked out her makeup a little bit, but didn’t want to overdo it so she just went with a nude lip. When she was finally finished she went downstairs to see Harry wearing a Hawaiian t-shirt with most of the buttons undone tucked into oversized dress pants and loafers, hair perfectly tousled and rings on practically all of his fingers; only he could look that good in those clothes. Music played softly over the house speakers and just as she snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, the front doorbell rang. He turned to give her a pick on the forehead before going to answer it.

“Lizzy?!” She recognized the voice as Mitch calling out.

Elizabeth heard an offended huff from Harry as she jogged out to see Mitch, Sarah, Adam, Ny, and Charlotte standing in the landing. They smiled when they saw her and ran up to give her hugs and friendly kisses on the cheek before going further into the living room to chat. Within an hour more people started to show up. Harry started to introduce her to the guests that came in, but eventually it got to be too many people for him to keep track of the new arrivals as people started letting themselves in.

“I didn’t think there would be this many people,” Elizabeth yelled to Mitch and Sarah over all the noise that filled the room, looking across the room at Harry as he greeted more of his friends.

“I don’t think there was supposed to be,” Sarah said, “LA parties tend to get like this; people bring people who bring people.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll stay with you.”

It hadn’t really struck Elizabeth the seriousness of how famous Harry actually was until she saw people like Kacey Musgraves and Kendall Jenner walking around the house. It was intimidating being in a mansion that was filled with famous people. Quickly, Elizabeth had lost Harry in the crowd. Her eyes wandered in search for him while she stuck with her new friends, but an hour and a half must have passed before she caught a glimpse of him. Through the crowd she saw Harry standing in a corner, leaning over as a gorgeous blonde kissed his cheek, leaving a mark from her red lipstick. Instantly her heart rose to her throat, making it a bit hard for her to breath, recognizing the woman as his ex-girlfriend, Camille Rowe. She felt her hands starting to shake, jealousy and anxiousness rising in the pit of her stomach. Harry didn’t say much about his relationship with her, only that he had been heartbroken. Why was she here? Why did they seem so friendly? She wasn’t the territorial type, but her mind involuntarily flashed back to her being cheated on in her last relationship. The fact was, she didn’t know how Harry felt about his ex, or if he still wanted to be with her. But judging by the way he smiled while talking to her, she wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Elizabeth decided to avoid looking in his direction, mostly for fear, and did a good job at evading most of the famous people, sticking with Mitch and Sarah and a few people who they were familiar with until she got more comfortable talking to more strangers. She was laughing with Zack, a tall, tanned guy about her age who she had come to know did some modeling, when she felt a hand on her waist.

“Hey, baby,” when she turned to look at him he bent down and gave her a lingering kiss before pulling away.

Baby? He never called her that before. Not that she minded the sound of it, but the timing was odd. And what was with the kiss? Was he trying to get everyone to find them out? There were people taking selfies all over the place! She grimaced at the look on his face that was both soft and domineering at the same time.

“Can I steal you away for a minute,” He said sweetly, looking up to give Zack a smile, a tinge of disdain hidden behind it.

“Uh, sure,” Elizabeth muttered before Harry wrapped his arm around her waist and led her away.

They passed groups of people playing karaoke, a crowd hanging around a beer pong table, and towards the backyard passed a dozen people standing around the illuminated pool. Mitch and Sarah had even made their way outside, standing off to the side and talking to each other, shooting a questioning gaze and wave in their direction. The noise was still loud outside, but not nearly as ear buzzing as it was inside. Palm trees lightly swayed in the LA October night breeze and she saw a couple people making out in the lounges while Harry guided her to a secluded corner behind Mitch and Sarah. He turned to face her with a look she couldn’t quite figure out, holding both of her hands in his, before pulling her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and pressing his lips against hers again. At first she melted into him, but then pushed him away.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“What’s wrong?” She copied, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. She looked up at him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. She sighed, lifting a hand to his face and wiping the red lipstick mark from his cheek that was left there by Camille. Realization hit when he saw her red stained thumb. Before he could speak she continued, “And what was that? Baby? Kissing me in a crowded room? Were we not trying to keep us low-key anymore?”

“You’re the one so determined to keep us low-key, Lizzy,” Harry fought back. “We’re in my home. I trust the people here, and I know that they wouldn’t have brought untrustworthy people. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let them be here. We don’t have to pretend here.”

“So you’re telling me that you don’t care if your gorgeous ex-girlfriend in there knows you’re seeing someone?” She crossed her arms.

“No!” He shot back, “I don’t care if she knows.”

Elizabeth softened, looking at him through her eyelashes, “So you don’t have any feelings for her anymore?”

Harry grabbed Elizabeth’s hands, pulling her closer to him again. He whispered, looking into her eyes, “No. I don’t have feelings for her anymore. You may not be my girlfriend, but I have no interest in being with anyone else.”

A bashful smile spread across her face and she stood on her tippy toes to kiss him again. He put his hands on either side of her face to deepen the kiss and he laughed into it. When he pulled away he shook his head, “Man, I almost wanted to punch that guy you were talking to. I don’t even know him.”

Elizabeth laughed, “Clearly. You must not have known he was gay, then.”

Harry laughed harder, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Jesus. Sorry!”

Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head. She found his jealousy quite charming. He didn’t cross the line of being controlling or overly possessive, but showed just the right amount of assertiveness. She thought back to her conversation with Jenny that morning about telling Harry she was ready to take that next step into their relationship and finally be his girlfriend when she heard a squeal behind her.

“Harry!”

She turned to see Kendall Jenner walking over with a few of her friends who could have also been models. He looked up and gave her a friendly smile, hugging her when she approached them.

“Hey, how are you?” Harry asked, still smiling and giving the rest of the people she was with friendly hugs as well.

“Great, thanks for having us. Is this your girlfriend?” she asked, looking at Elizabeth, “Hi, I’m Kendall.”

Elizabeth was almost shocked when Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, introducing her without correction, “This is Elizabeth.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elizabeth smiled, timidly.

Kendall’s eyes flicked up and down, looking at her. Elizabeth didn’t think Kendall was trying to be intimidating, but she sure felt it, so she excused herself to go talk to Mitch and Sarah to let them catch up. Mitch and Sarah must have noticed the look on Elizabeth’s face because they both simultaneously rubbed Elizabeth’s arm comfortingly as she explained what had just happened. They glanced over at Harry talking to his friends a few times.

They weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but somehow over the noise they were able to hear Kendall say, “Are you sure? Do you really think she’ll be able to deal with your lifestyle? She looks so uncomfortable here.” Harry looked over at her with an uncertain expression and they caught eyes. She quickly looked away, turning her attention back to Mitch and Sarah who had also heard it.

“She’s probably just looking out for him,” Mitch said. “But she doesn’t know you like we do. You’re doing great.”

“You’re strong. You’ll definitely be able to handle it easily!” Sarah agreed.

Elizabeth groaned, “I need a drink.”

KEEP READING

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #Harry Styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #one direction oneshot #one direction one shot #one direction smut #one direction fluff #One Direction #smut

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peteywillproceed · 5 years ago

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Photobooths

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Thank you so so much for all the support on Kiss Me! That was my first post on here and I was so nervous :) I’ve had this idea stuck in my head since Youth by Troye Sivan came out, but I never actually finished it (yay for drafts!) Still don’t really know what it is, but anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy it x

Summary: “When the lights start flashing like a photobooth, and the stars exploding, we’ll be fireproof” - You and Tom have been friends for years, even if you have been keeping your feelings a secret. Sometimes all it takes is being drunk off your ass to finally get the answers you didn’t know you needed...

Word Count: 3,150

The camera clicked and you were blinded, the silly moustache Tom had stuck on your upper lip falling half-way across your mouth as the heat from the lights made you sweat. It was cramped in there, the faded black seat cracked and peeling and the touch screen photo selector taking ages to register your choice. You hadn’t been in a photobooth in years, too smelly, too dirty, too boring. But the alcohol coursing through your body had made short work of any reservations you may have had, too intoxicated by the boy tugging you towards it to care.

“I want the beer goggles too, Y/n,” Tom whined beside you, reaching up to tug them from your eyes. You glanced sideways, swaying in your seat and steadying yourself against his shoulder.

“Take ‘em them,” you mumbled, smiling as he practically snatched them from your head and shoved them over his eyes.

“Best. Birthday. Ever.”

You giggled, too drunk on alcohol and his presence to care. “It’s your party, dipshit.”

You’d known Tom since year 10, and you’d lived with him whilst you were at Uni, grateful for the rent-free place whilst you were broke. You didn’t know when your feelings for Tom had changed, all you knew was you’d woken up one day and wandered into the kitchen, following the smell of pancakes and bacon. And bam, there he was, shirtless over the oven, towel flipped over his shoulder and sending you a slow grin like he’d planned it all. You were pretty sure that was the day everything had changed, but honestly it could’ve been years ago.

You giggled as the screen slowly counted backwards from three, feeling like you were floating far up in the sky. Tom might have asked you to pull a stupid face, but you were so concentrated on the way his lips were moving that you barely registered it. His hands slid into your hair, threading through the strands and made a peace sign behind the back of your head. You scrunched your nose up and dragged the bright pink feather boa over your mouth, pouting in a drunken attempt to look sexy.

“What are you doing?” Tom laughed as the camera clicked and you were dazzled by the lights again.

“Lookin’ sexayyyyyy,” you threw your hands in the air, frowning at the screen “We only have one more picture left!”

Tom licked his lips, trying to meet your eyes. “Guess we’d better make it special one, then.”

If you’d been sober enough to catch the double meaning, maybe you would have been prepared for what came next. But as the camera started counting down for its final shot, Tom grabbed your chin and turned you towards him, pressing his lips gently against yours just as the click rang in your ears.

For a second, you thought about nothing but the way his lips were moving on yours, the sheer fire that snapped you out of your drunkenness and spread over your skin. You shivered as he cupped your cheek, sure the photo had been taken, but the noise of the party outside had faded and it was just the two of you, your lips moving in time to whatever music was blaring through the speakers.

A strange sensation came over you, the photobooth and Tom’s face beginning to spin, and you jerked backwards at the feeling.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I um…I don’t know where that came from,” Tom stammered, wiping his palms against his jeans.

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t him, but blackness was appearing at the corner of your eyes, begging you to fall into the void that awaited. You could see Tom’s mouth moving, desperation crawling into his face, and you tried so hard to make your own form the words you wanted to say. But the tiredness was overwhelming, and soon you were falling into nothing, barely noticing when your head hit the floor of the booth, and Tom crouched over you in panic.

***

The next morning, your eyes opened to a dim room and the scent of caffeine wafting up your nose. Groaning, you tried to sit up, grabbing your head as it began to throb. Dribble ran down one side of your cheek and your hair stood on ends, but as you rubbed your eyes and allowed them to focus, the steaming mug of coffee and two advil tablets placed carefully on the side table drew a smile from you.

You leaned over and choked back the tablets, taking a gulp of the black liquid and savouring it on your tongue. You tried to think back through the mist and fog of last night, remembering basically everything up until you’d gone in that stupid photobooth with Tom. God, you didn’t know why you’d done that, but he’d seemed so excited and it was a chance for you two to be alone, something you hadn’t had in months. You’d have been lying if you’d said you didn’t enjoy the proximity.

“Morning sleepy head,” a familiar, velvety voice whispered.

Looking up, your eyes found Tom’s, and you groaned at the noise. “What time is it?”

“One in the afternoon,” he looked over his shoulder and laughed as he strode towards the curtains and threw them open. “Time to get up.”

“Ugh, Satan,” you mumbled, crashing back into the soft duvet.

“Y’know, I took the day off to keep an eye on you, the least you could do is not compare me to the King of Hell.”

“Sorry, your majesty.”

“Better.”

“Wait you took the day off today?” You frowned, running your fingers through your hair.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I? You were drunk off your arse and I didn’t want you to choke on your own vomit.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime,” he grinned, scratching the back of his head. Bizarrely, he kept shifting from foot to foot, like he was trying to decide whether or not to sit down.

“The bed’s not made of lava, y’know,” you blinked, patting the space next to you “you can sit down.”

He nodded, still not moving, rubbing the side of his face as your confusion grew. “Y/n, I think we should talk about last night.”

“Last night? I don’t remember most of it,” you brought the coffee cup to your lips and took another gulp, eyes never leaving Tom’s. “Why? Did something happen?”

Tom’s eyes widened as he moved to sit next to you, a frown appearing on his face. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Nope, sorry,” you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders as you ran a fingertip around the rim of the mug. “Is there something I should remember?”

You started racking your brain, wondering if he’d told you something you should have remembered or pointed someone out to you. If you were being honest, the most you remembered of the night was drowning in his eyes and paying no attention to any of the songs the rather terrible DJ was playing. You tried not to think about how he’d looked in that suit, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and the burgundy jacket that showed off his arms. Right now, he was in his pyjamas, slung loosely at the hips and barely concealing what you knew was there – you couldn’t decide which look you preferred.

Tom looked at you for a long moment, something that looked like pain dancing behind his eyes. You bit your lip and cocked your head, wondering whether someone had said something to him and you’d forgotten. “Shit, Tom, was something said?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he blurted, sighing audibly. “It doesn’t matter, just forget it.”

“Are you sure?” You raised an eyebrow, convinced you were missing something. “Something’s not right.”

“Nah, I’m cool, don’t worry about it,” Tom shrugged, and started to walk towards the door.

“Do you wanna get dressed and go catch a movie? You never have a day off, you shouldn’t have to spend it looking after me.” Maybe you were trying too hard, but the little pinch at the top of his brow made your heart hurt, and all you wanted to do was reach out and smooth it over. And preferably punch whoever had been there in the first place.

He shook his head. “No, I think I’m just gonna go to work.”

“But you took the day off!”

“There’s always something to do,” he laughed, the sound hollow and sad.

“Okay…” you nodded, the coffee cup shaking in your hand. “If you’re…if you’re sure.”

With a final nod, he turned and disappeared from your room, leaving you staring after his retreating back. Whatever had happened there, you wished you could have made it better. Maybe if you could remember what he meant, you’d be able to put the pieces back together and stitch up his clearly broken heart. Seeing Tom upset was like losing a piece of yourself, and until he was fixed you’d be constantly searching for a way to cheer him up.

Half an hour later, you heard the front door slam and the distant sound of his feet ringing on the steps as he left. For some reason, you felt empty, like when he left he took a piece of you with him. All you wanted to do was curl back up in the bed and fall asleep, but it was no use staying cooped up here if there was nothing to do. Sighing, you got to your feet and grabbed your hairbrush, shrieking when you saw the state it was in.

No wonder Tom had practically run away, you had a bird’s nest on your head.

***

Three Months Later

“Tom?” you called out, kicking the front door shut with your foot. “Can you help me?” Grocery bags were piled high in your hands, oranges spilling on the floor as you struggled into the kitchen.

“Here love, let me,” he swept in and gathered the three heaviest ones into his arms. “Harry’s here by the way.”

“Hi Harry,” you yelled “are you the one eating all my chocolate digestives?”

“nrgrnej,” Harry mumbled, stepping into the kitchen with half a biscuit hanging out of his mouth.

“Typical!”

“Can’t help it they’re so delicious,” he shrugged, looking at you with his hands raised.

Laughing, you shook your head and waved your hand in the direction of the bags. “As payment, you can pack those away.”

“Yes, sir!”

You walked into the living room, expecting the bomb that followed Harry everywhere to have crash landed in there too. Sure enough, pillows and blankets were strewn everywhere, the telly was blaring and biscuit crumbs were scattered everywhere, crunching beneath your feet as you stepped into the room.

You couldn’t help the eyeroll that followed, starting the clean up job that would otherwise have taken hours later on. Every so often, you’d come across one of Tom’s socks or a pen he had chewed on whilst making notes on a script, and you smiled at how tidy he was. As you started to finish up and the boys packed away the final can of peas, you noticed Tom’s script thrown on the floor, the bookmark he’d been using turned face up against the grey carpet.

Gingerly, you picked the script up and tucked your finger in the page he’d been reading, then flipped the bookmark over. You smiled as you realised these were the pictures you’d taken in that photobooth all those months ago, probably too drunk to remember to pick them up. But Tom had remembered, like he always did, and a slow grin crept across your face as your eyes trailed across the photos, tracing memories you didn’t know you had.

Until the last one.

The last one you couldn’t remember, but it was clearly there, in black and white, staring you in the face. Your lips on Tom’s. Tom’s lips on yours. And suddenly everything he’d said the morning after, how he’d wanted to talk to you and the hurt look on his face when you said you couldn’t remember anything, came shooting back all at once. You took in a deep breath, hearing noises at the door, and looked up with tears in your eyes.

“Y/n?” Tom said, panic lacing his voice “What’s wrong?”

He ran his eyes over you, freezing as he finally saw what you were holding. You held it out in a trembling hand, lips shaking as you asked him what it was.

“I think I better go,” Harry mumbled, turning for the door. “I’ll call you later mate.”

Tom didn’t reply, still not breaking your gaze and for the first time in the entire time you’d known him, you didn’t have a fucking clue what was going through his mind.

“I didn’t mean for you to see that,” he stammered.

“Why not?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the image of what you had wanted so desperately for years still seared into your mind. How could you have forgotten something like that? Something so cataclysmic and beautiful? You’d kissed Tom – and you had forgotten.

“You said you couldn’t remember…I figured you didn’t like it.”

“I was drunk, you idiot!” You hissed, waving the piece of paper in his face “I definitely wanted to know this happened.”

“But why?” he asked, and you stared at him like he was insane until he clarified. “You didn’t remember it, and you passed out before we could talk about what it meant. And in the morning, when you couldn’t remember, I figured maybe you’d just supressed it, and you didn’t want to think about it.”

Your mouth dropped open, thinking about how all this time the man you were in love with had thought you didn’t want to remember your kiss. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

“You really thought I wanted to forget that?”

“Didn’t you?”

“NO! Oh my God, you are blind!” you groaned, dropping the strip of photos. It fluttered to the floor between you, the chasm of space feeling miles across yet only centimetres deep. “I’m freaking in love with you Tom, I’ve been in love with you for years, I didn’t want to forget that!”

His eyes were wide with shock, and his mouth kept moving like he wanted to say something. But you were done with wondering whether he felt the same; you’d kissed and now you felt like you could finally let it all out, what you’d bottled up since that day with the pancakes. What only his mum had heard when she’d found you crying on the kitchen floor the day Tom announced he was seeing someone new. What you’d scribbled about ferociously in diary upon diary, convinced you were stupid and he would never see you the same way.

You were done with the pretending, had been for years, and now was your chance to finally say what you’d only thought about in your dreams.

“I fall asleep at night and I think about you, I wake up and you’re the first person I want to see. When you go away filming I sneak into your room and fall asleep there because it’s the only place that smells like you. I’ve spent hours crying over you, sounding pathetic because I was too scared to tell you how I felt. And then this happens, and you don’t tell me about the one thing that could have changed everything! I had to find out through some stupid photo that you didn’t even mean for me to see!”

By the time you were finished, tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were panting with exhaustion, relief washing over you as you finally let go of the deepest secret you’d ever had. Tom said nothing, his mouth parted in shock, and you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, wishing you could just fall through the floor and never come back.

Suddenly, his arms wrapped around you, gently pulling you into a hug so tight you could hardly breathe. His breathing stuttered against you, and you pulled away so that you were looking him in the eye, your faces only inches from touching. Exactly like that night in the photobooth, only now you could remember every part of this. And you would for years to come.

“I didn’t know that,” Tom’s voice cracked, and your heart broke at the desperation slipping through his lips. “I didn’t know you felt like I did.”

“Like you did?” Your breathing stopped, and you didn’t dare believe you’d heard him right.

Taking a deep breath, Tom gripped your shoulders and looked you dead in the eye, all the bravado stripped back until he was just Tom. Your Tom. “Y/n L/n, I have loved you since the day I met you. Since the day you walked into that classroom, and I haven’t looked back. I never thought you felt the same, and I kept it bottled up for years. For a while, I thought I was over you, but my mum reminded me that love isn’t something that can fade just because you have a replacement.”

“If I could have anyone, I’d still choose you. I’d still choose your stinky morning breath and bed head, the way you can’t cook and the way you can’t stand tomatoes on your sandwich but you love ketchup. I’d choose your body and your mind, you heart and your soul, because you have meant everything to me since the day you first sat next to me in class, and I haven’t seen anything as beautiful since.”

You blinked, barely able to absorb the words let alone process them. You’d dreamed of him saying these words for years, and yet now that you were finally hearing them, it felt less romantic than it was sad.

“You’ve loved me too? All this time?” you choked, letting the realisation wash over you.

“All this time, and more too,” Tom replied, his voice low and thick with emotion.

“And that night in the photobooth?”

You held your breath, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer. For once, your future was out of your hands, and it lay in the balance of a boy you had loved in private for years. You were quite literally on a knife’s edge, and whichever way you fell you had to hope there was someone to catch you.

“That night in the photobooth was the greatest decision I ever made,” Tom replied. “You’re the greatest decision I ever made.”

Maybe you would’ve heard what he was going to say next, but you no longer cared as you flung yourself towards him and let your lips collide. As electricity sparked against your skin, you found yourself slipping once more into the dark abyss, but this time you were ready. This time the only thing you were drunk on was the scent of Tom – and this time, you were never letting go.

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland smut #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #fluff #angst #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfic #peter parker fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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oxxofanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Draco Malfoy FF 1-2

Female! OC

Monster From Hell - Draco x Female!OC

Chapter two

“Hogwarts leaves in ten minutes!” Someone yelled as Michelle and her brother entered gate nine and three quarters. “First years!” a man yelled at an entrance to one of the compartments. “I’ll see you after you get sorted, don’t make friends with the wrong people, stay safe, and don’t blow all your money on the trolli candy,” Fraser said, bending down to look his sister in the eyes, She nodded gulping. A smile appeared on the boy’s face standing upright, he ruffled her hair and brought her in for a hug which she of course accepted, “You will do great okay El, don’t worry about anything” He said as he hurried off, leaving the girl alone.

Michelle boarded the trail, her cat’s caddy in hand. It seemed almost every seat was taken. Until she came across a compartment with trash flowing out of it. She peeked inside to see two boys with enough candy to fuel an army of doxy’s. She lightly cleared her throat making both boys look up to her.

“Do you mind if I join you. . . there really aren’t any seats?” She asked nervously. Both boys nodded vigorously as food was in their mouths.

“Harry, m-my name is... Harry… Harry Potter” the boy with glasses fumbled around with his words, obviously nervous at the presence of a female.

“Nice to meet you, Harry, I am Michelle, Michelle Goodwind… and you are” Michelle questioned the redhead boy, who was still filling his mouth with copious amounts of candy.

“Ron Weasley,” He said slowly, swallowing all the food before he continued, “Pleasure meeting you Miss Goodwind, so… what houses are you hoping for” His voice was full of curiosity. Michelle not expecting such a forward question nervously chuckled and fiddled with her hands before answering, “Uhm I would be fine with any house to be quite faint. I think that every house has its ups and downs, all houses have characteristics but I think it honestly just depends on how you choose to see a house” She was careful with her words so as to not offend anyone who had a prejudice against any house. The boys seemed to take a second when taking in this answer, Ron just nodded acting like he understood anything she was saying. He leaned over to Harry and whispered “Ravenclaw for sure” Harry chuckled not really understanding the whole house thing for himself, he just knew Slytherin was bad apparently.

While the three we’re talking to, the door opened revealing a frizzy-haired little girl, “Has anyone seen a toad?” She asked obviously annoyed, everyone shook their heads. The frizzy-haired girl sighed. She noticed Ron was holding his wand, “Are you doing magic? Can we see some of your spells” She asked sitting beside Michelle, Ron grabbed his wand pointing it at his pet rat and said, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!” In which nothing happened, causing Michelle to chuckle at the gullible boy. The girl cleared her throat, “Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? Of course, I've only tried a few simple spells myself, and they've all worked for me. For example,” She pointed her wand to Harry’s glasses which were broken from a previous accident, “Oculus Reparo” Harry’s glasses suddenly looked as good as new. He mumbled a thank you, the girl gasped suddenly realizing who he was.

“Holy Cricket, you're Harry Potter. I'm Hermione Granger...and you are two...?” Hermione asked. Michelle cleared her throat and said “I am Michelle Goodwind, pleasure meeting you Granger” Hermione smiled at the girl nodding and then looked back to Ron, “Ronald Weasley, Just call me Ron” She nodded standing up ready to leave, “Pleasure. You two better change into your robes. I expect we'll be arriving soon.” She continued to the door, but turned around averting her attention back to Ron, “you have dirt on your nose, right here” She said pointing to where the dirt was, Ron rubbed his nose and sure enough, there was dirt, his face flushed red embarrassed making Harry and Michelle laugh at the poor boy.

. . .

Arriving at Hogwarts was a sight in itself, the huge castle is where Michelle would be spending months, years of her life. It was quite weird to think about how in a world with muggles there can be such a big secret like a different world in which there is such a thing as magic, not just pulling a rabbit out of your hat magic but real magic. Michelle brushed these thoughts away and continued to awe over the castle that was Hogwarts. The castle was an amazing piece of art in itself and its sheer size was impeccable. Michelle was snapped out of her trance by Ron dragging her along with Harry to a stairwell where all the first years were.

An older woman suddenly took head of the group, “Welcome to Hogwarts. Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you’re here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn your house points. Any rule-breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup.” All the students started whispering to each other giddy because in a few moments they would be put into the houses which they would spend years in.

Suddenly a blonde-haired boy spoke up “It's true then, what they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts” Michelle looked to Harry confused on how everyone knows who he is, Is he a celebrity? Are his parents part of the ministry? Why is that boy’s hair so light? Michelle snapped out of her thoughts as the boy continued, “This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy...Draco Malfoy” Ron snickered at his name causing the Draco boy to snap his head towards Ron, “Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley,” He then looked to Michelle, “And who are you. You look like you just saw a Zouwu” He practically scowled at her, bravery suddenly built up in her chest as she said, “Michelle Goodwind for your information, But its Goodwind to you… Malfoy” She said his name with quite a lingering tone. Which took him back since no one would talk back to him… he was a Malfoy after all, one of the most sought after families. Putting back up his walls he scoffed before returning his gaze to Harry, “ Well, soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. Don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” Michelle scoffed at his offer to Harry, “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.” Malfoy glared at Harry before going back to his ‘friends’.

Once in the great hall, all of the first year’s attention went straight to the ceiling. The illusion of a night sky on the roof, “It's not real, the ceiling. It's just bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History” Michelle nodded to her as Michelle had also read that same book a few years back, she could already tell her and Hermione would be great friends.

The first years stood awkwardly in the room as Dumbledore was about to make an announcement, “I have a few start of term notices I wish to announce. The first years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you” The first years stirred at the last sentence, a most painful death? Bloody-hell what type of school is this? Michelle was dragged out of her thoughts as Professor McGonagall “When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses... Hermione Granger.”

Hermione took deep breaths obviously worried as she got up there, the sorting hat laid on her head, it took a moment before shouting “Gryffindor” Cheers erupted from one of the tables, Michelle assumed to gryffindor. “Draco Malfoy” McGonagall’s voice rang, The Malfoy boy walked up there as if he owned the place his cockiness radiating from him, it barely took the hat a second as it screamed “Slytherin!” Michelle rolled her eyes at the boy as she walked over to the table. “Michelle Goodwind” Michelle’s feet suddenly became heavy, nervousness filling her up, she quickly walked up to the stool, sitting down, her head hanging low out of embarrassment. What if she got the wrong house? What if no one in her house likes her? The hat suddenly spoke to her quietly, “Smart like a Ravenclaw, Brave like a gryffindor. . . heart of a… Slytherin, that can’t be…” The hat continued mumbling random things before it yelled out “Hufflepuff!” Loud yells came from the table as she quickly walked over to the table, She looked over to the slytherin table to see her brother smiling at her and holding a thumbs up, which she returned. A tap on her shoulder got her out of her gaze, she turned to see a boy who was around two years older, maybe three.

“I’m Cedric… Cedric Diggory. If you need any help just ask me” He said with a smirk as he returned to talking to his friends. Michelle refocused on the sorting hat, as it was now Ron’s turn, the hat quick to shout gryffindor. Lot’s of Gryffindor’s must be quite the popular house, Michelle thought to herself. Then it was Harry’s he was mouthing something to the hat when it suddenly rang out “Gryffindor!” Michelle clapped for the boy seeing as he was more nervous than she was.

It definitely did make her feel weary as her only two friends she slightly knew, weren’t even in the same house as her, she would have to start all new with new friends and socialize something Michelle wasn’t exactly keen at. “Let the feast begin!” Dumbledore’s voice rang causing Michelle to snap out of her thoughts. Food suddenly appeared in front of her. Someone tapped her other shoulder and she turned to see a boy around her age, “Hello I-I’m Ernest Macmillian, I’m quite nervous about the first year, what about you” Michelle smiled faintly at the boy, “Me too Ernest, I am so nervous that no one will like me or I won’t have any friends, though I know that should be the least of my concerns, I just need to focus on my grades for now,” She smiled at him before realizing she hadn’t introduced herself, “My I am so sorry, I am Michelle Goodwind” He smiled at her, “Well Michelle I hope we do become good friends, oh and this is Hannah Abbot my other friend” He said as a blonde girl suddenly held out her hand for Michelle to shake, She gladly accepted. “Nice to meet you two, I hope we do become quite close friend,” Michelle said smiling brightly.

“Hufflepuff commons this way!” The prefect of the hufflepuff house yelled out.

“Why are we headed to the kitchen?” Michelle whispered to Cedric, “Our common room is just outside the kitchen… Did- Did you not read up on any of the houses before getting here” Cedric answered his head slightly ticked to the side halfway through the sentence, “I did, my ancestor is Helga Hufflepuff herself must I add, I just… forgot that our doors are the-” “barrels!” The prefect suddenly yelled, “Now to enter the common room for hufflepuff, we must tap on the barrel in a rhythmic pattern that sounds like Helga Hufflepuff, for example, Hel-Ga Huffle-Puff” The barrel suddenly opened revealing a very earthy and homey common-room, Plants splattered around the place. A warm feeling filled the room; it was a very humble common room. “Every few weeks or so the barrel will change, meaning you will have to knock on a different barrel, but the rhythm of Hel-Ga Huffle-Puff will not change, and I wouldn’t get the password wrong if I were you, doused and vinegar and denied access if you tap the lids incorrectly… so be careful. The boys’ dorms are through that door and the girls to the right door. Do keep in mind the Hufflepuff commons are one of the most secure common rooms in the whole school, not one person who isn’t hufflepuff has stepped foot in this room since built!” The prefect boasted, “Oh and for our taller first years, please watch your head at the doors… they are rather small, and well… circular”

Michelle made herself at home as she sat at the small couch facing the fireplace, a carpet with a Badger and the words “You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true, And unafraid of toil.” Michelle chuckled at the sweet motto, she assumed her ‘grandmother’ came up with. “Goodwind! You have to come and sort out your stuff.” A voice called to her, she looked back to see Hannah, she nodded and smiled getting up from her seat. Her feet scoured over the hard wooden floors and quickly into the round doorway that leads to the girls’ dorms. It was a tunnel and not a quite tall one either, it was no bigger than six feet most likely. The walls were adobe just like the common room, and once inside the girl’s dorm four beds were against the walls, small windows near the ceiling since after all, it was a basement.

The four beds had matching quilts, similar to the ones that had been in Michelle’s family for centuries. The room had a faint orange-yellow glow from the copper lamps that laid on each bedside table. Michelle’s hand gently went over the quilt, she missed home dearly but this was a new start for her.

Soon everything was unpacked and was just perfect… or as close to perfect it could get to. Michelle’s desk was neatly arranged, extra ink pots in the drawer, a blank sheet of paper ready for writing, her envelopes along with extra paper in other drawers, her books neatly stacked under her desk to save space, also on the floor was a small scratch post and cat bed for Fluffy.

“So what’s your first period” A voice rang behind Michelle, she turned around quickly and saw a strange girl, with short hair and bangs almost covering her eyes, “W-Who are you,” Michelle asked relieved it wasn’t some sort of ghost of Hogwarts spying on her.

“I am Fiadh Monagall, and you are Michelle Goodwind… correct?” Michelle slowly nodded towards Fiadh.

“Quite a name you’ve got is it spelled, F.E.E.D.A?” Michelle asked at the irregular name, “No silly, it’s F.I.A.D.H… Fia-dh, Jesus does no one here know how to spell I mean blimey it is a regular name where I’m from!” She exclaimed as she laid down on the bed near Michelle’s.

“Irish- I-I mean your Irish? The name origin if I’m correct is Irish, meaning untamed-” “Actually it means wild but you are correct” Michelle smiled at the girl, studying Ireland did pay off or so it seems.

“Wait how- how do you know my name?” Michelle questioned.

“Your brother, he is in my year… we’re not exactly on good terms but I heard him talking about his ‘Hufflepuff’ sister… it’s not hard to connect the dots you know, Goodwind and Goodwind… it’s no secret” She said shrugging. Michelle let out a little groan… people would think she was like her brother… which is something in Michelle did not look forward to.

“So tell me Goodwind, most siblings are in the same house… but it seems you two are polar opposites”

“How is that, polar opposites?” Michelle inquired.

“Your brother is the embodiment of slytherin, ambitious, cunning, and resourceful, and last but certainly not least… rude” Fiadh said crossing her arms when it came to rude, Which made Michelle ponder, how does this girl know so much about my brother?

“And you on the other hand… Organized, kind, obviously charismatic, attractive… diligent as well, so how come you two are so… far apart?” Fiadh asked.

“You’re acting like being those things is bad, you are as much of those things as I am,” Michelle said, causing Fiadh to chuckle.

“You are correct, it’s just… when I knew your brother- well- he would talk- he would talk about you like you we’re some movie star he had met, it was ‘Michelle this’ and ‘Michelle that’-”

“Are you jealous of me being Fraser’s sister? May I ask what your relationship with him even was?” Michelle asked, outraged by the girl’s immature behavior. Fiadh seemed to stumble with her words before saying, “Yes I was, was! I no longer am of course it just-”

“What was your relationship with him, Fiadh?” Michelle asked carrying out the what.

“We- We had a thing-” “A thing you were twelve, what thing could you possibly have at twelve?” Michelle asked dumbfounded by the girl’s etiquette.

“I know it wasn’t a thing but it was a crush, and he would just talk about back home, you, his mother, and never even gave me the time of day! Do you know how that feels”

Michelle sighed disappointed at the girl who she thought would have been more mature, “No I haven’t, because I can actually keep my hormones in check unlike you,” Michelle spat at Fiadh. She seemed taken back by what Michelle said, a sad look washed over her face.

“Your right, I’m too young to fall in ‘Love’” Fiadh said, Michelle noticed this mood change and suddenly felt guilty for how she talked to the older girl, “Fiadh look I’m sorry it’s just… to be honest… my brother is a complete and utter idiot so I can’t understand why you would even like him in the first place” Michelle sat next to the girl smiling causing Fiadh to chuckle slightly, “Yeah… your right” Fiadh and Michelle then started to giggle at the thought of Fraser since he truly was quite an idiot. After the giggling subsided they both went to their separate beds turning off the lights as sleep caught way to both of the Hufflepuff girls.

#draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco x female reader #hufflepuff #slytherin x hufflepuff #harry potter #hogwarts #cedric diggory #wizard #slytherin #female #female oc

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