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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Potions and Constellations // G.W.

Summary: The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

A/N: Professor George Weasley anyone?

Warnings: mentions of grief, missing someone, pining, mutual pining, post!war, fred is dead.

Word count: 4.8k

The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

The letter then remained on the kitchen table for a week, going unanswered as George battled with his head and his heart. Teaching was never a profession George had wanted to undertake, but Professor McGonagall sounded adamant in her letter that he would make a worthy addition to the staff at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The war between his head and heart raged on and on. On one hand, he wanted to take the job. George was desperate for a change of scenery. The sight of the shop, no matter how loved it was, had become stale without Fred’s presence. However, how could he leave the legacy of his twin brother? How could he walk away from the walls that screamed Fred’s influence?

The decision is made by Ron. He stops by George’s flat two weeks after the letter first showed up. As brothers are wont to do, he nosed through the papers on George’s kitchen table before his eyes fell on the letter from McGonagall.

After that, a long and winding conversation took place between the two brothers who had grown closer after suffering the loss of a sibling. Ron explained that he would look after the shop; that George could always come back in the school holidays and the odd weekend to check in. The shop wouldn’t be the same without him, Ron admitted, but he made sure to tell his older brother that he would live to regret not taking the opportunity McGonagall was offering.

So that was that.

George replied that very afternoon; accepting the job that would start that September and offering his apologies for how long it had taken to reply.

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Over the course of the last four years, Molly has cried exactly four times. In one year, she cried twice. Once out of fear for her husband’s life, and then again over the lifeless body of her darling boy.

After that, Molly very rarely cried, feeling as if there was nothing else that could draw out her tears. That is, until George turned up at the Burrow holding the letter written from the new Headmistress of Hogwarts; the very one offering him a teaching position.

She had cried out of joy and out of fear. She couldn’t help but be scared for her son; returning to where his twin brother died. It took a different sort of bravery to return to such a place, but for George, she would be brave.

George moved to Hogwarts in the last week of August, wanting to settle into his quarters before getting to know the students he would be teaching. All through it, he thinks of Fred, wondering and wondering whether his twin resides with the ghosts of the enchanted castle.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on the though, not wanting to be disappointed when the ghosts return to school when the students return. Instead, George focuses on getting his classroom ready. Being asked to teach Potions was no small feat, and whilst he had little to none teaching experience, he felt confident he could pull this off.

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

It had been an age since you had last clapped eyes on George Weasley. It was completely possible in that time that he had grown another foot, towering above the students. His robes were just as colourful as the last time you had seen him; the fabric settling around him comfortably as if he was made for a teaching role.

Everything about him has changed, yet he still remains the same. The corner of his eyes now have the beginnings of wrinkles lining their corners; they become more prominent as a large smile breaks across his face, his gaze solely directed on you as George shuffles through the throng of students, stopping in front of your seat at the staff table.

“It’s been…” He starts, a breathtaking smile taking over his face.

“Years,” You finish, cutting him off in one breath.

He smiles, and your heart starts to race uncontrollably. “How have you been?” He asks, voice genuine, eyes bright.

You fiddle with the sleeve of your dark blue robes, representing your house in the sorting ceremony. “I’ve been good,” You murmur, casting your gaze across the Great Hall, taking in the faces of the new students who you would be leading through their magical education. “How have you been, George? I know you’ve had a rough couple of years.”

George frowns, nodding, “It hasn’t been easy, but we all came together as a family and helped one another.”

Silence falls between you both; minds wandering back to that fateful night all those years ago when the school suffered the worst of crimes. So many lost in such a short amount of time; so many lost and the school was still feeling their absence. More ghosts wandered the halls of Hogwarts now, each one becoming a guiding light for the students who were fortunate enough not to know a magical society divided by blood status and family names.

“How long have you been teaching?” George queries, shifting the subject away from the grief that still ravages his soul.

“Since the end of the war. McGonagall offered me the position once Hogwarts had finished reconstruction,” You answer, thinking back to the mild summer day that McGonagall’s offer landed on your doorstep. It had taken you less than an hour to decide; half an hour to reply, and a week to pack up your belongings and move.

George blows out a long breath, nodding as he does so. “What do you teach?”

You laugh, quirking an eyebrow, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get to know me.”

George laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “That’s it – you’ve caught me red handed.”

You snort, rolling your eyes playfully at the man you haven’t seen in years. “I teach Astronomy,” You answer, gesturing to the silver moons and stars sewed into the hems of your robes.

“The only reason I remember those lessons was because of you,” George admits, briefly wondering whether he’s said too much in his first hour of seeing you again.

You duck your head, clearing your throat as you ignore the small voice in your head, reminding you of the teenage crush you had on the redhead all those years ago. Gesturing to the empty seat next to you, you offer George a seat, wanting to catch up more before the sorting ceremony begins and anxious First Years are settled into their houses.

George folds himself down in the seat next to you, immediately reaching for the pitcher of water, pouring a glass for you and him.

“George Weasley,” You tease, “You are a gentleman.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Molly Weasley’s education was more thorough than anything else I’ve experienced.”

You hold your glass up, toasting the matriarch who you remember with nothing but fondness. George copies your movements, feeling a pang of homesickness as he thinks of the woman who had dedicated her life to her children, and who had experienced the incomparable loss of a child.

Quiet conversation is made between you; earning far more glares than deserved from Professor Flitwick as George makes you laugh so loud; your snort of humour is heard across the Great Hall.

Soon after, McGonagall dismisses the students, wanting them to get an early night, ready for the first full day of lessons tomorrow. As the students file out of the Great Hall, the Professors follow behind, ready to catch any stragglers.

As you turn to the stairs, fingers curl around your wrist, keeping you in place. Wide-eyed, you meet the fierce gaze of George Weasley. “Will I see you again?” He asks; the words blurring into a mess as he rushes to get them out.

You smile softly, nodding your head, “I’m sure you remember the way to the Astronomy classroom.”

George’s answering smile takes your breath away. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand, breaking the connection between the two of you. Your whole body suddenly feels cold at the loss of contact, as if George’s touch set your whole being alight, bringing it back to life after so long lying dormant.

Turning from the redhead, you hurry away, your steps loud on the stone floor of the corridor. It’s a moment; that’s all – a simple moment, but you turn around, wanting one more look at him before you retire for the night and begin the new school year.

A moment: one moment to find that George is watching you go.

----------

The last time George Weasley had seen the Astronomy Tower there had been fire and screams raging all around him. It had been a shock to return to the school after such a long absence. He never thought he would return; not after leaving his education, and not after losing Fred in the manner he did.

George didn’t think he would ever come back, but on a Friday night, three weeks after lessons start, he finds himself climbing the tower’s steep stairs.

He doesn’t say anything when he lands on the top step; taking a moment to catch his breath and silently admire your form by the telescope. You stare into the instrument intently, your mouth partly hung open as if in constant awe of what the night sky can offer.

Clearing his throat, George announces his presence politely, not wanting to scare you by remaining in silence.

“I was wondering when you were going to come see me,” You tease, eyes bright with happiness at the sight of your unexpected visitor, “I was beginning to think I would have to journey all the way to the dungeons to find you and coax you out.”

Despite himself, a laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms against the cold that rages through the tower and leans against the wall. “I would have come earlier, but I didn’t realise how much work goes into teaching,” He states, gesturing with his head to the piles of paper littering the floor, close to flying away in the wind.

“That isn’t school work,” You clarify, steeling yourself to be made fun of, “That’s my own research.”

“Your own research?”

You nod, “I want to write a book eventually, but it’s also ideas for future lessons.”

George huffs out a breath, thoroughly impressed at your devotion to your subject. He steps further into the tower, “I don’t think I could imagine loving a subject so much.”

“I like the stars,” You offer as explanation, “Did you enjoy it at school?”

“I dropped it after Fifth Year,” George admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he refuses to meet your eyes.

You laugh, shrugging off your teaching robes and depositing them on a nearby chair. “I never thought you were inclined towards the subject, George, don’t worry,” You snigger.

He rolls his eyes, “So what do you teach to Seventh Years?”

You grin, beginning to gesture wildly as you explain your long term plan for Seventh Year witches and wizards. In their final year at Hogwarts, witches and wizards develop their knowledge from Sixth Year by studying further constellations such as Orion the Hunter and Cygnus. “I like to focus on the stories behind the constellations. We focus on one constellation a week, and I round off the week by telling the story of the constellation to the students,” You round off, feeling your face begin to heat as you realise how long you have rambled about the stars.

George doesn’t seem too bothered, however. Instead, he looks rather bewitched by the idea of it. At this point, he wishes he had paid more attention in this particular class. “What constellation did you look at this week?” He asks, unable to stop himself, wanting to hear you talk more about the subject you find yourself so in love with.

“Perseus and Andromeda,” You reply, automatically pointing to the night sky

“I don’t know that one,” George admits, eyes scanning the sky to find the stars that make up the named constellation.

“Would you like to hear their story?”

“You know it?” George ask, feeling immediately silly for asking such a question, worried that he might have insulted you.

You laugh lightly, your smile lighting up your whole face. “Just as well as you know your potions. Don’t think I don’t know you’re smart, Weasley,” You laugh again when George’s face descends into a blush, “You would have had to have been good at the subject to make your skiving sweets.”

“I like Potions,” He admits, knowing full well that three weeks into teaching Potions, he could see him doing this until retirement. “Will you tell me the story?” He asks, desperate to know the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

You gesture to the blankets you keep piled on the floor, wanting somewhere comfier to sit when your back begins to protest the chair at your desk. George all but throws himself on the blankets, eagerly awaiting your retelling of a story he wishes he heard long ago.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “Perseus was travelling back from killing Medusa when he found a princess chained to a rock in the ocean. For Perseus, it was love at first sight. He saw Andromeda and knew he was in love.

“Andromeda had been chained to the rock as punishment to Cassiopeia, her mother. Cassiopeia was so vain about her beauty, she claimed to be even more beautiful than the daughters of the God of the Sea, Poseidon.

“Poseidon, who was known for his short temper, reacted furiously. The God chained Andromeda to a rock in the sea and sent the sea monster, Cetus after her.

“Perseus was flying home on Pegasus, his winged horse when he came upon Andromeda just as she was about to be devoured. In a hurry, Perseus struck a deal with Cassiopeia and her husband, Cepheus. If Perseus saved Andromeda from Cetus, he would win the right to marry her.

“Unfortunately, the fates were not on their side. After Perseus slew the monster, he came to learn that Andromeda’s hand in marriage had already been promised to another man. Soon, the two men were locked in battle for the right to marry Andromeda. Perseus was initially outnumbered, but at the last moment, pulled out the head of Medusa and turned his opponent to stone.

“Perseus and Andromeda married soon after and lived to old age. When they died, the Gods placed them in the sky as a love story for the ages to come.”

“I think you’re incredible,” George breathes out when you finish the story, but he quickly backtracks when he realises exactly what has been said, “I mean… you’re incredible at your job. I remember you in class, and your love then shines through now.”

“Thank you,” You laugh, “Enough about me. I want to hear about you, George. Tell me about your joke shop in Diagon Alley.”

So he does. George regales to you tales of the shop; the customers he gets to meet. And the ones who have quickly become regulars. He tells you about Ron; how he stepped up after the war, choosing not to become an Auror and instead, help George run the shop. George admits his guilt over leaving Ron to run the shop alone, but he has utter blind faith in his younger brother and knows the shop will be fine.

He speaks of how odd it is to be back at Hogwarts without Fred; to be teaching Potions without Fred and living his life without his twin. The pain of Fred’s loss is still very much alive and evident in his voice as he falls into an inevitable silence, dragged into memories that pricked at his mind like thorns.

That evening, a friendship is forged between the two of you. Through your time at Hogwarts as a student, you had known of the Weasley Twins, and had spoken to both George and Fred on multiple occasions but had never found yourself being friends with them. Now, the beginning threads of a friendship have been weaved between you and George, and the both of you felt it was going to stick.

“Can I come back?” George asks out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence.

You jump at the sudden sound of his voice but recover quickly. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Professor Weasley,” You smile, a joking tone to your voice.

He parts with one last smile, leaving you at the top of the stairs to the tower, your mind in a muddle. It was going to be one interesting friendship, you thought to yourself, staring at the space George stood only moments ago.

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

Winter falls into Spring, giving way to new blossoms and a new leash of life – even the Whomping Willow is serene enough to bask in the early morning sun, not wanting to thrash about angrily.

A friendship with George forms quickly; the two of you becoming dependant on each other much faster than you cared to admit. Every Friday evening, George would climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower where you would both catch up on the week before he inevitably asks to be told a story from the stars.

Weeks passed where this was the routine. Sitting together at meals when your schedule allowed it; night classes meaning your sleep schedule was much different to other teachers. However, Friday evening would be dedicated for George.

Your feelings for George Weasley started slowly. It would be your heart beginning to race by being in his presence, a simple smile from him pulling you close to the edge. That was then followed by daydream after daydream; hopeless wonderings about the touch of his hands against your skin, and the feel of his mouth pressed against yours.

Countless times you had been pulled out of daydreams by students; each one of them knowing full well that the person on your mind had to be important to you to distract you from the stars and their stories.

They hit you full force when you interrupt his lesson on a Wednesday in February. Knocking gently on the classroom door, you had entered upon hearing George’s invitation.

His robe is discarded on his desk and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow as George gestures animatedly, lecturing about the properties of powdered root of Asphodel in the Draught of Living Death.

The sight of him teaching; commanding the classroom, demanding the attention of every soul in the room – it has your breath quickening and your heart pounding in your chest. He paces the front of the classroom, keeping the attention of all students as he explains what the tasks for today’s lesson. His eyes are bright with passion, and his smile is great as he urges his class to simply try their best – they do not need to get it right the first time.

Upon noticing you stood by an empty desk, George flashes you a wide smile before sending the class off to gather their ingredients and heat their cauldrons. “To what do I owe this visit?” George asks, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning back against the desk.

You swallow thickly, ridding yourself of all thoughts to do with George and the desk and the outfit he is currently wearing. Regaining your composure, you smile shakily at the redhead, “What? You can visit me, but I can’t visit you?”

George laughs, “Of course not. You’re always welcome. We’re brewing Draught of Living Death. I’m sure you remember that lesson with Snape.”

You snort, “How could I forget? He used my brew as the perfect example for how not to use a cauldron. If I recall correctly, he called it an abuse to perfect potion brewing equipment. I had detention for two weeks!”

“Well” George states, barely repressed amusement sounding in his voice, “I remember your brew. There were very few things that Snape had right, but that was one.”

For a moment, you think he’s serious, but his famous smile soon spreads across his face and you have to repress the urge to jinx him in front of students. “Professor Weasley!” You gasp, faking offence.

George rolls his eyes, “You know it’s true.”

You wait a second before bursting into quiet laughter, trying not to disturb the working students. “It is true,” You giggle, “I was awful at Potions, but your class looks to be in good hands.”

He smiles softly, “So what did I do to deserve a visit from my favourite professor?”

“I’m your favourite?” You ask, placing a hand on your chest, touched.

“Only if I’m your favourite.”

“Then you’re my favourite, Weasley.”

He smiles; the grin lighting up his face as he shuffles on his feet, wondering what to say next that won’t make him look like a fool in front of his students.

Sixth Year Potions watch the exchange; their brews long forgotten as they observe their two favourite professors clearly flirt in front of them. Eyes meet across the room, and all students have the same thought – how long would it be until they got their act together?

-----------

Months pass.

Months pass, and you do not confess to your feelings.

Months pass, and something changes between the two of you. The friendship develops, becoming deeper, meaning something more to the both of you. You’re teetering on the edge of a knife, hands gripped tightly in the others as you try to decide which side you’re going to fall over.

It’s as if the both of you know that over the course of your short friendship, friendship would never be enough. It was as if you were destined for each other; George feeling understood by you in a way he hadn’t felt since Fred died.

Feelings remain unsaid; yearning growing inside the both of you until you simply push that boundary of your friendship further, becoming more comfortable with each other. It was hard to remain quiet on the subject when you often caught George’s eyes on you, watching you with an expression on his face that you’re sure is mirrored on your own.

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“Are you sure you want to hear tonight’s story?” You ask, a light note of concern in your voice as you watch George’s face for any reaction.

“What do I have to be worried about?” He asks, face adorable scrunched up as he peers through your telescope.

“It’s the story of Castor and Pollux,” You murmur gently, reaching a hand out to brush against the back of George’s hand gently.

George freezes. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he knows those names. A brief memory washes over him; the astronomy tower, a flash of a Gryffindor tie and the sound of a laugh he hasn’t heard in nearing five years now.

“The Twins?” He whispers, voice hoarse as unexpected emotions wash over him. George turns to you, finding nothing but concern and worry alight in your eyes and written across your face. His heart doubles in size at the sight of it; your clear apprehension at telling this story for the fear of hurting his feelings only deepening his feelings for you.

You care, he realises. You truly care about him.

“George,” You whisper, “I don’t have to tell this story. I can tell you another one – the Seven Sisters, or Altair and Vega. The choice is yours.”

George shakes his head, stepping away from the telescope and settling down on the blankets that were spread across the floor. He had to hear this, he realised. He has worked and worked through his grief; he had spoken about it, he had ignored it, he had written about it. It hadn’t gone away; it had simply evolved into part of him – something he would carry around until his very last day on this planet.

No, he had to hear this. He had to hear whether there was another way his grief could be addressed. Meeting your gaze, George smiles reassuringly, holding out a hand for you in a gesture signalling for you to join him on the blankets.

“I want to hear it,” He asserts as you settle next to him.

“Are you sure?”

He nods once more, fidgeting on the blankets, getting comfy.

“The constellation Gemini is made up of two twins named Castor and Pollux. To this day, there is debate of their lineage. In some accounts, they are written as if divine, but in others, they are simply mortal men.

“Castor was born to the mortal king, Tyndarus while Pollux was born to the King of Gods, Zeus. Being identical twins, Castor and Pollux were inseparable. They were two halves of a whole. Castor was a great horseman; Pollux was a born warrior. So great in fact, that they travelled with Jason on the Argo and saved the ship from a terrible storm that would have killed them and the crew.”

You take a deep breath before plundering on with the story, “Castor was killed in battle. He wasn’t to survive; not being the mortal son of a mortal king. Pollux was devastated at the loss of his brother, his closest friend. He begged, pleaded with his own father, Zeus. Pollux asked the King of the Gods to bring Castor back, to bring him back to Pollux so they could have more time.

“Zeus agreed. He immortalised both Castor and Pollux in the stars, creating the constellation Gemini. To this day, the twins are still together – no longer separated by the veil of death.”

Neither of you speak as you finish your story. You refuse to utter a word, barely even breathing as you wait for George, all the while thinking that this was not the story to have told a man still grieving the loss of his twin brother. In this metaphor, George seems to be Pollux. Fred, the mortal Castor.

“He’s still with me,” George whispers into the night air, “I swear I sometimes feel him around me. It’s been years, but I swear I can hear him tell me to stop being a prat when I need to hear it.”

You smile softly, “He isn’t ever going to leave you. Those we love leave a mark on us that won’t ever fade; their love remains with us even when we think we don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you for telling me the story of Castor and Pollux,” George comments, reaching for your hand across the blankets and squeezes tight.

“You’re welcome.”

“I want to repay you,” George states, sitting up further.

“For what?” You ask, entirely puzzled.

“For Castor and Pollux, for Andromeda and Perseus, for Altair and Vega. For coming to my classroom and making me laugh,” He lists, counting off the reasons on his fingers, “For helping me with my grief when I didn’t know I needed help.”

“You don’t need to repay me,” You comment, “It’s what friends do.”

“I think we’re more than friends at this point, (Y/N),” George states bluntly, “Friends don’t spend their Friday nights regaling the stories of lovers in the past. They don’t tell each their darkest secrets and deepest worries like we do. Friends don’t make my heart race the way that you do.”

“I’d hope not,” You joke, “Otherwise Flitwick is going to get a shock when he’s told.”

“Let me take you to dinner,” George prompts, ignoring your attempt at humour, grasping to his straws of confidence before they fall through his fingers and he loses his chance.

“You want to be more than friends?” You ask, needing clarification before you answer.

“I want to be friends with you, but I want to be the one you wake up to, and I want to be the one you tell the stories of the stars to,” George admits; eyes shining with honesty, voice close to breaking with the sheer scale of emotions running through his body.

“I want to tell you the stories of the stars too,” You whisper, “So long as you teach me how to brew a decent potion.”

George throws his head back at your unexpected answer, laughing as he does so. “Let’s make a deal,” He begins, “Go to dinner with me, and tell me more stories of the stars, and I’ll teach you how to brew a potion.”

A slow smile spreads across your face as you start nod your head, wordlessly accepting his terms. George’s answering grin in breathtaking; relief flooding his body and affection for you rushing to his heart.

He thinks back to that second Tuesday in March when he initially read McGonagall’s job offer, and he wonders whether the last year of his life had always been written in the stars.

****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @awritingtree @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @himooonlight @missmulti

Weasley Twins taglist: @whizboingies @ickle-ronniekins @oh-for-merlins-sake @wand3ringr0s3 @seppys-return-to-madness @hexmione @susceptible-but-siriusexual @somekidinacoma

Specific fic taglist: @poppin-potter @letsgotothehop @magicalxdaydream @vogueweasley @darthwheezely @immobulusmalfoy @pxroxide-prinxcesss @georgeweasleyswhre @george-fabian-weasley @sarcasticallywitty15 @ziamisre4l @mitsukui @dumspirospero-1 @markjaestats @rocket-svt

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george x reader #george weasley imagines

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aching-tummies · 3 years

Note

(Not exactly sure if I'm really doing this right but here we go.) If I was your partner... I'd take you someplace nice and encourage you to eat whatever you want. After a large meal I'd be the one to drive home, as your complaining of an upset stomach. Wanting a reaction, I'd take you down the secluded, bumpy road to see what happens.

A/N: Thanks for the lovely ask! I kind of deviated a little, incorporating some of what's been going on in my life lately (new job, stresses causing me to skip meals, the craving for pasta, etc.) The beginnings of this do delve into spiraling about weight(loss) and body image stuff a little...so if that's a trigger for people then this is your warning.

It’s been more than two years since we indulged in dine-in service at a place with non-disposable cutlery. I’ve been craving pasta for even longer than that. Creamy, garlic-y, non-reheated pasta served on a plate and twirled around a metal fork.

We haven’t taken any opportunities to celebrate for the last two years. Birthdays, holidays, promotions at work or major advancements in our career adventures—we’ve barely done anything more than acknowledge them as we both go to pick up extra shifts wherever it is that we have been working. Honestly, we’ve seen so little of each other that it wouldn’t surprise either of us if the other snuck in a job-change in the last two years. That all changes tonight.

A nearby pasta place is offering dine-in service. We booked a reservation for tonight—all you have to do is pick me up from work and we can head on over.

I’m the one that managed to sneak in a job-change in the craziness. Fast-food to office intern. I’m barely handling things. I’ve been beyond exhausted because the change happened suddenly. The office place demanded that I start with them on a whim (despite my only condition on hiring being the time to give my fast-food job the proper two week notice). Due to their abrupt “start now or we will move ahead with other candidates” ultimatum, I’ve been pulling 44+ hour weeks juggling two jobs located on opposite ends of the city.

Tonight is a celebration. Dine-in service by itself is already something to celebrate in my books, but you’re insisting that tonight is for me because I finally finished my dues to the fast-food place. The hellish four weeks of juggling is over. No more calls at midnight from me begging you to pick me up from some random quadrant of the city because I nodded off on the last bus home. No more days where I make it home from my office job only to get an urgent call from the fast-food place begging/demanding that I show up because someone cut work. No more packed weeks with no days off or time to even pack myself lunch. Hopefully no more nights where you have to peel me off of the floor because making it home was all I managed before passing out from exhaustion.

I’ve got an hour before you’re set to come pick me up from my office job. I can’t help but smile as I count down the minutes while working on editing some funding proposal that was shoved at me a couple of minutes ago.

My stomach grumbles at me and I clam up. I blush as I look around to ensure nobody heard it. The office is basically empty. All the other staff seem to have gone off to lunch. That’s something I’m going to have to get used to: the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a set schedule here…people head out to lunch whenever. As a petrified newbie, I haven’t had the guts to just take off whenever. The number of shifts where I’ve stayed here for a full eight hours and then navigated an hour and a half of transit transfers only to come home ravenous is pretty high.

Welp, if a stomach growls and nobody is here to hear it then I guess it doesn’t make a sound. I’ve got an hour left before you come to pick me up and we’re basically just two hours away from satisfying my years long pasta craving. Going out to hunt for food now would only spoil my appetite.

“I AM HERE!”

I giggle at the reference and accompanying gif you’ve sent to announce your arrival. I pack up my area and get up, saying ‘bye’ to Jerry on my way out. The second I walk out that door will mark the start of my days off for the week, something I haven’t had in over a month.

“Hi, sweetie!” I chirp as I open the passenger door and bend over to set down my bag.

As I settle in, folding myself into the car, the movements dislodge a deep rumble from my tummy. I freeze, arm still reaching out to close the door. You snicker at me with your left arm perched on your open window, fingers close to your face and highlighting that charming grin of yours that I love so much.

“Oi, close the door and we can get going.”

I do just that. With the door closed, you carefully back out of the parking space and off we go. We don’t get very far. Ah, the joys of rush hour. No use honking, Karen, you’re not ‘stuck in traffic’—you are traffic and there’s no manager for you to speak to here, moron!

I adjust my seat a little, leaning back and allowing myself to relax. I’ve done it. Tomorrow is a day off. And so is the next day. My first true weekend in over three years and my first days off in over three weeks. I can feel the tension ebbing out of me. My shoulders untense, leaving behind a distinct soreness.

My shoulders aren’t the only thing to stop tensing. Apparently, my abdominals decided to join in as well.

Grrr…RRRR…blr.br…rrr.

I blush and sit up, arms wrapping around my stomach as it continues to snarl at me. The growls come with the sharp pains of hunger pangs and I wince, hugging my tummy and pressing my arms against the pain. The grumbles are quickly drowned out by your laughter.

“Man, no wonder you say your coworkers don’t talk to you here. If I heard that coming from a newbie I’d be scared of ‘em too.”

“S-Shut up!” I don’t want to admit that my tummy has been growling very loudly at the office. I’ve skipped more lunches than I’ve eaten in my time here. I lean back in the seat again, arms crossed over my chest as I look away from you, pouting. I’m hungry enough that my stomach really hurts, I’m a panicking newbie at work that doesn’t know the ropes or what’s expected of them, and here you are teasing me.

Your right hand reaches over but instead of stopping on the shift stick it continues further until your palm finds my stomach. The gentle pressure and the warmth of your palm nudging right over where my stomach joins my intestines aids in the relaxation of my tensed muscles and brings forth another loud grumble from my guts. You move your hand slightly, patting and rubbing my flat tummy absentmindedly as you keep the rest of you focused on traffic.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Y-Yeah…” I don’t want to admit that I’m happy about it. My waistband was loose enough to fall to my thighs before I put my belt on this morning. I love it but you and I both know weight and eating are sore subjects for me. I bite my tongue to keep from asking whether or not you think the weight loss is a good thing or not. Your tone was flat—it was an observation. The fact that I’ve been too busy and stressed out to have time to eat (or digest properly when I do) has led to the rapid shedding of pounds. Not just in the last three or four weeks, but for a long time yet. The reasons for the weight loss aren’t good…but I really do like the results, so I don’t want to hear it from you…good or bad…I don’t want to hear it. Thankfully, you don’t push the issue. Traffic picks up and you remove your hand from my stomach and put it back on the wheel.

My stomach continues to gripe and snarl as we make our way through the city at a crawl. I no longer have work to distract me and your impromptu massage has definitely woken the beast in my guts. ‘Starving’ doesn’t even begin to cover how my stomach feels. I’m starting to feel the other effects of the lack of food too. Light-headedness, feeling cold, and a limpness in my limbs. I want to press my arms into my stomach to quell some of the ache and the noises but I just can’t seem to summon the strength to put enough pressure on it. I wish you had kept your hand on my tummy. As much as your touch intensified the hunger, the pressure of your hand on my stomach was kind of comforting. Ugh…this is all wrong. We’ve been together long enough to know that both of us are into tummy stuff. Any other opportunity we’d be all over each other right now. Your mention of the weight I’ve lost and the silence that has followed since is filling me with anxiety. Under normal circumstances you’d have parked the car somewhere to tease my hungry tummy into oblivion. The fact that we’re currently driving in silence when there’s a golden kink opportunity in the palm of our hands is worrisome to me. Suddenly I don’t feel so good about the weight I’ve lost. I like it. It made me look totally bomb in my new office clothes. Buttons don’t strain even when I bend over or stretch. I spend the rest of the car ride lost in my anxieties. I’m not at an unhealthy weight. Sure, losing it is a testament of the stress I’ve been under lately…but it’s not like I’ve been intentionally skipping meals or fixating on some unachievable body image or something. This isn’t about the weight or anything, it was just a happy consequence of the hectic times I’ve gone through.

We arrive at the restaurant and you get out, expecting me to follow. I’ve managed to work myself into a ball of anxiety in the passenger seat and I don’t move. You pause on the sidewalk when you see me still strapped inside the car. You walk over and open the passenger door.

“Babe?” You see me petrified and chewing on my lip—a tell-tale sign I’m fighting some internal battle. “What’s wrong?” You cup my cheek with your hand, thumb going to pull my lower lip away from my teeth.

“Huh? Wha?” My gaze sharpens as I’m brought back to reality. I didn’t even realize we’ve arrived.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Uhm…w-well…y-you said…n-nevermind.” I unbuckle the seatbelt and step out of the car. You frown as you think back on what I meant about you having said something.

“Oh, about the weight loss?” I freeze. Bingo. “Babe—I didn’t mean anything by it, honest. Just an observation.” You scratch at the back of your head. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and gosh knows neither of us has had time to cook or pack lunches. I was just thinking that maybe we should work on that together. Going hungry so often sounds like a dream, kink-wise…but neither of us has had time for that lately. I was going to suggest creating a mealplan or something together, maybe bringing out the slow cooker and freezing some stuff so that we can just grab and go for work going forward.” I stumble over and rest my head on your shoulder, giving a slight nod.

I’m overwhelmed. One thing you said sent me spiraling and you just pulled me out of it.

“Ugh…don’t do that again.”

You smirk. “I won’t. Rather than think yourself into a hole over that, you should really think about what it is you want to eat. We’re ordering off the full menu tonight.”

My eyes widen. The full menu has more selection but it’s way more expensive. Every time we’ve come here in the past, we have always ordered off the specials menu—the discounted, half-size portions that they offer. You smile seeing my stunned reaction.

“Birthdays, holidays—and Sweets, you got a job! You got a job where you don’t have to deal with the dreaded ‘customer’. I’m proud of you, Sweets. This…this is supposed to be a celebration…right? For all the celebrating we haven’t been able to do in…damn, how long has it been—” Your rambling is cut off when I seal your lips with mine. I step back with a grin, watching the dumbfounded, wide-eyed expression pass over to you ‘cuz I’m usually the no-kissy-touchy type.

“Chicken parm with garlic, angel-hair pasta in cream sauce.” I know exactly what I want to order. I’ve known it for over two years. That dish has been taunting me in my dreams for over two years. When I chew on my pillow in my sleep ‘cuz I skipped dinner in lieu of sleep I’m dreaming about that dish. The last time I had it from here was with my parents—long before I met you—for a birthday when I was still in grade school. My stomach growls, punctuating my declaration. The sound shocks you out of your reverie and you slide an arm around my waist, resting your palm against my stomach as you feel all the empty rumbles reverberating beneath your palm.

“Alright. Guess we better walk in before they give away our table…or before you decide it’s quicker just to eat me here in the parking lot.”

Ugh…how am I already full? There’s still so much food on the plate. So, so much. Urrgh…

My stomach silently gripes at me. A sickly, sticky feeling is blooming in my guts. I’m sated but there is still far too much food on my plate. The full menu is more expensive, but they fill the plate up more and often use bigger plates. I’ve forgotten just how big, and my tummy is suffering. Two years is a long time to go without something and I’ve gone without fulfilling my craving for pasta in cream sauce for over two years, maybe even three. That’s a long time…long enough for my stomach to forget how to handle cream sauce, apparently.

I’ve only swallowed about a fifth of my plate and my stomach already feels heavy. The warm bread to start and the bites of chicken parmesan cutlet went down alright. They lined my stomach comfortably and my digestive tract knew exactly how to handle them. The first couple of bites of pasta were cushioned by the bread and chicken. When that lining dissolved away and more of the pasta came into contact with my gastric juices, I realized there was a problem.

My stomach pounced on the bites of bread and the water and cola I chased it down with. I could practically feel my duodenum yawning wide to suck in the masticated bread, my intestines just as hungry for it as I have been all day. When it had to contend with the cream sauce things started to slow down. I can feel a backlog of stuff sitting in my stomach, refusing to be broken down further into a form that will comfortably move onto my intestines. I’m chewing a lot more, my mouth creating more saliva. I feel sick. My stomach doesn’t hurt, yet, but it’s definitely going to as it fights with the creamy, oily pasta.

“Ooh…they’ve got tiramisu here.” You’re eyeing the dessert menu. “It’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah…but it’s expensive and this is a lotta food.”

“We’re supposed to be celebrating, Sweets. We’ll take whatever you don’t finish to-go. Leftovers are a Godsend, remember? C’mon, let’s live a little.”

I feel a weight settle in my stomach as you flag down a passing wait-staff and order a tiramisu. To share, thank God. My stomach churns in vain, serving only to churn up the mess of creamy pasta and chicken without moving it along further in the digestive process. The sphincter to my duodenum is squeezed tight, refusing passage to the foreign cream and oil mix that it doesn’t seem to recognize.

I managed to finish just under half of my plate before the dessert arrived. I decided to throw in the towel and asked for the rest to be packed up to-go. I put on a smile as we share the dessert and hope it’s not as shaky as my guts feel. The dessert is delicious. Rich, flavorful, and perfect. If only I didn’t have to feel it sickeningly sliding down my esophagus, plopping down heavily into a stomach crammed much too full with indigestible pasta. As my stomach clenches and churns things around the creamy tiramisu is going to get incorporated with the rest of the mess. It’s going to make it thicker and creamier…as if it wasn’t already too thick and too creamy for my duodenum to open up and allow it to wreak havoc in my intestines. As sick as my overstuffed stomach feels, I am a little grateful that my duodenum is being a stubborn prick.

If the creamy mess had passed into my intestines, I’d be doubled over in the bathroom right now, rubbing futilely at my revolting intestines. I know what dairy does to my guts. It doesn’t usually happen, just when I’m stressed or it’s close to that time of the month. It’s nasty and it hurts bad enough that I honestly think hell is enduring those cramping intestines for eternity.

We finish the tiramisu. You offer me the lion’s share, but I refuse and push it back to you with a mention on my stomach being really full. I bring my hands to my stomach and I catch the way your eyes smolder at the sight. Good. Yes. Get us home quickly, darling.

You pay for the meal, and we are off. I clutch my tummy behind my bag as we walk out to the car. Every step sends aftershocks into my guts and it’s really upsetting things in my stomach.

As I settle in the passenger seat, I notice the buttons on my blouse are a little bit strained around my stomach. Horror sets in and I quickly fumble to get the buttons undone. I don’t want to ruin my shirt and the sight of the straining buttons triggers something nasty in my mind. I calm down a little once the buttons are undone and I rub my tummy under the cover of my bag, palms running up and down the dark undershirt that is draped snugly over my full belly.

“It’s still early. Want to really paint the town red and see if we can catch a movie somewhere?”

I swallow back a sickly belch to answer your question, my questing hands churning up the mess in my guts and dislodging air pockets.

“Umph…n-no…let’s go home.”

“Sweets, you okay?” Your voice is laced with concern. Surely you can hear the sickly squelching from my guts. Do I have to spell it out for you?

“Hmm? No,” I blush as I fidget and grapple with whether or not to come clean. I’m shy about this kind of stuff—you’re my partner though and have been for a long time—we’re both into tummy stuff—we haven’t done anything on this front in a very long time. Making my decision, I move my back over to the floor, resting it against my shins and I lean back, allowing you full view of my distended tummy with my blouse undone. “I just…uhm…m-my tummy’s kinda…upset…I just really want to get home.” My stomach burbles sickly throughout our conversation. I have both my hands on the rounded curve of it, rubbing at tender spots with my thumbs.

Your eyes widen at the sight of my belly rounding out my undershirt. You start the car and pull out of our stall. Instead of righting the car onto the road you keep backing into a more secluded spot on the far end of the lot. This one is obscured by an overgrown bush or tree on the passenger side.

I haven’t even bothered with getting my seatbelt on. I was too caught up in my indigestion to think of it despite it normally being a habit. To be fair, I don’t think the seatbelt is a good idea with my tummy so bloated and sore.

“What are you—”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn in your seat, giving me your full attention. My seat is still reclined a little further than normal from the drive over. Gently, you put a hand on my shoulder, indicating for me not to sit up. Your eyes briefly meet mine and convey your plan before they go back to fixating on my belly.

I relax my arms, letting them rest at my sides as you slide a hand over the crest of my bloated gut. I bite back a groan as the slight pressure of your hand increases the pressure in my intestines. My stomach is packed full with an indigestible mass of creamy pasta. My duodenum is not allowing any of that entry into my intestines so they sit, bloated with air. The ingredients for a very upset tummy are inside of me…they just need a bit of a push to act as a catalyst.

The push comes in the form of a literal push as you place both hands, one on each side of my tummy, and squeeze. I bite back a mewl of pain until the pressure relents and you are sliding your hands all over my taut tummy.

“Oh my…you really are full.”

“Ugh…haven’t…haven’t eaten so much in a long time.” I groan as your hands churn up the mess in my guts. You know what you’re doing. You felt the firmness in my upper left and you know that everything is sitting heavy in my stomach. You focus your massage on my left, on the area where my duodenum is. You rub and nudge and coax at the area, intent on getting the sphincters to unclench and allow my meal to continue to digest.

“Oh…ah!” I can’t help but cry out a little as I feel my duodenum flood with the lumpy mess. A rumbling, wet burble indicates when the sphincter finally gives up and allows the mess in my stomach passage. My stomach acid wasn’t enough to break down the creamy, oily pasta so it’s entering my intestines relatively undigested.

After ten minutes of you massaging my belly, (in)digestion is in full swing. My intestines are filling up with the ache-inducing mass and the straining pressure that started in my stomach has now spread all over my abdomen. You reach over and pull down my seat belt, buckling it before reaching over to get my seat back into an upright position. My stomach cramps sharply with the change in orientation and my mewl of pain is cut off by a harsh belch. You pat my tummy almost teasingly as you right yourself in your seat and start the car.

I don’t bother to keep track of where we are heading. You could be taking me to the movies, intent on letting my indigestion stew for a couple of hours, or you could be driving us home. I don’t care. I can’t care because every ounce of me is focused on the sharp pains exploding all over my guts as the car hits every bump in the road. Damned city not bothering to spend money to fix the thousands of pot-holes in our roads. My stomach is just as vocal as I am about the indigestion.

You brake sharply, causing the seatbelt to dig into my tummy and tear a sharp gasp of pain from me. I see the road ahead of us…it’s not a road at all but literally the worst road in our city. This stretch of road is famous even outside of our city for just how bumpy and nasty it is. People scrape the undercarriage of their cars if they aren’t careful in avoiding the potholes that litter this thing like craters on the moon. People have lost pieces of their cars and done massive damage to their vehicles by driving down this road. People around here know to avoid this road. The alternative is a ten minute detour to take the safer, newer road and everyone agrees that ten minutes more is better than damaging their car on this road so it is always empty.

“Darling, no—”

You floor it, going down the secluded road at a high speed. We hit every bump and hole in the thing (that won’t damage the car)…you used to come down this thing often and you’re a master at navigating it to avoid damage to the vehicle. Damage to my tummy, on the other hand.

My stomach gives off aborted grumbles and gripes, each one interrupted as we hit another bump in the road. My tummy sloshes and churns. Digestion had stalled without your hands pushing everything along, but this new form of “massage” in the form of a very bumpy ride is kick starting things all over again…in the wrong direction. Stuff swirls inside of my stomach and I swear that it’s filling up rather than emptying. The pressure is building in my stomach. I’d like to believe it’s the air from my intestines, but I’m sure we managed to get most of that out with your massage in the parking lot.

"Ugh…ouch…ah—ow! Ungh…my tummy…urp…my tummy…ulp…” I can’t help it. Belches and protests roll through my throat, unchecked. It’s better than the alternative of something solid, I guess. The road has increased the upset tenfold as I clutch my stomach in both hands. The road has dialed the cramping pains up to eleven and many more aches and tender spots have erupted thanks to the bumpy ride. We’re about halfway through the road when I feel something solid tickling at my esophagus.

“Ugh—Babe—STOP!” I reach up and slap a hand over my mouth, fearing that we’re about to see my dinner come back out.

You slam on the brakes and the pressure from the seatbelt is what does it. My mouth fills with the sour mess of barely-digested pasta.

“Ugh…urk…” I swallow back the bile. It’s nasty, but there’s no receptacle and I don’t want to stink up the car. Luckily, this wasn’t a true vomiting session triggered internally—it was basically regurgitation brought on by external factors—like the seatbelt putting too much pressure on my over-packed tummy. My stomach snarls violently at the return of the sickly concoction.

You watch my struggle, fascinated. Reaching over, you put a hand on my palm, a hand that is quickly slapped away as I give you the fiercest glare I can muster.

“None of that until you get me home, darling.”

You grin, exaggerating taking your foot off of the brake pedal. I realize my poor phrasing a moment too late.

“As you command, Sweets.”

“Darling, no—”

#AT Asks #indigestion #tummy kink #tummy ache

54 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 5 years

Text

chiaroscuro

chiaroscuro part one: y/n needed a job, but this place is strange and the owner is even stranger

wordcount: 10.5k+

—————

(Y/N) was broke. Like, really fucking broke.

Rationally, she knew that life as a fresh college graduate wasn't going to immediately fall into place, but she thought—maybe—the new credentials might actually help. But she's three months out, and no one has bothered to even give her a call back about any applications she's sent out and she's so broke. Just to add to the stress, her roommate—Charlotte—had broke the news to her the other day that she was planning on moving in with her boyfriend. (Y/N) could barely afford the apartment with the double income, but she knew she definitely couldn't afford it now. She does admit it was kind of dumb to have prematurely quit her job the weekend after graduation, but she was so excited to start her life, really start it. Now, with less than a hundred dollars in her bank account, a flat she was fully responsible for, and no job offers, she's panicking. She spent all her time on indeed and other sites trying to find any kind of listing she qualified for and applying to anything she might even have the slightest shot at.

It wasn't until her fifth day in a row looking nonstop, during the late night hours (early morning at this point) did she find a listing that she actually got excited for. It definitely wasn't her field, but the benefits were everything she was looking for. The listing called for a "Housekeeper/Sitter For Sprawling Manor". It seemed easy enough, with pretty good pay for the work, and it was a live-in position so she wouldn't have to worry about rent. The owner of the manor was rarely ever home, as the listing quoted, so it would be like being paid to live alone. It also helped that whoever wrote the listing seemed to have high energy, an affinity towards exclamation points, and pointed out more than once that no experience was needed just "enthusiasm and the willingness to learn!!"

Googling the manor—Styles Manor—brought up artistic shots of a truly sprawling mansion. The building separated into two wings, converging in the center with a rounded bulb making the roof. It was beautiful, and definitely not the kind of Gothic, decrepit castle she was expecting when reading through of the owner's "eccentric taste" in decor. With no hesitation, she filled out the automated application and attached her resume before pressing submit. She sent out all the good vibes and prayers and anything that could possibly manifest for her to get this job. Then, she proceeded to fall asleep in the blink of an eye.

She didn't even realize how long her "nap" was until she woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon from the buzzing of her phone. She didn't bother to look at the caller ID, tapping the green button and rolling over before pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said groggily into the receiver. She fought to keep her eyes open as they kept sliding shut from exhaustion.

"Hi! Is this (Y/N)?" an excited Irish accent sounded through the phone, "My name is Niall from Styles Manor."

Shit.

She bolted upright, now fully awake. "Oh, hi! Yes it is! Uh—Thank you so much for getting back to me so soon!"

"Of course." She could hear his smile through the speaker, infecting her as giddy nerves passed through her body. "I saw your application this morning, and I was wondering if you could come in for an interview tomorrow?"

"Yes! I mean of course, what time were you thinking?" She basically bounced off the bed, pacing her room to let out the energy in her body.

They ironed out the rest of the details, (Y/N) agreeing to any of his suggestions. Once bidding their goodbyes, (Y/N) can't help but prance around her apartment. Finally—finally—someone got back to her, and it wasn't a degrading, minimum wage, retail job! Niall sounded so nice, she couldn't imagine any problems she could have working for him. She sent out the same good vibes and prayers as she had before (they seemed quite effective at this point), then proceeded to stress about what to wear tomorrow.

Not only did she need this job, she actually wanted it. She had a really good feeling about this one.

—————

It was 11:23–seven minutes early—when (Y/N) pulled into the long, gravel driveway of the manor. She had texted Charlotte all about the opportunity the day before, quickly snapping a photo of the building and sending it to her before collecting her things. She took three deep breaths, centering herself before she exited her car. She stepped up the bundle of steps leading to the door, feeling incredibly small as she stood in front of the mansion.

She knew it was large, but seeing it in person was a whole other beast. The house felt like it's own entity almost; no wonder the pay was so good, it'd take a week to clean the whole place only to have to start over again on Monday. Just as she raised her hand to knock on the elaborately carved double doors, they swung open. A man with bright blue eyes, dark brunette hair, and a bright smile greeted her in the threshold of the door.

"Hi, I'm Niall!" he introduced, sticking his hand out for her to shake, "You're (Y/N) I'm assuming?"

"Yes, I am," she continued, gently bouncing their hands between them. "It's nice to meet you."

Niall reciprocated the gesture before ushering her inside. "Let's go to the study. We'll do the interview there, yeah?"

She agreed with a nod of her head, following him inside as he closed the heavy door behind her. He started walking through the foyer, leading her to the study. (Y/N) followed behind, her eyes trained on the decor and overall intricacy of the furnishings. While the outside seemed more like a lavish, English mansion on the countryside, the inside spoke a story similar of that to the Palace Of Versailles. The color palette widely utilized whites and golds, detailed frescos stretched across the ceilings, and carved frames held just as elaborate paintings on the walls. It all screamed excess.

Niall slowed in front of her, stopping by a set of double doors similar to the carved ones that welcomes her in. He flashed her another bright smile as he turned to speak to her, "What do you think? It's pretty intense, huh?"

Once he had the door open, he stepped aside, gesturing for (Y/N) to go ahead first. The walls were piled high with shelves upon shelves of books, all the bindings seemed to be faded, having been cracked open hundreds of times and showing the wear and tear. The flooring matched that of the rest of the home, marble beneath her feet with dark oak cases holding the books.

"I wouldn't say intense," she started, "Definitely nothing I've ever seen in real life before, but it's like something out of a storybook. It doesn't belong in this century."

Niall let out a small laugh at her words, leading her to a large desk sitting in front of a sprawling warped glass window. "You could say that," he joked, a smile on his face like he knew something she didn't. He pulled out the seat in front of the desk, gesturing for (Y/N) to take a seat before moving around to the other side and claiming his own chair.

"So, tell me about yourself."

The rest of the interview proceeded as if she wasn't sitting in what she was sure was a multimillion dollar mansion. He asked the handful of basic questions she'd heard at other interviews previously, seeming to be pleased with each of her answers if his kind smile was anything to go by.

"How do you feel about living here alone? It's really an independent job, so we would trust that you would actually do the work and earn your keep," he asked, branching off into more specific questions.

"Yeah, of course! It'd be like taking care of your own home, I'd think. Obviously, if you had any preferences about how the manor is kept, I'd stick to those rules and anything else you'd like," she explained with a smile. Hopefully, that was the right way to answer; she just wanted Niall to like her.

"Oh no, I'm not the owner. This is actually my friend Harry's home. He's away at the moment, and trusted me to find his housekeeper."

"Oh," she exhaled, slightly embarrassed at her lack of awareness, "Sorry, I had no idea! If I were to get the job, would I meet Harry—er—Mr. Styles? I know the listing said he's not here often."

"It's okay, I should have let you know," Niall started, his smile never faltering. "You would at some point, but he's not due back for another month or so. When he is back in town, though, he usually prefers his housekeepers to be out, or find somewhere to stay for that time frame. He enjoys being alone."

Niall rolled his eyes at the end of his statement, clearly unapproving of his friend's preferences. (Y/N) couldn't help but be a little surprised at that. Especially with a home this extravagant, wouldn't the owner want to know who's looking after everything? Even with her small apartment, she wouldn't hand it over to just anyone a friend picked. It's just a little odd, she thinks.

"I'd give you a notice of when he's coming, so you'd have time to make arrangements if need be," Niall continued. (Y/N) nodded her head, ready to ask another question about this Harry, before Niall hurriedly checked the time on his watch before running a hand through his hair. "I actually have another meeting in a half hour, so I'll give you a call later today to tell you your start date and everything else you'll need to know. Is that okay?"

He was already collecting himself, stepping away from the desk and towards the doors they entered through not even a thirty minutes before. (Y/N) stumbled behind him, taken aback by the implication of his words.

"I got the job!?" She gasped, a large smile stretching across her features. Her hands worried the strap of her bag. She couldn't believe all it took was applying to this one job, for her search to be over in less than twenty-four hours.

"Yeah, I get the feeling you'd be good for this place." He gestured her ahead of him, opening the carved door for her. (Y/N) bounced through the threshold, giddy over his words.

"Thank you, so much! I won't let you down, I'm so excited to start. Please let Mr. Styles know that I really appreciate this opportunity, and it means a lot," she gushed, following him out to the foyer they started in.

"Of course, of course," he prattled, checking something on his phone. "Go on home and start packing, I'll call you soon."

He ushered her out with the same bright smile on his face. She called out one more declaration of her appreciation over her shoulder before she felt her bicep bump against something. It was firm and unmoving against the force, causing (Y/N) to stumble back a step. When she looked, she had bumped into the arm of a tall, lean man with shoulder length hair. His face was stoic not giving away any of his emotions. He was dressed immaculately, like he fit in with the rich surroundings of the mansion. But the thing that struck (Y/N) the most was the pale grey, almost white irises of his eyes. Next to him was a dark-haired woman with a much gentler expression, but the same dove grey eyes.

She tried her hardest to hide her shock at his appearance, keeping her face as neutral as possible. "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," she apologized, shooting him a quick, forced smile before hurrying towards her car. As she climbed in, she could hear Niall greet the pair, inviting them in. When she looked back, she didn't see Niall's previously bright blue eyes. His irises were replaced with the matching dull grey of his companions. His smile faltered when he saw her looking at him, the sea glass blue of his eyes returning in a blink as he waved her off.

Even after he closed the door behind him, (Y/N) couldn't help but sit in her parked car for a beat longer. She didn't like to judge anyone, but... that was fucking weird.

—————

Only hours after the interview was rushed to an end, Niall called (Y/N) asking her to start the following Monday. She felt a shot of excitement run through her after the call.

Finally—finally—she had something to look forward to. And it was an actually good job. On the phone, Niall had ran through all of the benefits again, her starting pay, and what to expect, and she just couldn't believe her luck. It was almost too good to be true; there had to be something wrong. Nothing's that perfect without a catch.

She and Charlotte spent their last day in the apartment together packing up all of their things. They had moved their shared furniture into storage, some going up for sale on different sites while others were to be kept until one of them had the space for it. The last portion of the day was spent saying a tearful goodbye to the apartment that got them through their university years, and to each other. They parted ways with a promise to see each other often, and to text each other at least once a day. (Y/N) really would miss Charlotte, but she couldn't wait to get started on this new chapter.

The next morning, the Monday she was set to start her new job, (Y/N) woke up early with a bounce in her step like a kid the morning of a fieldtrip. Once she arrived at the manor, Niall met her outside. His bright blue eyes (she had convinced herself that it had just been a trick of the light that made his irises look funny the week before) and familiar smile greeted her as she exited her car.

"Morning!" Niall called, bouncing down the steps at the base of the manor, "I wanted to help you move in if that's okay?"

(Y/N) eagerly nodded, popping her trunk where all her clothing and other keepsakes were bundled. She and Niall made small talk as they brought her few bags in, handled in one trip. He led her down the decadent hallways, and up a flight of curving stairs before stopping in front of a door. He twisted the gold doorknob, pushing the door open wide with a flourish as if presenting the space to her. She took a step inside, immediately in awe of the surroundings that now made up her home.

The room was topped with high, over-arching ceilings, decorated in a fresco of a heaven-like scene. The rest of the room was coordinated in a palette of whites and golds with accents of an earthy green. A large, four-poster canopy bed sat as the centerpiece of the room; white and gold bedding, green throw pillows adding color to the lavish bed. The posters of the bed boasted carvings of angels and vines winding up the dark wood, converging to a trellis like grid above the mattress where a breezy white curtain veiled the bed. An ornate, marble-topped vanity sat by a large window, the mirror framed in a gold plated ribbon as if it really were a portal to another dimension. A large wardrobe filled a space right next to the door to which she assumed the bathroom was. It was a room fit for a princess; something she remembers dreaming of when she small.

"Do you like it?" Niall interrupted her fawning of the room. He placed her bags next to the door before leaning against the frame with a smug smile on his face.

"Its—It's beautiful," she breathed. "I know I've said this before, but please, please tell Mr. Styles that it means so much that he's allowing me to stay here, and just, this opportunity means so much to me. Thank you too, for picking me for the position."

"Of course; I told you I think you'll be good for this place, so you don't need to thank me," he beamed. He checked something on his phone before typing out a quick reply and looking back to (Y/N). "I've got some things to do today, so I'll let you get settled in. You've not got to start working or anything today, just take today to get familiar with the house."

(Y/N) stepped forward, an appreciative smile on her face still. "Thank you anyway," she said, her fingers playing with one another, "It means a lot."

Niall shot her a smile before saying his goodbyes and leaving down the hall. She spun around, looking at all of the intricacies that surrounded her in her new home. She sighed and fell backwards atop her plush bed.

She could get used to this.

—————

It only took (Y/N) a few hours to put all of her things away. Her clothing hung up in the wardrobe, the rest folded in the chest of drawers at the foot of her bed. Her toiletries found a home in the equally as lavish bathroom, with her vanity table now decorated in her beauty products and skincare. She littered her keepsakes around the room; framed photos of herself with family and friends propped up on the side tables, sentimental ticket stubs bundled together on her vanity, and a soft, pink cat shaped pillow on the center of the bed. Aside from all of the foreign furnishings, the room was beginning to feel like home to her.

With her headphones in, listening to her favorite album of the moment, she decided to go about exploring the rest of the manor.

She tried to remember the very limited tour Niall had given her while he led her up to her room. Now without giddy, first-day nerves coursing through her, she was able to appreciate the artwork hanging along the walls and decorating the ceilings. In quick passing, the canvases depicted divine scenes, some showing angels, others showing tranquil landscapes. But now, with the time to examine the paint strokes closer, she noticed the pieces are kind of... off.

In the landscape scenes, trees held the faint features of distorted faces screaming in agony with their eyes wide in deep trepidation. Swirling pools of once peaceful ponds, now showcased inklings of blood dripping in at the edge from an unknown source. In the angelic paintings, (Y/N) noticed the subjects had no pupils or irises to their eyes. It was as if the sclera encompassed the entire eye, leaving an expressionless gaze on the small, blushing cherubs. The angels in some and humans in other's, all held the same white eyes, while some had sharp smiles. Some of the subjects even had eerily placed dots of blood on their clothing or in small spots surrounding them. A translucent shadow lurked in the background of many of the scenes; in some, the shadow stayed to the back, shading different areas of the painting. While in others, the shadow hovered around the foreground of the different scenes. They almost seemed vampiric with the placing of each of the elements. Demonic even.

It was... eerie.

But, art is art right? Some people like darker expressions, and who is she to judge?

She continued wandering through, trying not to focus too much on the artwork anymore. She found her way to the kitchen in her wing (there's four kitchens! Rich people, huh?). She began looking through the cupboards and fridge, looking for something to make a small lunch for herself.

The cabinets were clumsily stocked, full of odd selections of food (four jars of peanut butter sat on one shelf, and a random stalk of celery was placed on the top shelf all alone). The fridge was stocked full of different cuts of raw meat flanked by wedges of cheese she's never even heard of. Whoever had done the shopping must have been the middle of a bout of weird cravings, and put everything away in a chaotic rush. But, it's food, so she isn't going to complain.

She made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before retreating to her room. She pulled Netflix up on her laptop, finally settling down and relaxing. The past week she feels like she'd been going nonstop, riding a wave of giddy energy ever since she got the first call for an interview. It wasn't until she finished eating and got halfway through a Scooby-Doo movie did she realize just how tired she was.

Just as it started misting rain outside, (Y/N) fell asleep.

—————

(Y/N) lazily blinked her eyes open in the dark of her new room as she awoke from her nap. She blearily looked out the window, seeing the moon now high in the sky. Drops of sprinkling rain trickled down the panes of glass, creating small distorted rivers in her line of sight. A light fog draped across the grounds outside, making the night seem even darker.

Wait... night?

She didn't mean to sleep so long; usually she wakes from her naps after an hour or so, not five. She swung her legs over the side of her king sized bed, shocked at the chill of the marble floor beneath her toes. She padded out of the room, trailing down the hall and tracing the now familiar way to the kitchen. She poured herself some water, peeking out of the window above the sink to the backyard. A thicket of trees fenced the grounds, all bare of leaves from the cold seasons. The fog seemed thicker out back than it had in the front lawn that she could view from her room.

Just as (Y/N) took her first sip of her water, a shadow materialized in the fog. The shadow seemed human at first, the condensation fuzzying the edges of the form. The shadow began moving forward, and she then realized that whatever was out there, was definitely not human.

The shadow was large, tall like the spindling branches it had emerged from. The creature boasted large, gnarled shoulders whittling down to bone thin arms that stretched so long that the hands drug on the ground beside its feet. The outline of the torso looked almost lumped, like it's organs laid out atop the bones instead of caged in by its ribs. The legs were just as grotesquely thin as the arms, the knees crunching at an odd angle with each limping step it took.

What the fuck.

A shocked gasp stole all the breath from her lungs as she stumbled back from the window. She scrambled to get away from the pane—from the creature—as fast as she could, fearing it would see her and find its way inside. In her panic, she forgot about the cup of water in her hand that had clattered to the floor beside her when she lost her grip. The noise seemed to be amplified by the electricity in the air, causing another wave of panic to run through her system. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit streamed through her head, hoping that the creature hadn't heard her show.

She shakily took a step forward, daring to peek through the now tainted window.

It was gone.

The fog was gone, the rain even ceased. The moon shone over the grounds, lighting up each crevice and shadow the creature could hide. It was like it had never been there at all.

(Y/N) couldn't help but question herself; had she really seen anything at all out there? She'd never admit it out loud, but, sometimes, Scooby-Doo gave her childish nightmares from their mystery solving, and maybe she wasn't fully awake. Maybe, she was still stuck in her hazy dream phase having been so freshly awake. Or, what if she had focused too long on the trees lining the area, causing herself to make a creature out of the branches? There was no way she saw an actual zombie in the backyard of a multi-million dollar manor.

(Y/N) sucked in a deep breath, trying to settle her shaking hands and twisting stomach. "It's nothing, it's nothing," she whispered to herself, the mantra a way to comfort her scrambled thoughts. She proceeded to clean up the spilled water on the floor, giving her anything to focus on in favor of the nightmarish images tainting her thoughts.

Once the kitchen was cleaned, she padded back to her room, much quicker than when she left as she was unable to shake the feeling of being watched. She huddled under the plush duvet, veiled by the canopy draped across the frame as she pulled up another movie on Netflix to occupy her thoughts.

It's okay, it was nothing, it's okay, streamed through her mind as she slowly drifted back to sleep.

But was it?

—————

It had been a week since (Y/N) spotted the creature in the garden (or thought she had anyway), and she'd practically washed it from her mind. She was happy with the explanation that she hadn't really seen that zombie-like creature, and just imagined it after a dream heavy sleep. She didn't want to think about what it would mean if she accepted the fact she had actually seen something so obviously inhuman.

She was really settling into the work. It was easy, and she enjoyed working on her own, at a pace she could manage. It was a truly gorgeous place to work, too, and she took pride in taking care of it all. She couldn't wait for Mr. Styles to return home and see the attention she'd put into taking care of the manor.

The flowerbeds plotted around the perimeters of the mansion were her favorite to care after. The snowdrops, primroses, pansies, and rose bushes brightened her cold mornings when she went out to water them. There was even a landscaper—Adam—who she'd work with on a weekly basis to take care of the expansive grounds; he was nice to talk to and a needed break from her own isolated thoughts.

Maybe, this job really could be perfect, and all the things Niall had promised it would be.

—————

Days later, (Y/N) was in the middle of cleaning one of the en-suite bathrooms (there's ten) when Niall texted her. It was short and direct, leaving nothing up to interpretation.

Niall Horan

Harry is coming back tonight, you need to find somewhere to stay until Friday. I'm sorry for the short notice, but he just let me know he was on a flight back.

She dropped the cloth she was using to clean the mirrors as she read over his message again. She had expected that Niall would give her more than an eight hour notice of when she would need to emergency evacuate her new home. She had already told Charlotte when she took the job that she would need to randomly have to leave sometimes, so she knew she had a place to stay for the next couple of days, but she felt bad springing it on her. But, what else was she supposed to do?

She sent back an okay, thanks! to Niall before quickly collecting her cleaning supplies. She piled them back into the closet she found them, before making her way to her room to pack an overnight bag. She rushed her packing, wanting to get out as soon as possible. As much as she wanted to meet her employer, if he was so adamant about no one being home while he was, she didn't want to test it.

She took her time after packing to make sure the house looked immaculate, like she hadn't been there at all aside from the evidence of her clothing and other possessions littered in her room. She wanted Mr. Styles to be pleased with her work performance, and hopefully warm up to the idea of possibly meeting her. When it finally met her standards (and hopefully his), she tugged her bag over her shoulder before locking the doors up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the front of the manor, checking the flowerbeds for weeds and the lawn for anything out of order. Everything looked perfect, just the way she wanted it to be for him.

As (Y/N) pulled out of the winding driveway, she passed a black, clearly expensive car. Through the windshield, she saw the driver; a man with dark curling hair, bright green eyes and his pink lips set in a scowl. Her eyes followed the car behind her with the help of her rear view mirror, watching as it pulled onto the same driveway leading up to the manor. That had to have been Mr. Styles, and he didn't seem too pleased to be seeing even just her car on his grounds.

She sped up as soon as he was out of view.

—————

After three days of sleeping on Charlotte's couch, (Y/N) finally received the okay text from Niall. She was ready to move back into the manor, having felt bad to already be crashing at their place before even a month had passed. She was quick to pack up, and say her thanks for their hospitality (Charlotte insisted it was what friends were for but (Y/N) still felt bad) and was on her way.

Once back at the manor, it was like no one had been there in her absence. Nothing at all seemed lived in, to have changed at all. It was as if new dust hadn't even settled on the various surfaces. She knew for a fact that her kitchen was the only one that had food, and when she rifled through the cabinets for lunch, nothing was missing or moved. Sure, Mr. Styles could have had take out each meal, or gone out every night, but not even a glass for water or anything had been used. Everything was exactly the way she left it.

The only thing that wasn't exactly how she remembered she left it was—oddly enough—her room. If she hadn't known any better, she wouldn't have even noticed the wardrobe door that was cracked open. But, she never liked leaving the doors open, especially after the night she dreamt up that awful monster in the backyard. It was a childish fear, a monster in the closet, but it was something she knows she wouldn't have forgotten to take care of in her leave. She peeked inside the wardrobe, wanting to see if anything else was out of place.

In her scan over, everything seemed to be in order until she noticed something was missing. A basic cream sweater with rainbow stitching down the arms, her favorite, was nowhere to be seen. She knows for a fact she hadn't packed it with her, remembering the flash of color out of the corner of her eye as she closed the wardrobe door.

Mr. Styles wouldn't have gone through her things, right? He had no need to be in her room—or even her wing for that matter. He had no purpose for a worn sweater when he so clearly had money to burn.

What if that... creature found its way inside her room and took the shirt from her? Took the shirt and her scent with it.

No, no she told herself. There was no way a monster from her dreams sprouted legs and walked it's way into her room just to steal a sweater. It's not even real for Christ's sake! She probably just misplaced it, and it would turn up in the next laundry cycle she's sure. She shook the intrusive thoughts from her mind, starting laundry on the clothes she had taken to Charlotte's. She just wanted to get back to work, start cleaning to take her mind off of the eerie feeling that's been hovering around her since she returned.

She absentmindedly sorted through the mail, surprised to see the overflowing pile that collected in her absence. Had Mr. Styles even been at the manor? All signs have pointed to the fact that he had nothing to do with the place while she was gone. While doing so, she sent a text to Adam, the landscaper, letting him know they could resume their work and Mr. Styles was off the property (if he was even on it to start with). She dusted through the living areas, playing loud music through her headphones to fill her thoughts.

She decided to tackle the farthest wing first, where Mr. Styles' room was. There, she was sure she would find evidence of him being in the manor. It was the darkest of all the rooms in the mansion; no sprawling windows decorated the wall the same way the others had. The color scheme shifted from the creams and golds accented by a comforting green in her wing, to a stark white with red and black detailing the furnishings. The art changed direction as well, becoming more obviously scary than that of the other pieces littered through the home. She didn't like spending time in the halls, feeling like the eyes of demons and their victims following her every move. Once inside Mr. Styles' bedroom, her hopes of evidence of his being there were let down.

The bed was perfectly pristine; bedding tight and unmoved from when she had made it earlier in the week. Everything lacked the warmth of a person having previously occupied the space. Just like all the other rooms before, it was like no one had been there at all.

She shook her head at the perfectness of the room, moving on the bathroom. She had assumed there would still be no sign of her boss's presence, but was surprised at what she found instead. In the basket that sat beside the sink, the hem of a towel peeked out from under the lid. (Y/N) had quickly pulled the towel out, shocked that he had spent the most time in the bathroom in comparison to everything else she found (or didn't find, really). Instead of the dampness from water she expected the find, the tail end of the towel was stained a bright crimson. She jumped back and dropped the cloth in surprise. A gasp left her mouth as the realization of what it was came to mind

Blood.

She tentatively peeked inside the basket, finding four other cloths stained the same way with a lacy, white (or it should have been) blouse crumpled underneath it all. Each one was completely ruined with matching blood stains, the shirt having the deepest stains, almost black in the saturation.

Holy shit.

(Y/N) felt panic skitter up her spine and bile rise in her throat. That's a lot of blood. He had to have hurt someone badly with the amount of blood that saturated through each of the crumpled items, if not killed them. She practically sprinted out of the bathroom, and out of the wing entirely. She stumbled several times down the curving stairs, having to catch herself each time on the railing. She couldn't run fast enough.

Holy shit, holy shit, I work for a murderer. He only wanted me out of the house so he could kill people, and he's probably going to ki—

She stumbled back as she ran into a wall of a chest. In her panic, she didn't realize Niall was standing in the landing of the staircase. His brows furrowed in concern as he righted her with his hands on her biceps.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong (Y/N)? You look like you've seen a ghost," Niall's words dripped with concern as he gently guided her to one of the ornate couches she once admired.

"Niall, we have to leave—we can't be here—he's—," (Y/N) couldn't form a coherent thought as she tried to voice her panic. Niall tried to push her to sit on the couch cushions, but she fought back placing her hands on his chest to push him towards the front door. They couldn't be here, they needed to tell the police and take evidence and—

"C'mon, love, breathe. You're scaring me," Niall tried again, standing firm against her pushing.

"There was blood in the bathroom! I—I think he killed someone, or—or hurt someone really bad, we have to tell the police," she rushed again, just wanting Niall to listen.

For a second, something flashed over Niall's face. The concern he once held in his eyes disappeared as the sea glass blue hardened for a moment. Just as quickly as it was there, the expression vanished, resuming his worried expression.

"Will you show me what you found? I think I might know what it is."

She shakily led him back to the now tainted bathroom. She pointed at the bin that held the clothes, with the one she had picked up laying limply just outside of it. Niall confidently strode over to the sullied fabric, picking it up with no hesitation. (Y/N) watched on with horror in her eyes, scared to see Niall so comfortable with the possibility of his best friend being a murderer.

Niall shook his head as he examined the mid-sized towel, his back to (Y/N) before he turned around. He had an easy smile on his face, not a concern in his demeanor at what surrounded him.

"This isn't blood, silly. It's red paint."

What?

"Harry's a painter, and he's never been an organized one. He's spilled more paint mixes than I can count, and he's shit at cleaning it up," Niall joked, "You alright, then?"

"But—... it's red paint?" (Y/N) asked, skeptical of his explanation. Niall took a step towards her, one of crimson towels in his hand.

"Yeah, look. You can see where he mixed some orange in." He held out the material to her, fingers pointing to a streak where a lighter orange stained the fabric.

She guessed it could be paint. And that would explain why the dots on the shirt were so dark; as he got too into it he accidentally splotched himself. It was kind of him to have tried to clean up after himself...

"I'm so sorry, I probably look so crazy accusing your friend of something like that," (Y/N) apologized, cheeks flaming in embarrassment of her reaction.

"No, you're perfectly fine. It definitely isn't the most pleasant sight to find when cleaning a bathroom," he laughed, trying to ease the tension as best he could, "How about you go get yourself some water and relax for bit, yeah? I'll take care of this for you, love."

"Thank you, Niall," she breathed. She padded out of the room, quick to get to the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water.

She braced herself against the counter for a moment, trying to find her head again. She's got to shake the eerie feeling that's been following her these past couple of days, since she saw who she assumed was Mr. Styles on her drive out. She's going to drive herself crazy if she doesn't relax. She took in three deep breaths before moving out to the living room where she heard Niall's voice.

"H, you're getting lazy. She found the shit in your bathroom and had a breakdown right in front of me." He paused for a moment, (Y/N) figuring he was on the phone from the lack of audible response from another voice. She rounded the corner into the living room, staying behind the couch with Niall's back facing her. "You have to be more careful now that you have someone else living here. You fucked up."

Niall turned on his heel, a deep furrow in his brow as he talked to the phone pressed to his ear. Once he caught sight of (Y/N) nervously shuffling around just feet away from him, he changed.

Suddenly his tone and expression take a turn, shifting back into the easy and comforting Niall she's known. "I'm glad you're having a good trip, H, just be careful with the paint next time. You almost gave our (Y/N) a heart attack."

He dropped an eyelid in a wink at her. He quickly ended the phone call after that, beckoning her over to him. She followed his direction, fingers prattling in front of her torso.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she apologized, a half smile on her face as she remembered his harsh demeanor before he noticed her.

"It's fine, love. I was just telling Harry that he needs to be more careful, and to let me know at least if he does make a mess so he doesn't send you to an early grave," he teased, coaxing (Y/N) away from her unraveling thoughts.

Niall's comforting smile and soothing tone reigned in her doubts. Of course it was just paint, she'd just been on edge lately and assumed the worst. Now she just felt silly for reacting the way she did, and the fact that Niall told Mr. Styles of her freak out made her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"It really is fine, (Y/N). Harry wasn't upset, and neither am I; it's okay," Niall pressed, a gentle smile rounding his cheeks. A buzz came from his phone, causing both his and (Y/N)'s attention to shift. Niall checked the notification that came across, raising his brows before meeting her gaze. "I have a meeting in a couple of minutes, so how about you go to the market yeah? Get yourself whatever you'd like and stock up the kitchen again. Here," he stretched his hand out, a black card in between his fingers, "Came by to give this to you, actually. H said you can use it for any expenses for the house."

(Y/N) reciprocated his smile and said her thanks as she took the card. There was a heavy slam of a door closing from the foyer, causing Niall to begin ushering her out much like the way he did the day of the job interview. With a hand on the middle of her back, he guided her alongside him to the front doors. Waiting at the bottom of the staircase she stumbled down not even twenty minutes before, was the odd couple she had seen in the weeks previous. Both were immaculately dressed like the last time, and their eyes just has hauntingly pale. The woman offered a kind smile while the man stayed stoic, watching on as Niall led her out.

"I should be finished before you get back, but I'll lock up behind myself and everything," he continued, acting as if the pair wasn't intently monitoring the interaction.

"Oh, okay," she stuttered, barely having time to grab her bag and keys while Niall pulled open the carved doors, "Thank you again, Niall, and sorry about earlier."

"It's fine, (Y/N), really," he said before gently coaxing her out the door with a soft hand on her arm. His being so adamant about her leaving every time he had a "meeting" with these people, caused a flare up in the nerves he had calmed not too long ago. The fact that they all happened in Mr. Styles' manor also gave her an odd feeling. Why couldn't Niall hold them at his own home?

She called her goodbyes to him as she exited down the bundle of steps leading to the front door. Niall barely reciprocated before he closed the door.

This morning has been... weird.

—————

A month later, (Y/N) really couldn't be happier. There hadn't been any incidents with last minute arrangements needing to be made on account of Mr. Styles returning to town, and Niall hadn't come by to kick her out for anymore so-called meetings. She felt like she was being paid to live alone; her duties mostly taking the form of signing for packages and sorting mail, paying bills, cleaning and any other mundane task Mr. Styles needed taking care of. She also hadn't had anymore lingering thoughts of that creature, having the ordeal almost scrubbed from her mind after casting out the childish fear of it stealing her sweater.

Until tonight anyway.

(Y/N) woke with a start in the middle of the night from a dead sleep. The limping creature plagued her dreams for the first time in so long, this time it's stringy arms reached out and caught her with spindly fingers wrapping around her throat. She physically felt her airflow become cut off, causing her to break herself from the nightmare. She awoke with the canopy veiling her bed billowing open from the sweeping of cool air coming from an open window. Her bedding was kicked to the foot of her bed in her sleep, leaving her exposed to the gusts of chilling wind filtering through the room. She shakily crawled off her bed and shut her window, now noticing the freezing rain that accompanied the wind. Suddenly a flash of light struck through the clouds, quickly followed by a crack of thunder. The sound made her jump, feeling like her whole bedroom was full of eyes watching each of her movements and reactions. She needed to get out of here.

She wandered out of her room, heading towards the kitchen in search of cold water to calm her anxiety. The hallways were dark as she tentatively walked through them, not having turned on the lights in her rush to get away from the feeling of being watched. The windows that lined the hall offered dim light from the new moon in the sky. Random flashes of lightning momentarily brightened the familiar path.

And the man standing at the end of the hallway.

The bolt of light illuminated his broad form for just a second before plunging (Y/N) back into darkness. She stopped dead in her tracks, icy fear wrapping around her throat and stunning her limbs. No one else was supposed to be here; no one had been here when she went to bed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, streamed through her head, a kind of panic she'd never felt before shuddering up her spine and clouding her thoughts. Niall never said Mr. Styles was due back tonight, letting her mind wander into the possibilities of a break in. A break in that could go wrong. She left her phone in her room when she left in her haste, leaving her with no option to call the police. She tentatively backpedaled, hoping the man hadn't seen her and she could slip into her bedroom and place the call.

The plan went to shit when another strike of lightning showed that the man had most definitely seen her, as he was now right in front of her. The shock of the proximity and how he moved so silently and quickly made her stumble back. Her foot caught on a rug underneath her, causing her to fall backwards and land on her butt. Small flashes of light from outside lit up the side of the man's scowling face. His brows were deeply furrowed and his lips twisted in a snarl. She could feel the heated anger radiating off of him.

"What are you doing here!? You're not supposed to be here!" He raged, his voice deep and rumbling. The room reverberated at the volume of his tone, shaking (Y/N)'s already nerve shot body. Her voice died in her throat unable to come up with an adequate answer for the man. He menacingly stepped towards her, his demeanor growing deeper with fury. "What. Are. You. Doing here?! Answer me!"

"I—I—who are you?!" her voice wavering and breaking under the weight of her fear. The man's presence dominated the hall, crushing each bit of calmness she once had and any semblance of sanity. Who asks a murderer who they were?!

An exasperated sigh left the man, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I'm Harry Styles. Why are you in my house?! I know Niall told you of my rules."

This was Mr. Styles? This isn't quite how (Y/N) imagined meeting her boss for the first time.

His voice was now at a normal volume, but his words seeped a rage deeper than he had before. (Y/N) sat still on the ground looking up at him, mouth open like a stunned guppy. She broke from her stupid, scrambling trying to get to her feet. All the while, she could feel his fiery gaze bore into her clumsy form.

"M-Mr. Styles, I'm so sorry. I promise, I had n-no idea you would be here. Niall never told m—."

"Shut up," his deep voice cut her off, an annoyed expression taking the place of anger from moments before. "Just... stay in your wing and away from me."

(Y/N) opened her mouth to talk again, stopped short by the glare Mr. Styles shot her. He obviously had no interest in her apologies and explanations. He stood unmoving, towering over her form, waiting for (Y/N) to make her leave. As soon as she was steady on her feet, she scurried to her room. The dream that woke her up in the first place forgotten as a new fear took precedence in her mind.

She cowered under her thick duvet, pulling the opening of the canopy closed around her. The deep gravel of his tone echoed in her ears, she saw the fire in his eyes every time she closed her own.

And she could have swore, for just a moment, his eyes were a blank white. Just like the paintings.

—————

(Y/N) had been cooped up in her room since the night she met Mr. Styles. She barely left her bed, let alone passed over the threshold to the hallway. She knows he said to stay in her wing not just her room, but the fear of running into him again kept her from daring to venture any further. The only times she allowed herself to leave her self-designated prison was when she needed to eat; she always chose to eat a big breakfast early and hold off her hunger throughout the day until late at night when she assumed he was asleep. Her nights were the hardest, filled with restless half-sleeps.

Any fleeting moment of true, deep sleep was quashed by unsettling dreams she wasn't able to shake. In the middle of the night, she could swear she saw Mr. Styles standing at the end of her bed, peering through the gauzy canopy at her sleeping form. As soon as she would blink her eyes awake, he would be gone causing her to assume she'd just begun dreaming of the man who struck such a fear into her. It wouldn't be that far off anyway, what with her vivid nightmares of that monster and now her boss. The dreams went along with odd noises she would hear in the night, causing a haunting feeling to wrap around her anytime she wasn't occupying her mind.

Her alarm set off at six in the morning, alerting her of her chance to eat before she would confine herself to the same two movies on Netflix for the rest of the day. She scuttled out of her room, checking over her shoulder and around each corner for the man she had been avoiding. She entered the kitchen, feet padding over the immaculate floor tiles. Atop the granite island was a small folded piece of thick card stock. Her name was written elegantly in swirling cursive on the front, calling for her to open it. She tentatively picked up the paper, unfolding the crease to read the curling letters.

(Y/N),

I have gone. You may now roam the manor and resume your duties.

Relief filled her like a breath of fresh air. The tension that had locked her muscles for the last three days finally released, the stiffness in her body going lax. While she knew this really isn't her home, she did live here and it wasn't a pleasant feeling walking on eggshells in the one place she should feel like herself. Exhaustion crashed through her, finally feeling her anxiety dip. She could sleep. Really sleep without feeling like she should have one eye open in case she made a mistake that brought Mr. Styles'—or H's—attention to her.

She didn't want to eat she just wanted to go to bed and wake up at a real hour, not six a.m. She went to toss the paper away, but just as it was to slip out of her fingers and into the bin, she caught herself. She couldn't figure out why, but she wanted to keep it. As a reminder to keep on her toes? To show her that this wasn't her place to be comfortable? She didn't know why, but she knew what she was doing when she instead placed it in the far drawer of her vanity. She didn't spare the note another thought as she jumped into bed, not bothering to pull the canopy closed before she was already snuggled beneath the covers.

Mr. Styles' ghost was absent from her dreams.

—————

Weeks later, (Y/N) woke to the sun lighting up her bedroom. The hazy film the canopy gave her allowed for a romantic filter to distort the scene before her. This is how she imagined princesses waking up in storybooks; a grand room, warming sunlight, and the promise of a happily ever after. She had long forgotten her interaction with her boss (more as a way of coping than that of it being forgettable). She hadn't had a single dream about him since he left, and had seamlessly fallen back into her work routine. She felt refreshed.

Today she was going to work in the gardens, tending to the rose bushes in the back as her first task of the day. While the sun was out, the weather still called for a jacket with the morning chill lingering in the air. She filled a bright red watering can in the kitchen before lugging it outside.

She knelt down in front of the flower beds, gently sprinkling water over the leaves and over the soil. She caressed the petals of a dying red rose, pouting as she saw another of its siblings wilting. Maybe the cold was affecting them more than she thought; she'd have to ask Adam.

"You're not watering the roses enough."

(Y/N) jumped when she heard the all too familiar voice of the one person she wanted to forget. He now spoke in a level tone, soothing in the way the words were deep and slow. Well, until she processed the fact that he was there.

She popped up to her feet, the watering can left at her feet. She turned to see him standing behind her, arms crossed, a billowy white shirt almost fully unbuttoned with his chest on show. The shirt was tucked into a pair of flare pants, the material growing more and more sheer as it approached his feet. Wasn't he cold?

"Mr. Styles! I'm so sorry, Niall didn't tell me you were coming back today. I can go, I promise I had n—."

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. He held a hand out in front of him, palm open and facing her. She very quickly took the cue and ceased her talking.

"Don't bother," he drawled, "I've already seen y'more than I intended."

She felt a pang in her chest at his words. She knows he doesn't mean it in any other way than the fact he didn't want to see any of his help around the house, but it was just so mean. She opened her mouth to speak, but one glare from him had her closing her mouth and forgetting whatever it is she wanted to say.

He brushed past her, walking up the elaborate stairs to the patio. He stopped and talked to her over the railing, eyes squinting in the morning light (or maybe at her).

"Finish watering the roses; they'll need that whole can. Afterwards, you may go about the duties y'had already planned for the day. All I ask is that y'please be quiet, and that y'refrain from being in the same room as I." His voice was clear and commanding, showing that he wasn't really asking that of her, he was telling her.

"I—Okay... thank you, Mr. Styles." She wasn't really sure what she was thanking him for, but she'd say anything at this point to get into his good graces.

He didn't bother to respond, continuing up the stairs with his ring-clad hand running along the railing. At the top of the case, he stopped suddenly. His back faced her as he spoke to her over his shoulder.

"I am having company over tonight. Do not leave your wing, or bedroom at all if y'can help it."

And then he was gone.

—————

(Y/N) had heeded Mr. Styles' advice, keeping herself in her room since she finished her chores. Around ten o'clock was when she heard the heavy front doors open and close several times, indicating the arrival of guests. She could hear the low chatter of conversations happening in the floor below her. She tried to go to sleep multiple times, but the hum from downstairs and the knowledge that the star of her bad dreams was just below her stopped her every time she tried to drift off.

By the time it neared midnight, (Y/N) realized she hadn't left her room since lunch. Her tummy growled, mixing in with the chatter from the floor below. She didn't want to leave her room, Mr. Styles' words echoing in her head, but she couldn't take it at this point. She just wanted a grilled cheese, what's the worse that could happen?

She silently slipped out of her room, padding down the hallway with her pajama pants sweeping the floor. She was hyper aware of the voices that floated through the corridor, trying her best to gauge their distance. She quickly got to the kitchen, digging out the ingredients to make a grilled cheese.

Only ten minutes later was the sandwich plated with (Y/N) ready to scuttle back to her room. She stopped on the last floor tile before entering the corridor, realizing that she hadn't drank anything since lunchtime as well. Downstairs, she could hear a lull in the conversation. She figured she had time to get some juice at least, everyone seeming distracted enough to spare another few minutes out of the safety of her room. She was quick to fill a glass with some apple juice, her distracted mind causing her to overfill the cup. Just as she brought the full glass to her lips, a loud bang sounded from down the steps. It made her violently jump, her entire body on edge and ready to flee at a moment's notice. The combination of her jump and the slippery glass caused her to lose her grip, the cup shattering across the tiled floor at her feet.

"Fucking hell," she whispered, hoping whatever had been going on downstairs would cover up her own noise. She shakily bent down, beginning to pick up the shards surrounding her.

She tried her hardest to be careful, the warnings of cutting her fingers ringing through her ears in her mother's voice. Due to her shaking hands, she wouldn't be so lucky. One of the larger shards sliced across her finger, sending a stinging shock through her body. She hissed a swear, quickly discarding of the pieces before examining the cut.

Suddenly, a shift filled the air, the way it does when a person enters an otherwise empty room. (Y/N) looked behind herself, already expecting (and dreading) to see Mr. Styles. Instead she saw an eccentrically dressed blonde man, his eyes trailed over her body and focused in on the hand cradled to her chest. He had the same pale grey eyes as the ominous couple she'd seen before. His, however, held malice and a predatory hunger.

"Aw, did you hurt yourself?" He feigned a mocking pout, arms crossing over his chest as he took a cocky step towards her. (Y/N) spun herself around, fully facing the man. She took a cautionary step back as he drew closer. "Well, aren't you a pretty little thing; not like Harry's usual chew toys."

His voice sunk deeper and deeper as he kept talking, still striding towards her through the kitchen. (Y/N)'s back hit the marble counter of the island, leaving her stuck between the breakfast bar and the man that now looked at her like his next meal. He closed the space between them in one large step, trapping her between his hands on the counter. Her finger continued to bleed, her other hand that held it now slick with the red liquid.

"I can help you with that, you know," he dipped his head, nodding towards her hands, "I won't tell Harry, if you don't."

"No-No thanks. I'm just his housekeeper, I—I'm not even supposed to be out here." She tumbled over her words, stuttering and stumbling through any excuse to get away. "I need to go, but thank you."

She side stepped, hoping he would get the hint and let her leave. His forearm stayed firm like steel, truly caging her in. He let out a humorless chuckle, ducking his head down to be eye level with her.

"Nu-uh, darling, you're gonna stay right here."

The once grey irises that colored his eyes were completely wiped away. No pupil or iris were found on his now blank, white gaze. His skin tone rivaled that of his eyes, draining to a shocking off-white. The veins in his neck turned black, his lips doing the same just as the points of two of his teeth peeked out from under his top lip.

She's sure her terror was painted on her face as he smirked at her. The small amount of attention she was still giving her sliced finger now diminished, her hands falling from her chest and instead bracing herself against the counter behind her. She made one more feeble attempt at escape, trying to duck under his arms and slip away. He breathed a humorless laugh at her attempts, nonchalantly grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her up. He ducked his head down, his face by her neck. His chilling breath swept across her skin, a layer of goosebumps erupting on her skin. Just as (Y/N) let out the most pathetic whimper, her eyes falling closed as she knew she had no way out of whatever this man—this thing—was going to do to her, his body was suddenly pulled away. The trapped feeling that had been crushing her only seconds before disappeared, causing her eyes to snap open to see what had happened. Mr. Styles now stood between her and the blonde man, his back to her. He stood firm, his body seemingly broader and stronger than this morning.

"What do you think you're doing, Magnus?" Mr. Styles addressed the opposing man, his voice deceivingly calm as it dripped with malice. (Y/N) felt a shudder run down her spine at his dominating presence, fearing him although his rage wasn't directed at her (this time anyway).

"C'mon, H, you always let us have turns with your toys. She's bleeding already anyway, I didn't see the harm," the man, Magnus, drawled. His eyes had returned to the grey, and his complexion now a healthy color.

"You bit her?!" Harry's voice boomed, seeming to shake the room under the volume. He took a menacing step towards Magnus.

The blonde man held his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes at his friend's reaction. "Jesus, Harry, calm down. She cut her finger, I was just going to help." He peeked around Harry's shoulder, flashing (Y/N)'s cowering form a pointed smile. "Why do you care, anyway? She's just one of your toys, you've never minded before."

"She's not a toy, Magnus. Leave." He took another step towards him, hands clenched into tight fists beside him. Magnus went to speak again, eyes lingering on (Y/N)'s form. He was quickly caught off by Harry's threatening tone. "Leave!"

He heaved an annoyed sigh and left the room, shooting (Y/N) a look over his shoulder. Something akin to a growl erupted from Harry's chest, tearing through the room as he caught the look as well. Magnus left the room with a chuckle.

Now alone, Mr. Styles slowly spun around to face (Y/N). Both of her hands were decorated in her own blood, but the cut on her finger was long forgotten. His brows furrowed as he examined her shaking form, slowly and deliberately stepping towards her.

"You alright?"

(Y/N) really did try her hardest to focus on his words and come up with an answer. But she couldn't when her vision started to blur and her legs gave out from beneath her.

The last thing she saw before she fell unconscious was Harry's blank, white eyes.

—————

chiaroscuro is a technique that uses intense shades of dark and light to dramatize a painting

hi guys thank u sm for reading!! this one has been in the works since i started posting my last series and i hope its worth the wait!! i havent revealed what exactly it is thats “off” ab harry but im sure u all have ideas and theories and have probably figured it all out anyway ojnfkdjfkdj this whole piece checks in at 60k+ words so there will be a few more parts after this!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if u have any requests, theories, ideas about what’s next please send them here!!

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remmyswritings · 4 years

Text

our secret pt. 2//regulus black x reader

Hello my beautiful Puffs!!! So I wrote this pretty early this morning, and while I just went over it again just now, please excuse any mistakes you find (dw @kashishwrites i did go back to sleep) Anyway I hope y’all like this <3 :)

taglist: @willowbleedsonpaper @summer-writes @obsessedwithrandomthings @firewhisky-kisses @potterverseimagine @in-slytherin-we-trust @masterofthedarkness @imboredandneedalife @lila-lilakk @strawberriesonsummer @kalimagik @62442-am @nebulablakemurphy @curious-curios @jenniweaslee @cherrycolakxsses @peeves-a-legend @booksmusicteaandanimals @heart-of-tempered-steel @kashishwrites @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @redbulletxxxworld @pcseidcnsvoid

part 1

*Not my GIF, credit to creator*

It had been a year- a very long year- since that fateful day at Hogsmeade where you finally convinced Regulus to let his brother- and by extension his brother’s friends- help him stay alive. Of course with Regulus now working as a double agent for the Order it was getting harder and harder for the two of you to spend time together. He was a skilled enough Legilimens so that You Know Who wouldn’t have a clue but around you, everything went away. You were, and still are, his one weakness. That’s why sitting across from him after the Order meeting had ended, telling everyone about his plan to replace the horcrux you knew you had to act.

“Reg,” you reached your hand out to him hoping the physical contact would make him look at you for the first time in weeks, “can we talk?”

He still wouldn’t look at you completely but he nodded, so you took that as an improvement.

You pulled him aside hoping that nobody would disturb the two of you, “Mi amor, can you please look at me? Please?”

His eyes shifted down and caught yours and the second they did you realized why he hadn’t looked at you before- he was terrified and you were the only person he showed any emotion to. You threw yourself into his arms hoping that at least the physical comfort might help a bit. His body tensed slightly at first since it had been quite some time since the two of you had touched only to relax completely, as if his body were putty. One of his hands went to your lower back while the other ran itself through your hair, his face hiding in that little spot in your neck. You swore you felt something wet but honestly you didn’t care… you finally had Regulus in your arms.

“I love you so much Regulus. I hope you know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you started your little speech. “But please for the love of everything good in the world don’t push me away- not now. I need you, I need to feel your heartbeat in the morning and need to be able to run my hands through your hair. I need to hear you read poetry to me on the weekends and hear you sing those French songs in the shower. I need to see you lying next to me when I go to sleep at night and when I wake up again in the morning. Please stop doing this.”

He nodded again and his hold on you tightened even more, “I’m sorry my love. I’m sorry for pushing you away and for hurting you in the process. I just- I worry that someone will figure out who you are and what you mean to me. And if it weren’t for this war, we’d probably already be married and I’d have found us a beautiful flat to stay in and you would have an amazing job with the Ministry. And I want to have that with you, but I can’t- not until I finish this.”

“We can at least start it- our plans for the future,” you pulled away slightly so that you could look at him, “Let’s get married… tonight.”

Regulus at first look bewildered but understand where you were coming from. After all tomorrow he’d go on a mission where he could basically end up dead, so if anything were to happen (fingers crossed it doesn’t) then at least the two of you would be married.

“Ok, but who will officiate it?” You could see the light in his eyes that had dimmed over the past week, reignite itself.

“Um…” you looked around the room where you all were, “I think we can get Remus to do it, and we have enough people here as witnesses.”

Regulus nodded his head and turned around to face the others in the room. They had seen the two of you talk for quite some time now but out of respect had decided not to eavesdrop, although you had made it difficult for them to even try in the first place.

“We’ve decided we want to get married tonight,” the announcement was met with excitement.

After a little bit of coordinating, you were whisked away by Lily and Sirius while Remus and James helped Regulus get ready. You were quite surprised when Sirius said he’d be with you but in his words “I want to finally spend some one-on-one time with my soon-to-be sister-in-law. Plus Regulus won’t let me touch his hair.”

Thankfully, you had a dress hidden away from several months ago when you were given the chance to go to muggle London. It wasn’t a white dress but that fact seemed to make it even more unique. You were soon helped into your dress and your hair put into a beautiful updo. You didn’t have any flowers to hold or a veil in your hair, but you still felt like you were a princess.

When you were finally ready, and everyone else in the house was dressed up, you were led outside to the backyard. With just a little bit of magic, small lights filled the air between you and your love. Lily, who had become something of a sister to you since you arrived, walked you down the makeshift aisle.

By the time you had met Regulus, tears had started to fall from your eyes and you could see that the same was happening with him. There was not a dry-eyed soul in the vicinity.

After that, everything became a blur… at least until you got to the vows. When Regulus started to read his, you weren’t sure if you would be able to make it through yours.

My love,

Since the very first day we met I knew you would be someone important to me. Even at eleven years old, you were quite good at reminding me when I was acting like a pretentious ass, but I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world calling me out with the sass that you do.

I think we can all agree that you are my better half. Whenever I look at you all I see is light, absolute pure light. You make everything around me seem so much better and you’ve taught me what it means to be a good person. I don’t think I would even be here right now if it weren’t for you.

You are everything I wish to be and more, my love.

Your hands trembled as you pulled out the paper with the vows you had written one day, with the plan for them to be used much much later.

Mi amor,

I can’t imagine a life where I wake up without you by my side. You’ve taught me what it means to be resilient and determined, especially in the face of fear and evil. And what love looks like. I mean to me you are the definition of true love.

When I think of us and what we’ve been through I think of all those moments we had together, where it was just about us. There is no one else who I’d want to sass at some point in my day, and there is no one else who I would want by my side when I fight.

You may think that I’m your better half, but to be quite honest it’s the opposite. Being your friend, and then your lover, you have taught me so much that I can’t possibly put it into words even though I tried.

I can’t wait to start our future together, mi amor.

By the time you had finished, everyone had started to sob. That night as much as worry filled the air, so did love. When Remus finally said the words “you may kiss the bride” Regulus had almost swept you off your feet- not that you minded.

The two of you were led back inside where your new marriage was celebrated with day old cake and some left over wine. You didn’t care though, all you felt was happiness and hope that tomorrow would turn out okay.

For the first time in weeks, Regulus and you slept together in the same bed. You didn’t do anything that night except hold one another in your arms and whisper I love yous throughout the night. The next morning, you were thankful to have woken up first, being given the chance to see your husband look so peaceful was something that you loved. Your husband, there was something about even thinking those words that set a fire in you.

When the time came, Regulus and you went down to the kitchen where you would wait with the others for his return. It was a nerve-wracking several hours, so much so that Sirius had to grab you by the shoulders to stop your pacing.

Finally, Regulus appeared close to death and you weren’t sure whether to scream or cry. You rushed over to him, a mere heap on the floor, and with some struggle lifted him into the sofa. Your hands didn’t stop moving until every cut was sealed and no more blood was pouring out of him. By the end, you had to be dragged towards the bathroom and have your hands cleaned, not wanting to leave Regulus alone.

5 days. 5.

That’s how long it took for Regulus to wake up. By then every Order member knew not to bother you as you sat by your husband. Sirius would sit with you occasionally and would constantly make sure you ate and drank water… something about how his little brother would kill him if he found out that nobody had made sure you were okay.

When those grey, stormy eyes opened, the tears that you had held back when he arrived broke through.

“Sirius!” You called out, “Sirius! He’s awake.”

You had to hold yourself back from simultaneously tackling Regulus out of happiness now that he was awake and hitting him out of anger for almost dying.

The two brothers spoke in private as you were sent to go drink some water. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, leaning against the counter until you saw Regulus out of the corner of your eye holding himself up with the doorframe.

“What are you doing up?” You rushed over to him, “You should be lying down.”

“So this is the first thing I hear from my beautiful wife,” he smirked slightly.

“Oh- if you were expecting me to be mad, I am. I am very mad at you,” you cupped his cheeks with your hands, squeezing them slightly, “but I’m also very very happy that you’re alive and standing in front of me. So this is what you get.”

Regulus wrapped you in his arms and although he told you he was fully healed, the face he made told you otherwise.

Some days later, Dumbledore stopped by and told you that it would be best for the two of you to flee. You Know Who has gotten word about a traitor in his midst and Regulus’ absence had made him a suspect. The two of you packed your things and then spent that night together with your little family that had formed in the past year.

You all cried, laughed, and screamed one last time. Then Regulus picked up your bags and wrapped you up in his arms.

“One day,” he started, “when this is all over. We’ll come back. I promise my love.”

With a pop, the two of you disappeared into the night, heading to who knows where to start your new life together.

#remmys writings #regulus black x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus black x y/n #regulus black #regulus x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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alarriefantasy · 3 years

Note

Hi! I hope you are having a good day so far! Do you have some fics you can recommend where one of them is a photographer? It’s a bonus if there’s smut but it’s not a must :D thank you so much! <3

Here you go, darling! I hope you’re having a good day too by the way!

Photography Fics

Omega Shoe Repair by musketrois (B_kate)

Words: 6k

“Can I help you with anything?” The worker asked.

Heat spread across Harry’s cheeks as he realized he had been silently staring.

“Yes!” Harry scrambled to find the words he needed when all he wanted to do was continue admiring his surroundings, the man included.

The man’s smile didn’t falter as Harry gathered himself, continuing, “I had some questions.”

Harry walked closer and placed his warm hands on the edge of the counter. “My favorite pair of boots need resoled but I wanted to check if you’d be willing to do that for me.”

or Harry needs to get his favorite pair of boots fixed.

I Long For You by PinkSeelie

Words: 6k

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

Don't Unplug Me Or Shut Me Down by slashter

Words: 7k

Basically, Louis is a self-proclaimed nerd who fixes things and Harry seems too perfect to keep breaking as many things as he does.

Roses Are Red by underthesunlight

Words: 8k

or the one where Harry dreams about writing and Louis is just out there, wearing flower-crowns and being awfully inspiring.

say that you can see me (i'll speak up i swear) by coffeelouis (streamtpwk)

Words: 20k

[or, the liberal arts COLLEGE AU where Harry knows Louis as the best friend of the boy he has been hopelessly in love with for years now and Louis knows Harry as the boy he wished would look away from Zayn long enough to notice him.]

We keep this love in a photograph. by saccharinesea

Words: 22k

When 23-year-old Louis finally finds a job as a photographer for the new Burberry charity fashion campaign after the roughest year of his life, he feels like his life has a meaning again.

When America's sweetheart Harry Styles understands that he needs to clear his image after scandalous pictures involving drugs, male strippers and radio host Nick Grimshaw, he will do anything to start from scratch.

Whipped Cream by writingstylinson

Words: 24k

[Harry is a deaf photographer in charge of taking Lottie's wedding pictures. Louis is determined for Harry to be his plus one.]

hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss by icedwaters

Words: 27k

(or louis is a 22 year old photographer in his third year of uni, and harry is his 19 year old cat-loving neighbor.)

blind from this sweet, sweet craving by missandrogyny

Words: 31k

There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

You're the Light by allwaswell16

Words: 31k

Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

feels like home to me by tippytoetomlinstyles

Words: 34k

or the one where Harry is the quarterback who wants to be a photographer, Louis is the piano prodigy who like being a wallflower, and it's a roller coaster of a life but they're along for the ride.

Just Breathe by LittleLostPieces

Words: 35k

As a photographer, 18-year-old Harry loves a good snapshot, a well-preserved moment in time. He also likes kids an awful lot, has always wanted to raise a family with a loving and supportive partner of his own. Meeting Louis, a 25-year-old father of two, after a night out seems like the perfect realization of all of Harry's dreams really.

Louis, however, knows that one photograph can't begin to tell an accurate story of parenthood, of the joys and challenges of constantly living with wonderful, yet sometimes incredibly odd and frustrating, little humans. He's already had a partner who couldn't handle the pressures, one who left Louis with a mountain of doubt that anyone else will ever want to join his cracked family.

Falling in love is as easy as releasing the shutter. Developing the entire picture may take a little more time and effort than either of them expected.

I Would Take a Whisper (If That's All You Had To Give) by FallingLikeThis

Words: 40k

Louis is a photographer. Harry is a boy who wears flower crowns. Sounds like a match made in heaven, right? Louis thinks so, too. Unfortunately, Harry has a boyfriend. Can Louis steal his heart despite the fact that it's already supposed to be taken?

Hidden Gardens by pinky_heaven19

Words: 41k

OR the one where Louis owns a pub and Harry is a photographer who needs his help for a project. Louis is grumpy, Harry is not. Louis has a secret. There is some pining and a lot of fluff.

We'll Be Seamless by dinosaursmate

Words: 52k

Louis spends all his spare time scrolling arty nude blogs on Tumblr but amongst them all, Green is his favourite.

baby we could be enough (i'll make this feel like home) by orphan_account

Words: 52k

[harry is a photographer who's trying to find his place. louis is a single father with a smile that feels like home.]

Every Story Has Its Scars, Ours Is a Brand New Start by Rearviewdreamer

Words: 62k

Life as a devoted husband and an amazing father turned out to be a little different than Louis had expected. Everyone tells him it doesn't have to be that way; that he's worth more and that he's so much stronger than any one person trying to keep him down. It's all just words though until he meets the one person who makes him truly believe it.

Picking Up The Pieces by Halos_Boat

Words: 72k

Harry just signed his second set of divorce papers. He felt like his life was over, like he had nothing left.

Then he meets Louis.

to lure a hummingbird (you had me moonstruck) by brokenbeaks

Words: 81k

Or: An enemies-to-lovers fic where Harry and Louis are neighbours who are forced to get along due to the inconvenience (or convenience) of a broken lift.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Words: 84k

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Where You Lay by HamPalpert

Words: 86k

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles. Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore

Words: 102k

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

We The Fireworks by happilylarreh (AfterJenny)

Words: 103k

The AU where Louis needs saving and Harry wants to save him but doesn’t want to admit that maybe he needs saving a little bit too.

Now In A Minute by thealmightyavocado

Words: 150k

Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth by MrsStylinson

Words: 290k

When Louis moves into the flat next to Harry's, neither of them thinks it will change their lives. Louis is stuck in a relationship with his controlling and overly possessive boyfriend who he loves too much to break up with. Harry is content, seeking refuge from the snobby world he grew up in and forging a new path for himself. He does happen to have a habit of wanting to fix people though and when he meets Louis, the gorgeous man with a prat of a boyfriend, he finds himself trying to do just that. While Harry tries to avoid getting tangled in a messy situation, Louis tries to deny that there's a niggling voice in the back of his head that prefers Harry to his own boyfriend. While both determinedly refuse to let change come, they fail to notice that exact force wrapping around them and pulling them tighter together until there just might be no escape from the feelings brewing within.

♡ credit to the owner of the manip

♡ past themed recs here

#ask

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padfootagain · 4 years

Text

A Sunday Kind Of Love

Here comes a new request for my 4.7k followers!! Thank you for your request, anon! The following prompts were requested for Harry Styles!

19. "Huh... is that my shirt you're wearing?"

81. "Well… that… was a good kiss…"

I wrote them in italics in the fic. This is absolute fluff. Nothing but pure cuteness, so much cuteness that even I feel like it's almost too much. But can there really be too much cuteness? I think not.

I hope you like it!

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word count: 2322

It's Sunday morning.

There is rain pouring outside, but it's Fall already in England, so there is nothing surprising with the pouty weather, really. The rain makes clapping sounds as it hits the roof of your house and the windowpane of your bedroom. Through a corner of the curtain that isn't placed quite right to cover the glass, you can see the droplets rolling down the cold surface, tracing unrealistic patterns against the window. There's a little bit of condensation around the frame, blurring the dark clouds outside and the top of the orange leaves from the tree in your garden. There isn't much light in the room, because of the dark clouds, but also because it's still early, and beyond all the water darkening the sky, the sun is only shy for now.

Along with the sound of rain, you can hear the wind blowing from time to time, getting caught in the branches of your tree.

It's warm under your duvet, but you are well aware that it must be cold outside. Your nose feels a little cool, unprotected by the blanket you have tugged under your chin. Your whole world, it would seem, smells of rain, your sheets perfumed with the orange blossom of your detergent, and Harry's scent.

His Tom Ford cologne tickles your senses, familiar and warm and reassuring. It envelops you in a tight embrace, almost like a cocoon. It's your favourite scent in the world, really, because it means that he's here, by your side, instead of halfway across the globe.

And he's here alright, lying next to you in bed. For once, you're the first one awake despite Harry being an early-riser. Having a difficult time sleeping has at least one good side, you reckon. You can watch him sleep then.

His eyes are barely moving under his eyelids, but they slightly tremble still. His features are completely relaxed, and the calm he wears then makes him angelic. His eyelashes trace two dark lines above his cheekbones. He hasn't shaved in a few days and a stubble colours his cheeks, chin and space between his soft lips and cute nose. His parted lips move a little in his sleep, as if he was about to mutter something, making the tip of his nose bend to follow the movement. He's lying on his tummy, his face turned towards you and a hand hidden under his pillow. His hair is a wild and yet glorious mess of brown curls that both his night of sleep and your hands have tangled. You can barely hear his soft, regular breath escape through his nose above the sound of the rain, but it's a reassuring sound nonetheless.

You reach to rest your fingers upon his bare arm, his skin velvety under your fingertips. His body is warm and inviting, and you barely think as you snuggle closer to him, looking for his nearness like a planet is pulled towards its star.

You absentmindedly trace patterns over his arm, but stop when he shifts under your touch, the muscle of his shoulder flexing and then extending as he pushes his hand further under his pillow.

You don't want to wake him up just yet. You want to keep staring at him, enjoy the fragile moment and use it to carve the sight of him in your mind: a luminous memory to remember by.

So, you stop moving altogether, barely breathing, hoping not to disturb his sleep for a little longer, and merely stare at him, watching him lost in peaceful slumber.

Tomorrow, there will be a thousand tasks awaiting you at work. Tomorrow, there will be an early rise to get ready and hurry through crowded buses and trains to get to work. Tomorrow, there will be the stress of failure and the rush of too many things to do. Tomorrow, there will be a sandwich swallowed in a hurry to avoid losing time for work. Tomorrow there will be aching shoulders and headaches by the middle of the afternoon. Tomorrow, there will be a journey home, spent trying to fight back your exhaustion to keep your eyes open in public transports. And tomorrow night, there will be an early fall on the bed because you are too tired to do anything and gentle hands guiding you towards your pillow, and finally the scent of the Tom Ford cologne drowning you in a feeling of peace.

But this morning, there is nothing but this bed. Your stressful job is far away for now, and it almost feels as if you could forget that it exists altogether.

If only you could stay like this forever…

But eventually, after a long while – is it a few minutes or an hour, you truly can't say – Harry starts moving around a little more, and you recognize the first signs that he's about to wake up in his quiet shuffling.

And what better way to be accompanied out of slumber than with kisses?

You move your hand across his arm to rest on his naked back instead, your hand resting flat between his shoulder blades while you lean closer to kiss the cheek that is exposed to you. You drop gentle kisses there, his stubble tickling you a little, moving your lips across his cheekbone, his jaw, and finally the tip of his nose, which makes him smile.

You pull away, waiting for him to wake up, but he doesn't open his beautiful eyes like you expect him to. Instead, he frowns, and groans at you, his lips turning into a small pout.

"Don't stop," he complains, his voice rough and raspy with sleep, the sound sending electricity through your spine, despite the pillow shushing his words.

You laugh at him a little, but can't help but comply nonetheless, leaning to brush feathery kisses across his eyelid. He heaves a content sigh this time, his smile returning to his plush lips as your touch moves to his temple and forehead. You kiss the remnants of his frown away, and by the time your lips rest upon the tip of his ear, he has a grin on his face.

"Enough?" you ask in a teasing voice, having kissed every inch of his face you could reach.

"Hmm… there's one spot you've missed," he answers, opening one eye to look at you.

"Really? Which one?"

He shoots you a ridiculously bright smirk, turning his head a little more to face you, before he points to his lips.

You laugh again, but have to admit that he is right, his lips being previously out of reach for the most part, pressed against the pillow instead of facing you.

His eyes are finally open, mostly, at least, for sleep is still heavy on him. He hasn't chased the last fragments of it away yet, but it doesn't stop him from looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to yield, which you easily do. There's no way you can resist from kissing him, especially now, when it's a cold Sunday morning with rain pouring outside and you're cuddled in bed against his warm frame.

So, you kiss him, slow and deep and loving – adoring, one might even say. It's a little sleepy, but it's intimate in the most perfect of ways and it makes both of you feel warmth spread through your hearts until it feels like the organs are radiating love. It's peaceful, and complete, and it feels and tastes like home. It's all you'll ever need, really, and Harry feels just the same.

The kiss lingers, lasting until both of you are desperate for air. You're not sure when has Harry shifted enough to pull his hand away from under his pillow to wrap around you instead, but it feels good to be held by him. Safe. Sheltered. A place where you're sure you'll never get hurt, whatever may happen in the rest of your life.

When you eventually pull away, both of you out of breath, it takes him a few seconds to lazily open his eyes again. He has a dreamy look on his face.

"Well… that… was a good kiss…" he tells you, a stupid grin breaking his lips.

"Hmm… yes, it was," you nodded, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

"It was a very nice way to wake up," he praises, and it's his turn to scatter tender pecks across your cheeks, making you grin too.

"I bet it was…"

"You know what would make it even better?"

"More cuddles?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but considers your proposition first.

"Yes, actually that too," he admits. "But I was thinking about breakfast instead."

"You want me to make you breakfast?"

"I'll help too!" he defends himself.

"Will you? Cause that's what you said last weekend already, mister! And you ended up falling back asleep and not helping me at all."

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"I know… I'm just teasing. I'll get the coffee going."

He grinned, kissing your lips again.

"Thank you. I love you, you're the best. The best!"

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer and buries his face in your neck, kissing all along your skin there, nipping a couple of times to make you smile even brighter.

"Well, if you want breakfast, then you have to let me get out of bed and make it!"

He falls back further in his pillow, letting you move more freely again.

"Alright, I'll be down in a minute."

"Don't abandon me this time!" you warn him, poking at his side for good measure, making him squirm away from you and let out an adorable giggle.

"I won't! I won't! I promise!"

You kiss him one last time, before sitting up, looking for something to wear. After the activities of the previous night, you didn't bother putting on some clothes. But now, you need to go to kitchen, and you reach for the closest shirt you can find. It's the shirt Harry was wearing the night before, his Enjoy health, eat your honey t-shirt that was left disregarded on the floor as you found kissing much more important than tidying your clothes.

You put it on, turning to take a look at Harry's reaction. But your boyfriend has closed his eyes again, and you guess you'll have to wait till he gets to the kitchen.

You walked down the stairs to the kitchen, the rain still going strong outside. It's warm in your house though, and as you prepare some coffee, you admire the rain falling on the pavement. It has made puddles in the driveway already, and it seems to you that the sky is darkening.

You decide to put on some music while you gather the ingredients needed to make some waffles. You turn on the radio, and some random tune you don't recognize fill the room, covering the tapping noise of the rain.

" Huh... is that my shirt you're wearing?" Harry asks, a smug smile on his lips while he appears wearing nothing except a pair of black underwear.

He loves it. You know he does. He loves when you wear his clothes, and the way he wraps his arms around your middle from behind as he joins you in the kitchen is the final proof.

"I might have borrowed it," you answer with a grin.

"Hmm… borrowing is fine, but don't steal this one. I like it too much."

"Don't lie, you love seeing it on me."

He drops a sweet kiss on your hair.

"I do. Looks good on you."

"Better than on you?"

"Now, don't push it…"

You both laugh, while he moves to the side to grab a couple of apples and a knife, and he starts cutting some fruits for you both.

It's quiet between the two of you while you cook and listen to the music and to the steady rain. It's comfortable, the way you and Harry can stand next to each other in silence, intimate.

The tune changes to Etta James's voice. Warm and deep, her voice echoes through the kitchen and you start humming along the melody.

Without warning, Harry's hand comes to rest upon yours as you were mixing your ingredients for your waffles. You look up at him questioningly, but he merely smiles at you, pulling you close to him without letting go of your hand. His fingers are a little sticky with the juice from the apples he's been cutting, and yours are covered with sugar and flours, but none of you seem to care, and it still feel just as nice to be holding hands. His arm wraps around your waist, and before you can truly understand what's going on, the two of you are swaying across the kitchen. When you finally realize that you're dancing with Harry, you beam up at him.

"Perfect song for today," he whispers in your ear. "Don't you think so, darling?"

You hum in response. Your heart skips a beat every time he calls you with such pet names, no matter that he has done it thousands of times before.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

He hums along to the song, and you can feel the vibration of his chest against yours. His voice is a real lullaby that could lull you back to sleep. You're safe in his arms, and he's safe in yours. Your hand is lost in his messy curls, leaving white powder in its wake, and he can swear that he's never felt more like he has finally come home.

When the voice on the radio changes, and the beat picks up to another melody, you both silently agree to ignore it. Instead, you keep on slowly swaying to the same rhythm, unwilling to let go for now.

And if the world is cold outside, there was never a place safer and warmer than your shared embrace on this lazy Sunday morning.

**********************************************

Taglist: @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony

@cronias13 @stylesfics-xx @mellamolayla

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #writing

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-16)

Word count: 1.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Fluffity fluff fluff, pregnancy stuff.

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: One sneak peak into their married life :) I know it is a short chapter but we felt that the break was necessary. Thank you to all you guys who comment and reblog. I love you <3

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. You da best <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

13th February 2009

“Are you peeking from in between my fingers?” Sam asked dubiously. “I’ll know if you cheat.”

She laughed her clear, joyous laughter. “I’m not peeking. Some trust?”

He could have followed that up with something cheesy but Sam held his tongue as he maneuvered around the foyer and into the living room.

“Ready?”

“Ready!” The note of excitement was palpable in her voice.

Sam lifted his hands from over her eyes. There was a gasp as she took in the room before her. The double height space and the classic wooden furniture. The opposite wall was completely glass and one could see the sprawl of Manhattan below it. Sam tried to imagine how it looked to her, the modern staircase leading up to the upper story, the kitchen that was just visible around the living room corner. It wasn’t a big place with only two bedrooms upstairs, and Sam had wondered over and over if getting a place in the city was a good idea after all, especially with little Chirp on the way. Maybe he should have looked for a little house in the suburbs with a picket fence and a wide road where chirp could ride his bicycle.

Sam was distracted by that image- of a little boy trying to balance his wheels. Both, he and Y/N had been so excited on the day of the sonography two weeks ago. Bets had been made and Sam had never been happier to lose. A baby boy with Y/N’s smile and Y/N’s heart. It would be alright with him if the kid was all Y/N, really. He could still picture her face as she’d held his hand, the tears streaming down her face- “We’re having a boy, Sam. We’re having a son.”

“This is beautiful,” Y/N exhaled, breaking Sam out of his reverie. “I love it.”

“There’s a small study upstairs,” he pointed and her eyes followed the direction of his fingers.

“Both the bedrooms are upstairs,” he said apologetically. “But since you won’t be moving here before the delivery, I didn’t think it would be much of a problem.”

“Sam, stop fretting,” she said, turning in the circle of his arms- a little awkwardly, now that she was rounder in the middle. “This home is perfect.”

It brought back his earlier anxiety. “You don’t think the city is a bad place to raise a child? We can pass on this and look for something outside the city limits.”

“Houses don’t raise children. Parents do,” she reminded him with humour in her eyes. “As long as we are together, we can make this work. And no, I don’t think you’re being selfish by booking a flat close to your work.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“I know you, Mister.” She blew a kiss towards him.

Wondering not for the first time about just how perceptive Y/N was, Sam gave her a tour of the house, especially careful on the steps. It was perfect for her taste, already. Minimal and elegant. He didn’t think that she would want to redecorate.

“I’m thinking we can move the furniture to one side and make this into a mini library,” she was saying, pointing to the corner where the foyer opened up. “And your piano can go right next to it.”

“Mhmm…”

She looked at him, then, eyes narrowing, before grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the sofa with her.

“You’re a million miles away, Sam,” she said, squeezing the hand she was holding. “What’re you thinking?”

“It’s hard to be away from you,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.

They had both always known that Sam would have to move to New York in February for the job, but when it came to Y/N, Ellen had put her foot down that she would remain in Lawrence till the delivery. Y/N needs a mother, she needs a sister to look after her, Ellen had explained. Besides, there was only Sam here, and so many people in Lawrence to care for Y/N. The logic had seemed infallible to Sam then, and Y/N didn’t want to break her aunt’s heart. How hard could it be? Living apart for a few months. But the one week he had spent in the city without her had been torturous to say the least. She was on his mind all the time and it was making it harder to concentrate on his new job. There was always so much anxiety, about whether she was doing okay.

He had been dying for the weekend, knowing that she would be visiting him.

“It’s just a few more months,” she reassured him. “And you’ll be with me on the weekends.”

“It’s not enough,” he sighed. “I miss you more than what’s logical.”

Her laughter rang through the somewhat empty house.

“I’m being silly, aren’t I?” He gave her a wry smile.

Y/N shook her head. “You’re not being silly. You’re just being a wonderful husband.”

Sam reached out and pulled her over him, then leaned back on the sofa so she was sleeping against his side. His fingers found her hair, as he tried to convey just how much each second spent with her meant to him. The rational part of his brain told him that the novelty was supposed to wear off after a while, that he wouldn’t always be so maddeningly in love with her, and yet, in his heart Sam knew that the rational part of his brain was being stupid. He didn’t think it was possible for him to love her any less. Ever.

“So, do you want to visit the Yale campus tomorrow?” He spoke into her hair, where he was occasionally planting kisses. “You know, for Valentine’s day?”

She shook silently against him in laughter at first, then managed in between giggles. “Stop selling Ivy Leagues to me!”

Sam laughed along with her. “Really, Y/N! What’s stopping you now?”

“I don’t think I can get in.”

“That’s a whole load of bull if anything,” he said. “I really believe that you can achieve anything you set your heart to. Yale… Stanford… Berkeley… anything.”

“You skipped one,” she pointed out and he rolled his eyes.

“Harvard’s overrated.” He had always been prejudiced about Harvard. And the years spent at Yale with all that rivalry hadn’t helped one bit.

Sam could see she wasn’t entirely convinced, but Y/N gave in with good grace. “Okay, we’ll go to New Haven tomorrow. Happy?”

“More than I can express in words,” Sam answered truthfully.

***************************

17th March 2009

“Okay, you need to stop crying,” Sam mumbled. “I feel like I’m doing an awful job.”

“No no…” you waved your hand. “Don’t stop playing. I’m just being an emotional idiot here. It’s the hormones… and you play so beautifully.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you’re going to give me a big head here.”

Barely.

It was way past your bedtime, but you wanted to make the most of the weekend since Sam was here. You dragged him to the piano to play something for you. There was something heavenly about watching his fingers slide over the keys.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you said honestly, taking one of his hands, while the other continued playing and kissing his knuckles. “Be so cutthroat in the courtroom and so gentle… otherwise.”

You had taken to reading his textbooks and notes from college in the afternoon, carefully noting the language, the way he phrased his arguments. You could only imagine him sitting in the Green Library, as he had described it, slogging over assignments. Maybe if you learned some of this now, you could apply it in college yourself.

Sam shuddered as you kissed the silver band on his finger.

“If you keep doing that, Y/N,” He said slowly, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep playing for long.”

You giggled and let go of his hand. Sam sighed regretfully, but went back to his keys. Fur Elise again.

You felt it then. Swift and fluttering.

“Sam!” You gasped.

“I know, I know this is your favourite… But I swear if you start crying again-”

“No, Sam! The baby kicked!”

“What?”

You grabbed his hand and placed it over your belly. “Feel it! Chirp’s kicking.”

“Holy-” Sam’s eyes were wide as he put both his palms on your stomach, moving around when the baby kicked again.

“I felt something a week ago and then again on Tuesday, but this is the first time…” The tears that had just subsided came back again and started pouring down your cheeks.

“Our baby is… kicking…”

Abruptly, Sam yanked your shirt up by the hem, rolling it so it was tucked right under your chest, and placed his cheek on the skin where you had felt the first push.

Chirp moved again and you felt Sam stiffen over you. He held his breath for a while, but nothing happened again.

“Play something,” you suggested.

Without really moving, Sam moved one hand and placed it over the keys, playing the intro of Swan lake. Inside you, Chirp moved again.

“Sam! He’s doing it again. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. For the next few minutes his fingers played ceaselessly on the keys. Happily, you hummed along, feeling the little movements that quieted down slowly till they stopped.

When Sam finally raised his head up, you could see his eyes were watery.

“This… this…”

“I know,” you said, watching him struggle to find words. “I know.”

You reached out to touch the corner of his eye. “And I thought I was the hormonal one, huh?”

“You hear that, Chirp,” Sam mumbled, hand still on your rounded stomach. “You see how your mom makes fun of dad?”

“Chirp’s smart,” you said smugly. “He’ll know whose side to pick.”

The moisture still rolled down the side of Sam’s eye. “I’m glad I didn’t miss this… that I was around.”

“You hear that, Chirp?” You said, lightly. “Your dad’s scared about missing out. It’s because he loves you.”

Sam pulled you against his chest where you could hear the beat of his heart, slowing to normal with each passing second. You didn’t know what he was thinking… but you could guess that his thoughts were probably in line with yours. And as far as you were concerned, your closed eyes conjured one specific image. A tall man sitting before a piano, head not quite bowed, but rather tilted towards a woman who was looking at him with love and adoration. The music flowed slowly, but not in tune, because between them, a small boy was seated, giggling mischievously as he tinkered with the keys, off-scale but lilting. He would look up at the man for approval after each stroke, and when his father nodded, the boy would turn to the woman with a look of sheer happiness and a hint of pride in his soft hazel eyes. Your family.

***************************

A/N 2: Just one last flashback chapter to go. I’m pretty sure you all know what happens by this point, but just in case someone wants to know to avoid triggers, please feel free to message privately. It’s a really angsty chapter, so I thought it necessary to forewarn you.

That being said, due to exams I’ll be a bit inactive, but I’ll try my best to post the next chapter on schedule so we can go back to the present timeline as soon as possible.

I’ve added the posting dates for the next two chapters on the masterlist, in case you guys want to know!

The feedback is literally what’s keeping this story going right now. My immense thanks to all you lovely people who take the time out to be SO kind to me. I love you <3

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist:

@gabavaldman @im-a-light-child @cosicas-cuquis @bllyjianne @hoboal87 @i-is-for-inspiring @daughterleftbehind @wackiekebab @mylovelydame21 @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @superbadassnatural @babypink224221 @badlittlehabit99 @anathewierdo @sams-bubblegum-bitch @fandomoverdose666 @superstarmarvel @atc74 @aiofheavenandhell @rebel-author-chick @death-unbecomes-you @cookiechipdough @kbl1313 @linki-locks11 @miss-nerd95 @sunflowers-n-rocknroll @stoneyggirl @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @niyahgray @traceyaudette @blueaura @awfulmoons

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #lawyer!Sam x reader #professor!Sam x reader #sam fluff #tw pregnancy #Ana writes ALLU #anawritesspn #anawrites #allu 16 #q

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ladyreapermc · 4 years

Text

Drabble: The night is young (Jack x Reader)

Anon request: i wish you would write a fic where y/n is married to jack traven and it’s the night before he goes on duty for a full week starting tomorrow. a steamy action happen when they are in bathtub and y/n decided to please him but also giving him orgasm denial so that he would remember her for the whole week. fluff is highly required here☺️ thank you!

Pairing: Jack Traven x Reader

Wordcount: 1313

Warnings: smut (oral; penetration, orgasm denial; fem!dom)

Soaking in the bathtub, bubbles covering, and perfuming your skin, you let out a deep sigh. Why the weekend was so short? You barely had time to really rest, especially with that article your editor sent over to be rewritten for the fifth time.

You still didn’t know why he was getting on your ass about it, but he wanted by Monday, so you had to spend most of your time in front of the computer without a chance to really appreciate Jack.

He was very understanding as usual. His own job was just as demanding but didn’t make you feel any less guilty. And when you were finally done Jack was caught up in a football game and you didn’t want to interrupt either, so you came here to rest and relax.

You felt a slight shift in the water before fingers trailed up your stomach and you sighed in contentment, blinking your eyes open to look at Jack.

“Thinking about joining me?”

“Maybe,” he grinned, leaning for a kiss. “You want that?”

You hummed in agreement watching as he stood up and slowly took off his shirt exposing all the glorious muscles built by years of working hard as a SWAT police officer. He kicked off his pants next, revealing thick and strong thighs and a generous bulge covered by the thin fabric of his boxers which quickly followed the same destiny of his jeans.

That Jack was a handsome man it was undeniable. His golden skin glistened in the iridescent light of the bathroom and for a moment he just stood there like a Greek statue sculpted to perfection. Just looking at him was enough to set up those sparks of arousal deep inside you and he knew.

He stepped into the bathtub, making water slosh over the rim and getting giggles out of you as he awkwardly folded his long legs inside the tub sitting down facing you. For a while, you two just stared at each other, before both fell into a fit of chuckles.

“This is weird,” Jack said.

“You’re making weird.”

“So, you just sit here and stare at the wall?” he asked dubiously. “That’s relaxing?”

“Well, I don’t stare at the wall,” you shifted around so you could rest against his chest, your ass fitting snuggly over his semi-hardness. This position was much more comfortable and you leaned your head back against his shoulder. “I close my eyes and just enjoy the warmth and the scent.”

Jack just hummed in reply, nuzzling against your temple as his hands traveled over your body, his touch much slower and softer due to the water. His warm breath tickled the loose hairs by your ear and his lips pressed soft kisses against your cheek. For a while, none of you spoke, just enjoying each other’s company, treasuring the moments spent together.

When you started dating Jack, the fact that he risked his life every day on his job put a strain in your relationship, but you learned to trust his abilities and understand that this was his calling. It didn’t make it easier, but it was a comfort.

“You’re really going to be gone all week?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “New weapons training. I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t even notice I’m gone with all the work you got going on.”

“Trust me, I’ll notice,” you said, once again moving around and the bathroom floor was soaked by now. “I always notice.” You pressed soft kisses all over his jaw. “I can’t sleep without you.”

“Me either,” he took hold of your jaw, making you still so he could lay a long kiss on your lips. Usually, you loved how dominant Jack could get, but tonight you wanted something different.

Getting up, you stepped out of the tub, mindful not to slip and ruin your night. You offered Jack a hand and he stepped out too, his arms immediately surrounding your waist, his lips finding any inch of exposed skin to kiss and suck, making you arch towards him, your body responding to his touch.

You backtracked towards the bedroom, giggling as you and Jack had to struggle to keep your balance until you reached the dry carpet and from there it was easy to spin Jack around and push him towards the bed. He raised himself on his elbows to watch as you crawled on top of him, straddling his lap and claiming his mouth for a hard kiss.

“You’re gonna think of me all week…” you whispered, hands tracing the shapes of his sculpted chest. Jack only nodded. “You’re gonna touch yourself and think of me?”

“Yeah,” he sighed as your lips dragged down his chin and neck, your tongue coming out to play, leaving wet traces for the cool air to dry. “I always do.”

“But you’re not gonna cum without me,” you declared, moving lower, mouthing the line of his scar, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him to full hardness. “I’m the only one that allowed to make you cum.”

“Yes, ma’am,” his breath was coming out in shuddered gasps. His hands fisting the sheets tightly and you could see the strain in his thigh muscles to keep himself from thrusting up. “Only you.”

“Good boy,” you smirked at Jack, bringing the head of his cock between your lips and sucking hard, making him groan loudly. You loved how responsive he was to your touch and how needy he got when you sucked his dick.

You ran the flat of your tongue over the underside vein and pressed teasing little kisses all over his girth, before sucking each one of his balls into your mouth, getting tiny little grunts out of Jack. He was so very vocal, and you loved it. You went back to the head, swirling your tongue around it, before finally letting all of his cock sink inside the heat of your mouth until the head hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck! I’m close.” You already knew but the way he was throbbing on your tongue so you pull back just in time, squeezing his base firmly and Jack hissed.

“Didn’t say you could,” you smirked at him straddling him once more and rubbing your wet folds over his thick cock. You both moaned together, the teasing working both ways.

You loved the feel of him at your lips, just the suggestion of all the pleasures that thick erection promised you. Jack was the only one that could ever make you see stars as he fucked you.

Your thumb circled your clit teasingly, spiking up your pleasure and driving Jack insane with need over being able to look and not touch. Finally, you had enough teasing and slowly sunk on his cock, moaning at the feel of him stretching you so perfectly.

Once you were settled, you started riding him in a fast past, bringing his hands to your breast to cup and squeeze as you alternated between bouncing and grinding.

“Yeah, baby just like that. So fucking pretty riding my cock,” Jack cooed making you grin through you high. You could feel your body hot and tense, the pleasure intense and all-consuming and you were so so close already.

Jack could read your body like no one else and he knew it, of course, thrusting up to meet your movements, while your hand worked on your clit at a furious pace.

You cried out his name when you finally came, fingers digging on his abs, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you finally stilled and pulsed around him, his own movements growing messy and you pressed your hands to his chest and pulled out before he could reach his orgasm.

“What…?” He looked at you dazed and confused and you smirked leaning down to kiss his lips.

“Not done with you yet, officer and the night is young.”

xxx

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kurodachimagic · 3 years

Text

Chocolate and Cherries - Chapter 1

Summary: When Adachi falls into the arms of a kind stranger his life changes for the better.

Rating: Pg 13

Tags/warnings: Fluff, getting together, au, Writer Adachi, Chef Kurosawa.

Word count: 6.2k

A/n: This story was written for the cherry magic mini bang! Thank you @hiwatari-art for inviting me to join! Had a lovely time working with you as always. Thank you to my other artist over on twitter guacagabs. The entire story is being posted right now. Thank you to @schnaf for being a great friend and beta!

Read on ao3

Adachi dragged his feet on the pavement as he made his way home from work. He was already too exhausted to start his writing day with the best mindset but it would have to do. He’d already skipped four days this week and if he didn’t actually sit down to work on his book, it would never be published. He let out a deep sigh and shook his head slightly.

The situation was not ideal by any means, he was not great at cooking and it was already too late to start dinner, but he definitely needed to eat something or his mind would absolutely quit on him, he knew that much.

Adachi knew he should probably get something healthier but he refused to waste even more time walking to the store, so he decided to stop by the food cart near his flat for his usual emergency menu: two tuna onigiris with mayo - along with a can of soda in the hopes that the caffeine would boost his creativity. He was not too happy about it, but he didn’t have much time to contemplate his choice because as soon as he had paid, the first few droplets of water hit his shoulders. Looking up, he felt the next few drops hit his nose and his forehead. He cursed inwardly and simply took off awkwardly running the last few blocks home, trying his best not to slip and fall, his dress shoes nothing but a hazard in this particular situation.

The building door was so close, he could see it through the pouring rain; just a few meters and he would be home. Adachi rushed, his hand extended already to grab at the door handle when his body collided with something - someone - and fell backwards. It was as if time had slowed down; he could see the face of the person he ran into frozen in shock, his eyes widening as he saw Adachi falling, while Adachi could only think about the pain this would cause him, physical, yes, but mostly emotional. He always managed to get himself in embarrassing situations and now -

His neighbour extended his hand just in time to catch Adachi’s and pulled him upright effortlessly, his expression switching from shock to a relieved smile. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, I hadn’t seen you.”

“Thank you! I’m so sorry,” Adachi said, feeling the heat rise to his face, partly because of his clumsiness and partly because his neighbour had not let go of him yet. In fact, Adachi could have sworn that the guy was rubbing his thumb on the back of his hand. He didn’t know what to do, so he tried again. “Uh, sorry. I should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s ok, I’m glad that you didn’t get hurt.” The man seemed to suddenly remember they were standing in the pouring rain and pulled Adachi to the door. “Come, you’ll catch a cold in this weather.”

No matter how hard he thought, Adachi couldn't remember ever catching his name but he had seen this man before in the elevator and in some of the common areas. He seemed to be a bit of a recluse, much like himself.

The man opened the door and finally let go of his hand before ushering him in. “After you, Adachi.”

Adachi’s eyes widened; he didn't know how the man knew his name, but he didn’t mention it. He walked inside and called the elevator, followed closely by his saviour. Once the doors opened, he stepped in and turned around, pressing the button for the fifth floor and finally facing the man. "Thank you, again…" he trailed off.

"Kurosawa. My name is Kurosawa." He pressed the fourth-floor button.

Adachi smiled and bowed to him. "It was nice seeing you, Kurosawa. Have a good night."

The elevator dinged and Kurosawa bowed with a smile before exiting. “Good night, Adachi,” he waved.

Adachi hesitantly waved back as the elevator doors closed. Before he knew it he was one floor up, opening the door to his flat, throwing his work bag on the sofa and taking his wet clothes off with a groan before going to the bathroom.

What a day. Not only had he stayed late to finish on that project Urabe had handed to him but he also made himself look like a fool in front of his very cool neighbour, and to add insult to injury now he needed a hot shower to hopefully avoid catching a cold. He shook his head and hopped under the stream, washing himself thoroughly and letting the hot stream relax his muscles.

Feeling in a bit of a better mood, Adachi got out of the shower, wrapped himself in a towel and went about getting into a comfy set of pyjamas. He finally sat at his desk and opened the white doc of doom, checking the time and cursing as he realized it was 9 pm already. He slouched in his chair, throwing his head back with a groan. This book was going to take a million years at this rate, he really needed to prioritize his schedule, put on some good hours into it each day, especially during the weekend, he needed to -

Adachi’s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that his emergency dinner laid abandoned in its bag. He got up and stomped over to the sofa, unwrapping the onigiris and eating them without so much as a thought before returning to his spot. He promptly sat down to continue with the daily task of staring at the document while he begged his brain to type something - anything - out. But his mind had other plans though, Kurosawa’s face and gentle smile kept popping in his mind. Maybe it was because of the way he moved, how he had kept him from falling with his sharp reflexes, or maybe it was how elegant he looked even when he was soaking wet, how well his suit fitted him. Kurosawa was like some sort of superhero, or… no, he was more like a Prince Charming from an epic battle world. That was a start - it was not the murder mystery he had thought about, but it was definitely a start.

The sound of Adachi’s footsteps worked like a metronome, helping his mind settle into a rhythm. He was starting to see things in more detail: The brave prince paced in his castle, his sword close by his side, the problems his kingdom was facing were almost too much to bear and with his father on the brink of death, it was all on him. A shadow appeared above the citadel - the… the… ‘kingdom x’ was being attacked by a three-headed dragon. How would he fix this and save his people? Had someone sent the dragon or did it act with free will? Did the soon-to-be king have secret magic powers? Maybe they were a secret even to himself!

With renewed energy and excitement, Adachi sat down to work. This new world just wanted to be written, to become a reality, and he was not going to stop it. Aided by the occasional sip of soda and a few “stretching breaks” that were more like actual pacing, he managed to draft four thousand words by 5 am, effectively breaking his 3 thousand word record from just a few months ago. If he could keep up the pace he could finish the book within the next month and send it to Tsuge for editing and review. He sent a quick text to his friend to tell him the good news and got into bed; he would probably regret staying up so late tomorrow, but now he didn’t have it in him to care. Writing was definitely his call - even if he was very close to missing his goal of being a published author by 30.

---

The commute to work was nothing short of hell. The morning started with Adachi missing his usual train and having to take the next one during rush hour - not that he ever managed to avoid rush hour, but he usually took the first train during it so it wasn’t as crazy as later in the morning. This resulted in him having a very unpleasant ride, squeezed half to death between the sea of people, feeling like a canned sardine with a bad case of insomnia. That was the other issue, the previous writing night ended up being a success but even though he’d been exhausted by the time he was done, it had been impossible to fall asleep. Now he was on his way to a long workday with a pounding headache and a sour mood. If given the opportunity, Adachi would’ve chosen to take the day off to sleep and feel refreshed enough by sundown to continue writing.

His job was definitely a necessary evil, but sometimes he couldn’t help but resent it. On the verge of thirty, Adachi spent most of his day at the office, writing his reports, Urabe’s reports, and occasionally picking up the slack of some of his colleagues. There was barely any time for hobbies or relaxing and least of all to be an aspiring writer. To be completely honest, Adachi had started viewing his day job as his second career in the past year. His heart and soul were focused on his new goal, what he really wanted. In the end, if writing didn’t become his main income, it wouldn’t matter, he was passionate enough about it to continue no matter what. After all, living in the fantasy worlds he created was more than enough for him.

Adachi made it to his desk just on time, but running those last few blocks only served to make his mood even sourer. He pulled at the collar of his shirt with a small huff, still thinking about his writing and leaned back in his chair until it touched Urabe’s shoulder, startling him.

He turned around swiftly, blush already rising to his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Senpai.”

Urabe nodded and waved him off. Then, he cocked his head and looked at Adachi in more detail. “What is going on with you, Adachi? You look tired.”

“I just had trouble sleeping last night, that’s all,” Adachi said with a heavy sigh. He could picture so many things he would rather do than give explanations about his personal life, but he would feel too guilty if he was rude to Urabe when he was only worried about him.

“Hmm, are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes. I’m ok.” He attempted his best smile. “Thank you for asking.”

“Adachi,” Urabe pouted, his brows burrowed into a childish frown, just like every time he would ask Adachi to take on more work, any semblance of concern already gone out the window. “Can you finish this report for tomorrow? The boss is really piling stuff on my shoulders and I already had other plans for today.”

Sometimes Adachi wished he was a bad person, or a bad colleague even, but he couldn’t help taking on the extra work when it was needed, after all, he didn’t have much of a life. He rolled his eyes but nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh, wait. Is your birthday today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And you’re turning 30, right?”

Adachi nodded once again, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible; he didn’t want to be reminded of the passage of time or how much he hadn’t achieved by now.

Urabe rolled his chair closer and elbowed him. “Aaah, you sly weasel. Do you have a date?”

“Of course not. I’m just looking forward to getting home and sleeping.” That was literally his birthday plan.

Urabe frowned and gave him a quizzical look. “But you have... ‘dated’ before, right?” He winked.

Adachi shook his head slightly and saw the same look many people gave him, a mix of pity and judgement.

“You should ask one of the girls out. I’ve heard Yui is single and she’s very pretty!”

Adachi slowly turned his chair towards the copy machine and saw Yui across the room. She was, in fact, very pretty, but… she didn’t spark anything in him. She looked like a work of art, pleasant to look at, but not for him. “No, I don’t think that would work.”

“Adachi, if you don’t date someone by the time you turn 30, you will turn into a wizard!” He whispered.

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s true, you’ll see!”

Adachi rolled his eyes and turned back to his desk, finally starting on the reports needed. The sooner he was done with that, the sooner he could return to his writing.

The elevator opened its doors for Adachi and the ding that followed made his muscles relax instantly. Only a few more minutes and he would be up in his flat, taking his shoes off and cooking something quick before sitting down to write. He felt inspired by the beginning of this new story and he wasn’t about to let a bad day at work ruin that for him.

Just as the doors started to close, someone put a bag between them to keep them open. The first thing Adachi saw was a girl with a cute and gentle look, a black wispy fringe framing her face and a sweet smile. She nodded at Adachi and he smiled and nodded back. He wondered if he would ever date a girl like her, if sharing his life with a partner and doing things together would be so different than what he did now. The answer was probably not, since he assumed nobody would be supportive of him working all day and writing all night; if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really have time for a relationship, even if he sometimes yearned for a bit of company - theoretically. Adachi blinked repeatedly, suddenly crashing back into reality when he saw the looming presence of Kurosawa behind her, giving him a weird look he couldn’t quite place as he ushered the girl into the elevator.

Out of sheer awkwardness, Adachi nodded and mumbled a quiet hello at him, looking away as a blush crept onto his cheeks. Was that Kurosawa’s girlfriend? He groaned and let his head fall back against the elevator wall. He’d been caught staring at his neighbour’s girlfriend like a creep. He ventured a sideways glance and realized Kurosawa was still looking at him with a weird expression.

Thankfully, the ride was short and only a minute later, Adachi was home, barely paying any attention to his basic needs as per usual. He made some instant ramen and added a bit of egg to it before eating it mindlessly, daydreaming of his new story and the magic system involved.

Perhaps it was quickly becoming a much more ambitious project than he had anticipated but as long as the writing flowed, everything would be ok. What was supposed to be a long writing session soon turned into an early night after Adachi’s brain decided to shut down mid-sentence, putting him to sleep sitting at his desk, his head hanging down and his spine hunched over.

#cherry magic #cherry magic fic #mine

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atlafan · 4 years

Text

My Everything - Part One

A Take it Slow Sequel

What happens with Harry and Y/N after he proposes? How will the two navigate the engaged life while also continuing to juggle their jobs, friends, and families? Let’s find out.

Warnings: Fluff and Smut.

a/n: I only proofread like half of this so keep that in mind.

Masterpost

“I love you so much, Y/N. Can we have this adventure forever? Will you marry me?”

Harry was down on one knee in front of you, holding up the ring he had gotten for you. You both had tears running down your cheeks. Happy tears of course. You beam at him and try to get the words out.

“Oh, Harry.” You squeeze the hand of his you’ve been holding the entire time. “Yes, yes of course I’ll marry you!”

He smiles big at you and slips the ring on your finger. He stands up, wraps his arms around your waist and swings you around. He sets you down, dips you, and kisses you. Your hands lace through his hair and you kiss him back. He sets you back straight and rests his forehead against yours.

“I love you so much, Harry.”

“I love you too, thank you for sayin’ yes.” You can’t help but laugh.

“Did you think I’d say no?”

“No…but I nearly wet myself anyway.” He hooks his arm around your waist. “Alright, Nan, come on out.”

Your face lights up even more when you see your Nannie and Buster come out from behind one of the trees. Louis comes out as well, and your jaw drops.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t have this documented did you?”

“I…I’m so overwhelmed.” You give Louis a big hug.

“Filmed it and took pictures.” He gives Harry a hug as you hug your grandmother.

“You knew about all this?” You ask her as she helps wipe your tears away.

“Of course I did. When he called me and told me he wanted to marry you, and ask you here, he told me he wanted me here too. We were trying to figure out the best weekend to do it, and when I realized when the New Year was, I knew that would be the perfect excuse for me to come up here.” She takes yours hand and looks at the ring. “Jesus, this is just gorgeous, well done.” She says to Harry.

“Thanks for all your help.” He gives her a hug.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone tomorrow.”

“You’re not gonna call everyone yeh know? El did that like two seconds after she said yes.” Louis laughs.

“No, I just wanna enjoy the moment.” You walk around the playground. “I can’t get over these lights.”

“Someone’ll come take ‘em down too.” Harry says.

“Let me take some more pictures, yeah?”

You stand with Harry so Louis can take some shouts. He takes a close up of your hand over his to really showcase the ring. You take one of you and your grandmother, and one of the three of you. Lastly, you take some with you, Harry, and Buster.

“Alright, what do you kids say to some ice cream?” Nannie asks.

“I think that’s a great idea.” You hold Harry’s hand as you walk.

The four of you enjoy an ice cream. Louis drives your grandmother back so Harry can ride in your car with you. He of course insisted to drive.

“Where’s El and the baby?”

“Oh, they’re both home. Lou drove in today for this. He’s gonna spend the night at Niall’s and then drive back early tomorrow. Niall knew about all this by the way. I only told a couple of people. And I had a drink with your dad last night.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah.” He puts his hand on your thigh. “This is a really pretty dress, don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it before.”

“Thanks, babe.” You put your hand over his. “What did my dad say?”

“He’s excited for you to send him a picture of you wearin’ the ring.”

“Wow, I’ll send him a picture tomorrow then.” You look down at it. “Where did you even get this?”

“I designed it online from that store in London we both like. Picked it up this summer.”

“You’ve had this since July?!”

“Mhm.”

“Where were you hiding it?!”

“At work.”

“And your mum and sister know?”

“I need to call the both of them to let them know I finally asked, but Gem was with me when I picked it up. They’ve known.”

“I can’t believe how much you planned this out…I feel so special.”

“Well, you are special, Y/N.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry again.” You gasp. “Is that why you insisted she and I get our nails painted? For the pictures?”

“I didn’t know how much you’d care, but I-“ You lean across and kiss his cheek.

“You really thought of everything, thank you. I can’t wait to watch the video later. I want that right away.”

“Lou’s gonna come in and load everything onto my computer, don’t worry.”

You wrap your arms around his and lean your head on his shoulder for the rest of the drive.

“I can’t believe we’re engaged. You’re my fiancé, Harry.”

“And you’re mine. Oh! I almost forgot, I got the ring engraved, take a look.”

You slip it off and squint at it.

“My everything…oh my god, Harry.” You sniffle as you slip it back on. “That’s so sweet.” He kisses your hand.

“Glad you like it, darlin’.”

“I love it.”

Louis loads the video and pictures onto Harry’s laptop. You couldn’t stop watching the moment. It kept bringing tears to your eyes. You were so thankful you’d always have this moment to look back on. You give Louis a hug before he heads across the street to Niall’s.

“If you kids wanna go see Niall, don’t feel like you need to babysit me.” Nannie says.

“He’ll be over tomorrow. All our friends are coming over for dinner. It’s weird, but I don’t really wanna celebrate with anyone just yet. I wanna keep this moment ours a little longer.”

Nannie gives you both a hug and kiss goodnight. You were pretty tired too, and you also just wanted to cuddle alone with Harry.

“Wanna get into bed?” You ask him.

“Yeah.”

You both say goodnight to Buster and go into the bedroom. You both go into the bathroom, you close the door and turn the fan on. You lean back against the door and look at him.

“What?”

“I…I need your dick in my mouth.” Both of Harry’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Babe, your Nan-“

“For five minutes, just forget she’s here. I need to suck on it.” He can feel his cock twitch. “You look so handsome, and I just wanna feel close to you right now, physically. So can I?”

“Yes.”

“Can you sit up on the counter so I don’t have to get on my knees?”

Harry smirks and sits up on the sink counter. You stride over to him and stand between his legs.

“You know I love these pants on you.”

“Mhm, that’s why I wore ‘em.”

He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you. You press your hands on his thighs as you lean into the kiss. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and you moan softly. You start to unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper. You reach into his pants and palm him through his boxers. You groan when you feel how hard he already is. You take it out and lick your lips. You grip him with your left hand and smile.

“Looks pretty, doesn’t it?” You look up at him smirking.

“You’re gonna get it all dirty.” The tone of concern doesn’t match the grin on his face.

“I’ll be real careful.”

You spit into your right hand and use that to pump him up and down as your left hand dips further into his boxers to cup his balls. You dip your head down and suckle on his tip as you continue to work his shaft. His head rolls back as you sinker further down on him. You place both your hands flat on his upper thighs and you squeeze gently. One of his hands goes to the back of your neck as he thrusts into you a little. You gag on him for a moment, but it passes. You swallow around him and he groans. Your left hand drags up his torso and finds itself at the base of his throat. You rub your thumb over his Adam’s apple, and then you get a good grip on him. You look up at him quick to make sure it’s okay, and he looks down at you. The look in his hooded eyes tells you it’s all good, and you go back to giving him an absolutely sloppy blowjob. But you knew he liked it like this. What was sexy about a clean blowjob?

You had spit dripping down your chin, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the way Harry’s cock was twitching in your mouth. Your grip on his throat had to be sending him with the way he was fucking into your throat. You try to bob up and down on him with the same rhythm. In a swift motion he grabs you by the back of your dress and yanks you off of him.

“Hey.” You whine. “I wasn’t done.” He grabs your hand and take it off his throat.

“Yeah, and neither am I.” He hops of the counter, and lets his pants drop the rest of the way. He steps out of them. “I’d like to-“

“I got my period this morning.” You pout. “You can come on my-“

“I don’t really give a fuck about your period, Y/N. I’ll put the towel on the floor for us to stand over.”

“Please, it’s gonna be so gross, and-“

“I’d really like to fuck my fiancé.” He caresses your cheek. “Can I please do that?”

“Okay, but I’m lighting a candle, and you need to leave the bathroom for a second so I can…clean myself up.”

“Fine.”

He waits outside the door until you’re ready. Your panties were off but your dress was still on. Your legs were clamped to together. You put the towel on the floor like he said. He grips your hips and turns you around.

“Please use the condom.” He sees the foil packet on the sink counter. He rolls his eyes and grabs it. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” He mumbles while he rolls it on.

He lifts your dress and bunches it around your hips. He slides into you easily, just like he thought he would. He looks in the mirror and sees your face all scrunched up.

“Is it that uncomfortable for you? I can’t do this if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

“No, I just don’t like looking at myself in the mirror…and it’s a little gross.” You open your eyes to look at him through his reflection. “How do you not think this is gross?”

“Just feels like you’re really wet, that’s all.” He says into your ear.

“Jesus.” You take a deep breath. “I’m good, go ahead, I want you to.”

“Are you sure, we don’t have to…”

“No, I really do want to. I wanna fuck my fiancé too.” You smile reassuringly.

He sighs happily and starts to move. Your head rolls back against his shoulder. It did feel really good, and you really did want it. You wanted him the second you saw him standing there at the playground. He rocks in and out of you and you try really hard not to make a lot of noise. You look down at the beautiful ring on your finger, and you’re still amazed he got your style down to a T. You were really engaged, someone genuinely wanted to marry you. You hook your arm up behind him to grip at his hair. He peppers kisses on your jaw and neck. He was close already, you could tell. He reaches one of his hands around to rub your clit, but you swat it away.

“No, that’s too gross.”

“So, I’ll wash my hands after. Lemme rub that litte-“

“Okay, okay, go ahead.”

Your face is completely flushed, and you whimper when he starts to rub circles on you.

“Fuck.” You groan.

“Like that, babe?”

“Yes, shit, Harry.”

You weren’t going to last much longer yourself. He spills into the condom just as you’re getting your release. You both stay there for a moment before he pulls out.

“Barely anything on here, you had nothin’ to worry about.” He throws the condom away and kisses you quick before washing his hands.

“Still yucky.” You sit on the toilet and clean yourself up.

You grab a pad and some underwear. Harry leaves to give you some privacy. You get into bed with him and sigh.

“I don’t wanna take it off, but I’m afraid it’ll get lost while I’m sleeping.”

“I could get you a little ring dish like how I have for mine, then you’d have a nice, safe spot for it.”

“You know, I think I have one of those packed away somewhere. I can look for it tomorrow.” You reluctantly take the ring off and set it on your night table. “I love you.” You kiss him and settle on your side.

“I love you too.” He turns over and you slot a leg between his so you can spoon him properly. You hear him laughing to himself.

“What is it?”

“Nothin’, I’m just excited. We’re engaged.” He looks at you over his shoulder and you smile at him.

“Yeah, we are.”

The next morning you get up and take a shower with Harry. You put your ring back on the second you got up. You both admired it as you stood there in the water.

“It really is beautiful, Harry.”

“I saw you lookin’ at a similar style when we first went to that store together. Noticed on the other few rings you have that you prefer a thicker band too.”

“Why the three diamonds? I feel sorta bad, this must’ve been really expensive.”

“The one diamond just looked weird to me. Plus…it’s like our little family, you, me, and Buster.”

“Oh, Harry.” You turn to face him and wrap your around his neck. “You always think of every little detail.” He puckers his lips and you happily kiss him.

After another few minutes you both get out. He leaves you to dry your hair, and so he can take Buster out. Your grandmother was sitting in the kitchen, sipping on some coffee. Harry made sure to have his joggers and a t-shirt on this time.

“Buster.” Harry whistles to him, and sets some food in his bowl. Then he goes to make his own coffee. “Sleep well, Nan?”

“Yes, dear, thank you.” She smiles. “Ahem.”

“Oh!” He walks over to her and gives her a good morning kiss.

“Don’t worry, you’ll catch on soon.” She laughs. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s just blow drying her hair. I’m gonna take him out in a minute, just wanted to let him eat.” She hums her response. She watches as Harry sips on his coffee.

“My granddaughter made us all breakfast and coffee yesterday.”

“Yeah, she does it every day f’me, it’s really nice.”

“So…”

“So?”

“So, don’t you think it would be nice for her to come out to some coffee before you take that little prince out for a walk?”

Both of his eyebrows raise. He was ready to give her some smart remark, like how you both take turns making coffee, or that there are plenty of other things he does for you, but he decides against it. Instead he just grabs your favorite mug, favorite coffee, and presses the K-cup into the machine for it to brew.

“Good boy.” She smiles.

He shakes his head and whistles to Buster to follow him out. You come into the kitchen shortly after and smile when you see your coffee made with your creamer already in it.

“Morning, Nannie.” You give her a kiss and sit down next to her with your coffee.

“Does he do that for you often?”

“Oh sure. We take turns a lot. I tend to cover breakfast more often though just because I get up earlier than he does. He makes dinner a lot of the time. He’s a really good cook.”

“Well that’s nice.” She looks down at your ring. “Even better in the daylight, huh? Look at the size of that thing.” She points to the middle diamond.

“I know, it’s a lot bigger than I was expecting. Like, it’s still modest, but it certainly isn’t tiny. Makes me a little uneasy knowing he probably spent a lot of money on it.”

“Don’t be uneasy, honey. You’re more than worth every penny. Besides, if he wants to spend his money on you, let him.”

“But I don’t want him thinking my affection can be bought.”

“I’m sure he knows that.”

“He’s always getting me jewelry and stuff. Like these earrings, and my watch.”

“Again, let him if he wants to. If it makes him happy to get you those things, let him be happy.”

“I suppose it makes sense, I love buying him stuff too. Like the pearls he wears? Got him those for his birthday, and he was so happy he cried. He never takes them off, same for the ring I got him.”

“Didn’t he get you that nice chain for the ring you wear too?”

“Mhm.” You twist it between your fingers. “He’s very thoughtful.”

You both finish up your coffees. Neither of you wanted to eat much with all the food you’d be having later. You preheat the oven, and get the brisket re-set up. Harry comes back with Buster.

“God, it smells so good in here. I can’t wait to eat that kugel later.” He kisses you on the cheek and peaks into the oven.

“A lot of stuff is warming up in there.”

Nannie is getting string beans together, cutting off the ends and throwing them into a pot.

“When’s everyone comin’?”

“A little later this afternoon.” He nods and looks at your grandmother.

“Want me to do that, Nan?”

“No, honey, I can do it thank you. Why don’t you set the folding table set up next to the dining table, and set up the folding chairs too.”

“Sure thing.”

He goes out and does so. He even puts the table cloths on so it looks nice. He comes into the kitchen.

“I just realized we don’t have, like, nice plates to put everything on.”

“It’s okay, we’re just going to use those sturdy paper ones we have so we can throw everything away later.”

“Besides, nice plates are things you can put on your wedding registry.” Nannie winks at the both of you.

“Good point.” He says and grabs all the paper plates out of the cabinet. “Do you want these like set on the table, or do you wanna leave all that in here like a buffet?”

“Let’s leave it like a buffet, but if you want you can stick the wine and the wine glasses on the table and the bread. Easy stuff like that.”

“Alright.”

You go out to the dining area and approve of how Harry put everything.

“Suppose I should get dressed.” You say to him.

“Same here.”

Harry follows you into the bedroom. You pick out a nice pair of capris to wear with a cute top. Harry decides on some loose fitting, but nice jeans, and a short-sleeve button up. The apartment smelled amazing, and you were happy with how everything looked. Nannie was sitting with Buster on the sofa and you loved being able to have her here with you.

There’s a knock on the door, you assume it’s Niall since he has a key to your place. Harry opens the door and sure enough, it’s Niall and Sarah.

“Shana tova!” Sarah says to you, and you say it back giving her a hug. “I brought over some extra challah.”

“Oh thank you so much! My Nannie’s over there.”

“Nannie!” Sarah squeals.

“Sometimes I forget that Sarah and Rachel are Jewish too.” Harry says to Niall.

“I know, technically Sarah’s only half, but her mom is the one that’s Jewish so they just went by her.”

“I’ve heard that’s how it goes.”

“Niall.” Your Nannie says with a smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too.” He gives her a hug and a kiss.

“So, you snatched up this lovely young lady?”

“That’s right. Y/N introduced us almost a year ago.” He smiles at Sarah. “We just moved in together.”

“That’s great! How did you meet?”

“Um…we were having a girl’s night, and the boys came.” You explain. “Is Rach on her way?”

“Yeah, her and Mariah should be here soon.”

“When’s your family gettin’ here?” Niall asks.

“You know them, never on time.” You roll your eyes.

“They’d all be late to their own funerals.” Nannie says, making everyone laugh. “So, Rachel has a new girlfriend, that’s nice.”

“Yeah, it’s Harry’s friend and coworker, Mariah. She’s really nice.”

“Look you all, setting each other up with friends.”

Rachel and Mariah show up a few minutes later and greet everyone.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Harry says to Rachel.

“Mhm, what’s up?”

“Remind me, you all met at an even for Jewish students on your campus?”

“So, Y/N and Kate met first because they were roommates freshmen year. Sarah and I both had random roommates. I met Y/N at a film club meeting, and then we all met Sarah at a Jewish students meeting. I think they put on an event for the new year. Then Y/N and Sarah roomed together sophomore year and I roomed with Kate because we couldn’t all get an apartment yet, and we wanted the chance to live with other people. Then obviously I went to California with Y/N, so Kate and Sarah lived together. Then our junior and senior year all four of us lived together. That’s how we met Seth too.”

“Seth’s Jewish?”

“Um…Seth is a very Jewish name.” Rachel laughs.

“So, Y/N could’ve ended up with a Jewish guy, and she chose not to?”

“Harry…it would be really fucking weird to date someone solely on the fact that you’ve both been chosen.”

“What?”

“Have you never heard that before? The Jewish people are the chosen people.” She chuckles. “Anyways, I thought you were over being jealous of Seth?”

“I was never jealous of him in the first place…I just still can’t believe she’s really choosing me over anyone else.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Uhhhh.”

“Hey everybody, before my family gets here, I just wanted to share something with you, especially since you all were too oblivious to notice when you first walked in.” You smile and stick out your left hand.

The girls squeal and race over to hug you. Mariah gives Harry a hug. Niall hugs you next, and slap his shoulder.

“And you knew the entire time.”

“You did?!” Sarah slaps him too.

“Oi, I was sworn to secrecy! I’m really happy for you both.”

“Look at the size of this thing, Jesus, Harry.” Rachel says to him.

“I thought it was pretty modest.” He says.

“It’s perfect.” Sarah says. “Just beautiful.”

“How did it all go down?”

“Why don’t I show you? Louis filmed the whole thing and he took pictures. Harry, grab your laptop for me.”

He does so and you all sit on the sofa to watch.

“That’s why he stayed with us last night?” Sarah asks Niall.

“Well, yeah.”

“Sneaky.”

You all watch the video and the girls tear up, and so does Harry.

“That was so beautiful! Does your family know yet?” Sarah asks.

“Nope, you guys are the first people I’ve told. Once they all get here we’re going to announce it. Oh! Apparently my dad knows, so I should send him a picture of the ring. I need to text him Happy New Year anyways.” You take your phone and snap the shot to send him.

“What do you think they’ll say?” Rachel asks.

“I think they’ll be very happy for her.” Nannie says. “These two already have a good set up, it all just makes sense.”

“Do you think Erica’s gonna get annoyed?” Sarah asks.

“I really don’t care. She’s been with him for ten years, it’s not my fault they just got engaged a few months ago. They’ve set a date for next summer, so that’ll be when that happens for them. I’m really not too worried about it.”

“Lou and El’s wedding is gonna be next summer too. We’ll be busy.” Niall says.

You hear the buzzer for your door. Harry gets up to let your family in. Everyone sort of showed up at once. Your mom, Bridget, Erica, Kyle, Lily, Michael, your aunt and uncle, your great aunt and uncle, and your cousins with your kids. Everyone was really happy to see your Nannie.

“Excuse me, everyone!” You say as everyone gets settled after greetings. “Before we sit down to dinner we have an announcement to make. Last night, Harry asked me to marry him.” There were gasps all around. “And I said yes!” You hold your hand out so everyone can see, and there were tons of cheers and squeals and hugs and kisses. Your mother was in tears, happy ones.

You show them all pictures, wanting to keep the video a little more private. You could show your mom later. Everyone was really happy for all of you.

“This is amazing! Two of my daughters engaged in the same year.” Your mom says hugging you. “Please, don’t stress each other out.”

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me, she’s the crazy one.” You laugh.

Once everyone goes through the buffet line in the kitchen, you all sit down at the table. Your great uncle does the blessing over the wine and the bread, and you all dig in. You only took a little piece of brisket, not wanting to upset your stomach. It was just too good to pass up. Harry are the carrots and potatoes that were in the sauce. He at least wanted to try some of it, but there was no way he was going to eat the meat.

“Okay, Y/N, I want the full story.” Erica says. “How’d he do it?”

“Well…I don’t know exactly, I sort of just walked into the scene.” You giggle. “Harry, you tell everyone, you’re the mastermind.”

“Um.” He was just swallowing some food. “Well, at the beginning of the summer we went to Castle Island, and Y/N explained how special that place was to her as a kid. So I spoke with Niall about it a little more, and that’s where I knew it had to be done. And then I called Nan here to see if she could be here for it since we’d be going to the place that was most special to Y/N as a kid. She was the one that recommended we do it this weekend to use the holiday as a cover.” Everyone laughs. “It worked out great, you really had no idea.”

“Clueless.”

“So then I told her I had to work yesterday, but really I was off settin’ everything up. I put up all these lights, and I was actually able to rent out the playground.”

“That’s when I got suspicious that something was happening. I didn’t quite know what, but it was weird that no one was around on such a nice night. And Nannie was so slick, she had me keep walking while she took Buster to the bathroom with her. I’m getting closer to the playground, and I hear our song playing.”

“Which is what?” Your mom asks.

“You Make Me So Very Happy.” You both say the same time, and you both giggle.

“And there he was standing there, and he started his little speech, and then he got down on his knee and he asked me.” You beam at everyone.

“Wow, Harry, a lot of thought and planning really went into that.” Your uncle says.

“She’s always puttin’ so much thought and planning into everything else, thought I’d give it a go.”

“And that ring, my god.” Sarah says. “Sorry, I’m not over it. Did you see it in a shop and just know?”

“There’s a jewelry store in London we went to back in December, and I noticed the styles she was lookin’ at. So I worked with a jeweler online to design it.”

“He’s had it since July!” You say. “Can you believe that? Keeping such a secret from me for so long, and Nannie too! Because when we went away for my birthday, part of my present was him flying her up here.”

“Pretty much made it so she couldn’t say no.” Niall jokes.

After dinner, you get most of the table cleared for all of the different desserts people brought. You were full to the brim. Everyone was having such a wonderful time, it was nice to have your entire family over. You also felt even more comfortable having all your friends there.

Eventually everyone leaves, and you’re able to just lounge on the sofa with Harry and Nannie.

“You did great honey, good hosting.”

“Thanks, Nannie.” You look at Harry. “Well, should we update our Facebook statuses?”

“Think it’s about that time. You’re not gonna post the video are you?”

“No, just some of the pictures.”

“Okay.” He kisses the top of your head and you both update your Facebooks.

“Holy shit!”

“What?”

“It’s blowing up!”

“Already?”

“Yeah! Look.”

You show Harry you’re phone. You get tons of likes and comments. Harry was getting them too. His phone starts to go off.

“What the…why is she awake?”

“My sister, excuse me.” Harry stands up to take the call. He goes down the hall to your bedroom.

“Lot of people happy for you on there?” Nannie asks.

“Yeah!” Your phone starts to go off. “Oh my god.”

“What is it?”

“Kate’s calling me…” You sigh. You really didn’t want to answer, but you didn’t want to be rude. “Hello?”

“Hi Y/N…I didn’t want to just send a text…congratulations! You’re engaged, that’s so exciting!”

“Oh, thanks! Yeah, he asked me yesterday.”

“I’m really happy for you…” There’s an awkward pause between the two of you. “How’s everything else going? You never texted me back after I wished you a happy birthday…”

“I know.” You sigh. “I’m sorry about that, I was busy all weekend.”

“So I saw.”

“Things are good, Kate.”

“Things are good with me…I finished school, and I moved-“

“Kate, I appreciate you calling to congratulate me, but…you’re not my friend anymore…you’re not in my life.”

“I thought at some point we would try to be friends again…”

“Just in time for you to be a part of my wedding? Yeah, right. You were such a bridezilla yourself, I don’t need that kind of energy around me. Also, you slapped me, there’s really no coming back from that.”

“I understand, I guess I was just hoping you’d change your mind.”

“Not this time.”

“Sarah and Rachel still won’t talk to me.”

“I never told them not to, I hope you know that. Maybe they just saw your true colors and-“

“You got caught up in my shit, and I took it out on you.”

“By slapping me.”

“As if you hadn’t lunged at me a second before.”

“But I didn’t actually do…you know what? This is pointless. Thank you for congratulating me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” You groan as you hang up. Your phone goes off again.

“Just ignore it honey, it’s getting late.”

“It’s my friend Seth.” You swipe to answer the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey! Congratulations! I’m so excited for you guys, also Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.” You giggle. “And thanks.”

“You sound tired.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Why?”

“Kate just called me.”

“Ew.”

“I know!” You stand up just as Harry’s coming back. He sits down where you were.

“Is your sister alright?”

“Yeah, she just got mad because I never sent them the photos so she was like oh my god it was gorgeous, you know? Who’s she talkin’ to?”

“That nasty girl Kate just called, and now she’s talking to someone named Seth.” She shrugs.

“Ah.”

“Wait so what did she say to you?” Seth asks.

“She called to say congrats and then turned it into something about us being friends again…I do feel bad that her three best friends stopped talking to her, but I’ve been so much better without her.”

“She changed for the worse, Y/N, she’s not worth it.”

“I know.” You sigh.

“So, you pick a date yet?” He laughs.

“Ha! Good one. We haven’t exactly had a chance to talk about it. I have no idea how soon you’re supposed to planning all of this stuff.”

“I think you have to find a place you like and see what dates they have available, and then work backwards.”

“Makes sense. How are things with Isaac?”

“They’re still going well.”

“Did he come with you to family dinner?”

“No, I didn’t ask him. It’s a little soon to be bringing him around, you know?”

“Do your parents know you’re seeing him?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll take him to meet them at some point, I just didn’t think an even with my entire family was a good time.”

“Yeah, I get that. Although, the majority of my family met Harry at Thanksgiving.”

“It’s different for me, Y/N. My family is supportive, but it’s still hard to bring a guy around. It’ll be easier in small groups. Isaac hasn’t exactly jumped to have me meet his family either.”

“Right.” You knew Isaac was estranged from his family, but it wasn’t your place to tell Seth that.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your fiancé, I just wanted to say I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Seth.”

You hang your phone up and just turn it off. You appreciated people texting and calling, but you were too tired to respond to anything else.

“I think I’m ready for bed.” You say to them both. “Nannie, we need to be at the airport by 11AM tomorrow.”

“Alright sweetheart.” She yawns and gets up. “Think I’m ready for bed too. Goodnight, precious girl.” She kisses you and Harry and head into the guest room.

“I’m just gonna bring Buster out quick and then I’ll come to bed, babe.” Harry says to you and you nod.

You do your nightly routine and crawl into bed. Harry comes in shortly after and gets into bed with you. You snuggle up close with him and he throws his arm around you.

“How’s my fiancé?” He asks.

“Amazing, how’s mine?”

“Wonderful.”

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thepointoftheneedle · 4 years

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BUGHEAD APPRECIATION WEEK: day three - favourite trope

I am a very simple creature so my favourite trope is the coffee shop AU. I’ve written the little thing below the cut to celebrate it and as a thank you to the kind folks who have mentioned one of my stories this week. It honestly means such a lot!

Betty tied the apron and stood attentively behind her shift manager, Kevin, as he showed her the idiosyncrasies and foibles of the huge Fracino espresso machine. She was pleased to have got the job and wanted to present herself as an uncomplicatedly good hire. The coffee shop was a five minute walk from her apartment and she liked the ambiance. She’d been a regular since she began her research degree, stopping in often on her way to class in the morning. It would give her a break from the solitude and intensity of her thesis and it would force her to interact with people, she needed the human contact. After her initiation into the sacred rites of the machine Kevin gave her a laminated recipe card, took a seat on the other side of the counter and called out orders to her as she practiced.

“Tall latte, three shots,” presented no problem and she even managed the leaf design in the foam with a reasonable degree of skill. Kevin had clearly given his own order as a first trial because he took the drink from her hand and sipped it as he continued to put her through her paces.

“Medium cap, extra wet, rice,” was next, followed by “Flat white with legs.” She turned out the orders competently although the difference between them was negligible. He tested her listening skills and her ability not to laugh at an order with the "Grande, bone dry, five-shot ristretto, extra-whip, two-raw-sugars cappuccino” and the "Trenti iced coffee, 12 pumps vanilla, 12 pumps hazelnut, 12 pumps caramel, 5 pumps skinny mocha, a splash of soy, ice, double-blended.” When he asked what she would suggest to up sell that customer she suggested a shot of insulin, which made the only client in the place bark out a laugh. Kevin raised an eyebrow and she pointed at the millionaire shortcake instead and he nodded his approval.

“Ok, now for the real caffeine heads you need to get the serious drinks just right every time.” He had her draw a straight doppio, a ristretto, a lungo, a red eye and a black eye and lined them up along the counter. As she served the last Kevin looked over his shoulder at the lone customer. “You want any of these before they go down the drain, Hemingway?”

The guy looked up from his laptop and nodded, shuffling over and gathering up all of them in two journeys and returning them to his booth like a squirrel gathering acorns to tide him through winter. “Thanks Kevin,” he muttered as he secured the last of his spoils.

“Don’t thank me, Betty here made them. I only worry that all that caffeine will stop your heart. An ambulance outside will do nothing for our reputation,” Kevin replied.

“I have a high tolerance. For caffeine if nothing else. And thanks Betty. Nice to meet you.” He looked at her as he spoke and she was surprised by his eyes. They were a striking blue green, not the brown she would have expected with his dark hair. His eyelashes were unexpectedly long too, sweeping almost up to his brow line. Now that he wasn’t hunched over the keyboard she saw that he was handsome in a poetic, sensitive, romantic kind of way. He looked out of his time somehow, more suited to doublet and hose and rhyming couplets or drinking absinthe with Rimbaud. But here he was, drinking free, cold coffee in Greenwich Village.

“He’s a fixture and fitting, aren’t you Jones?”

“You’re my Café de Flore Kevin. I’ll dedicate the book to your hospitality,” he smiled. Betty liked the smile.

Over the next few weeks she exchanged a nod of greeting with Jones almost every day. He was generally in his booth when she arrived at four and left around seven, gathering up his laptop and a tall Americano to go, as if he hadn’t already risked his sanity with the amount of caffeine he’d consumed. “That’s quite a coffee habit,” she observed as he ordered another cup of drip coffee one afternoon.

“I’m a machine for turning coffee into prose, got to fuel the engine,” he quipped with a smirk. It was clearly a line he used a lot.

The next day as he collected his to-go brew she asked him if it stopped him from sleeping and he explained that he worked nights. “This’ll keep me going til four tomorrow morning. It’s good to be able to hate your job with the required degree of enthusiasm.” He was funny in a dry, self deprecating way that she enjoyed.

She started to try to sneak him extras with his coffee, offering cookies and chocolate stirrers. He turned them down. “I just like coffee with my coffee.”

“If you drink anymore you’ll start twitching.”

“No, I know my limit. I stop when I start being able to see noises and hear smells.”

She began to tease him about the consistency of his ordering. “Hey Jones, give me a challenge. Order something milky with complicated syrups and whipped cream.”

“Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death and sweet as love,” he replied. “That’s not mine by the way. It’s a proverb from Turkey or somewhere.”

“But you don’t use sugar.”

“No, I replace the love with bitterness,” he laughed, returning to his seat with his usual drip coffee.

The next day she suggested a cortado. “Come on Jones, let a little light into that darkness.” He grinned and accepted a macchiato. “Today a dab of foamed milk, tomorrow a vanilla latte with whipped cream. You’ll find you can live without pure intravenous caffeine.”

“I can live without it but all the folks who remain unharmed because I am well caffeinated really don’t want me to skimp. Anyway if you wean me off caffeine you’ll slash the profit margin of this place,” he smiled. “Not that I’m here solely for the coffee.”

She began to look forward to the jokes, to his familiar presence, to looking over at his long fingers dancing over the keys as he typed. There were moments when she found herself imagining them moving over her skin that way, flushing and tightening her ponytail in confusion as if he’d be able to read her thoughts.

One afternoon she found him slumped in the booth, his head against the seat back, snoring softly. She let him sleep until ten to seven before holding his Americano under his nose. He blinked his magnificent eyes as he awakened and then shook his head to disperse the sleep. She’d like to see that a lot more often, preferably from the adjacent pillow. “Thanks Betty, not enough coffee today and Jones without coffee is like… something without something…sorry, too sleepy for bon mots.”

Betty learned that he was doing his MFA at the New School, supporting himself by working nights as a porter at Bellevue. “Takes too long to travel all the way back to Yonkers between class and work so I hide out here and write. Besides I live with a singer/songwriter so it gets sort of noisy at home.” Betty hid her disappointment. Of course he had a girlfriend.

“A musician. Would I know her work?” she asked, twisting the knife masochistically.

“Him. No, I doubt it.” He paused and then looked at her a little shyly through his untidy, dark curls. “He’s playing downtown at the weekend and I’ve got a night off. You should come.” Betty reproached herself for her heteronormativity and smiled weakly. She really didn’t want to see Jones and his boyfriend together.

“Oh I’ve got … stuff this weekend. But thanks though. I’m sure he’ll be great.”

Jones flushed and looked at his feet. “I’m sorry if that was inappropriate. You don’t come to work to get hit on. Sorry,”

“Oh, no I didn’t think you were asking me on a date. To your boyfriend’s gig? That’d be weird. Oh unless…Oh, I mean, weird was rude. It’s totally your business but I’m not…like, I’m pretty strait-laced I guess. But you do you…or whoever. Sorry.” Jones was actually laughing now.

“Archie’s my roommate not my boyfriend. I wasn’t inviting you to a threesome. I was asking you on a date. If you’re busy or you’d rather I got lost just say so.”

The gig was the most fun she’d had since she moved to the city. When he leaned in for a kiss her heart thumped like she’d just drunk ten shots of espresso. After the encore she put her hand on Jughead’s arm and looked into his eyes. “Would you like to come to my place… for coffee?”

#bughead fanfiction #bughead appreciation week

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

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First Day Back (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: First Day Back Rating: PG Length: 2000 Warnings: None Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set after Josie’s birth. Sorry for the delay in updating, you can read about it here. Summary: Reader’s maternity leave comes to an end.

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Going back to work after weeks of maternity leave was an adjustment. Leaving Josie across the hall with the kind older woman who had been your neighbor since moving to Colombia was easier than expected. At least it was, right up until the moment you sat down at your desk and realized it would be eight hours until you saw her again.

Javier didn’t make it any easier. You had gotten too comfortable with him lately — which was easy to do, considering he frequently spent the night at your apartment and you had gotten used to waking up in his arms. But it also meant you were off your game.

Your hopes that he would be on assignment when you started back in the office were quickly dashed when plans fell through and Javier was stuck at his desk across from you.

Before Josie was born, you had gotten good at masking your emotions and framing your interactions with work-appropriate distance. Now you felt like every look set off a neon sign above your heads announcing what you were hiding.

Javier was shit at hiding his soft smiles and lingering looks. The kind that made your cheeks warm and your heart flutter.

“Welcome back.” Chris said flatly as he strolled into the office and threw his briefcase down on his desk.

“You’re late.” Javier stated as he fed a new piece of paper into the typewriter.

“Flat tire.”

“Pissed anyone off lately?” You quipped, shuffling through a stack of files on your desk.

“Oh, fuck off.” Chris sneered and muttered. “As if this day couldn’t get any worse.”

You snorted, “Happy to be of service.” Ever since Chris had been assigned to the office, you had butted heads with him. Before Josie, in those three awkward months before you told Javier about your pregnancy, things had been okay.

It was clear Chris hated you, simply because you were a woman who had the job he wanted, but the depths of his hatred became more apparent when the news broke about your pregnancy and your job — as far as you knew — wasn’t up for grabs.

“Peña, how was your weekend?”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he looked up from typing. “Yeah.” He shrugged a shoulder. “How was yours?”

“Took my lady friend on a little trip.” Chris boasted as he sank down in his chair, stretching his arms out before tucking his hands behind his head. “You get any action, man?”

You focused on the form you were filling out to get your firearm certification approved again.

“You know how it is,” Javier said vaguely as he shook a packet of cigarettes and tapped it against his palm. “I’ve been working a new informant.”

You knew it was a lie, but it didn’t change the fact that it didn’t sit well with you. Javier had been with you and Josie all weekend. The most action he’d gotten was when you both fell asleep on the sofa at noon because your daughter had decided to stay up the night before.

There was no new informant, but your brain still came at you with — “What if there was?”

“You’re a lucky bastard, Peña.” Chris drummed his fingers against the top of his desk, “I don’t seem to have the way with women that you do.”

“I wonder why.” You muttered as you signed your name on the bottom of the form and tucked it back into the folder as you stood up. “Anyone got any other forms that need to be processed? I’m taking this down to Betty.”

“I didn’t know you came back to be our assistant. Maybe this day isn’t fucked after all.” Chris smirked at you as he shuffled through his mess of a desk and tossed a file on top. “There.”

You offered him a tight-lipped smile as you snatched it up, before turning towards a Javier. “Got anything?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he tucked a cigarette behind his ear. “I’ve got shit to take her before a meeting with the director. I’ll walk with you and catch you up on what you’ve missed.”

“Alright.” You tilted your head to the side as you met his gaze, keeping your expression as impassive as possible. “Hopefully I haven’t missed too much.”

“Same old, same old.” Javier pursed his lips as he got his files together and stood. “It’s nice to have you back in the office. Chris is shit company.”

“You know you love me, Peña.” Chris chided, already focused on whatever work he had piled up on his desk.

“It’s good to be back.” You said casually, holding the folder against your chest as you walked along beside him. “You didn’t have to come with me.”

Javier’s fingers curled around your elbow, making you stop now that you were out of earshot, “You know that there’s no informant. Right?”

You blinked at him, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “Unless she’s hiding under my bed, I didn’t think there was anyone else.” You looked back down the hallway towards where the desks were, before looking back at him. “It’s fine, Javi.”

“Keeping this charade up—“

“Not now.” You scolded him, before starting back in the direction of Betty’s office. He was quick to catch up with you, falling into step beside you. “I just meant that I’ve had to keep up appearances here. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s an adjustment.”

You nodded your head in agreement. “The last year has been an adjustment. But we’re doing what we can.” You held out your hand, “I’ll take the files to Betty for you.”

Javier smirked at you, “Didn't need to take anything to her.” He told you as he sat the empty folder in your hand and used it as an excuse to brush his fingers over the back of your hand. “But I do have a meeting with the director,” He glanced at his watch. “In ten minutes.”

“See you later?” You questioned with a hopeful smile.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” A faint smile crossed his lips, before he continued down the hall and around the corner towards the director’s office.

——

You hadn’t anticipated just how relieved you were to have Josie back in your arms after work. Luciana regaled you with details about the day — nap times, feedings, how curious Josie was about her nephew that she also watched. You had missed all of that and there was no way to get that time back.

It helped put into perspective how Javier felt. He’d missed out on so much — during your pregnancy, during the birth, in the days and weeks that followed. You missed part of a day and you felt guilty over it.

But you knew better than to expect that he’d ever talk about it. He tiptoed around the more difficult topics and you didn’t hold that against him. Your entire relationship was difficult and you didn’t see a path forward that made it easier.

Javier was stuck in a weird sort of limbo where he lived two very different lives.

You cradled Josie against your chest as you peered through the peephole, before pulling open the door to let Javier in.

“There’s my girls,” He said warmly as he smiled at you, before looking towards Josie. “How did she do?”

“Luciana told me she was a dream to watch.” You offered, kissing the top of her head as she cooed softly. “I think we missed her more than she missed us.”

Javier’s hands went to his hips as he nodded his head, “Good.” He scrapped his teeth over his bottom lip as his gaze darted back to meet your eyes. “How are you?”

“Tired.” You shrugged, before walking towards the sofa. “But I’m so glad that I’m back at work. I missed it.”

“It was nice to look across the office and see you sitting there,” Javier drawled out as he pulled off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of the sofa before he sat down beside you.

“My firearms certification got approved.” You told him as you readjusted Josie in your arms so she could see Javier better. “I’ve got the course on Friday. I’m hoping that it means I have a chance to get back in the field… with you.”

Javier’s lips drew upwards at the corners, “Yeah?”

“It’s one step in the right direction, at least.” You shrugged. “You wanna hold her?” He nodded and you shifted so you could settle her into his arms. “I think she missed you more than me.”

Javier chuckled, “I don’t know about that, baby.”

You grinned at him, “Look at the way she’s looking at you.” You pointed out, watching as Josie looked up at him with a wide-eyed and marveling gaze. “And I seem to remember the way she was always kicking when you were around.”

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek gently, “Think we might have a daddy’s girl on our hands?”

“I know we do.” You slid your hand under his arm, curling your fingers around his arm at the elbow as you leaned against him and rested your head on his shoulder. “Are you staying tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

You squeezed his arm three short times, “Yes.”

Javier turned his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I won’t be here tomorrow night. I’ve got a lead to work outside of the city. I could swing by, but it would be late.”

“Javier?”

“Hmm?”

You played with the soft hair that curled around his ear, “I trust you.”

“I don’t want to fuck this up, baby.” Javier admitted. “This shit isn’t easy, but it’s worth it.” He exhaled heavily as he stared down at Josie as she curled her fingers around his thumb and tried to suck on it.

“I know.” You pressed your lips against the curve of his shoulder and let them linger there as you sighed. “But work comes first.”

Javier’s brows drew together, his lips moving like he meant to say something more than a simple, “Yeah.”

You trailed your fingers back towards the nape of his neck, ruffling the hair there as you watched his face. “I don’t mind if you show up late.”

“I don’t want to wake you up.”

“I’m getting pretty good at surviving on limited sleep.” You whispered, nodding your head towards Josie as she was slowly batting her eyes up at both of you. “I should feed her and get her down for the night.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he hesitated for just a fraction of a second before nodding. “I’ll go grab my bag out of the car.”

“Alright,” You said softly as you ran your hand down his arm and squeezed. “We’ll be waiting for you.” You promised as you took Josie from him.

Javier rested his hand on your leg, giving it three squeezes before he hauled himself off the sofa. “We’re good, right?”

“Javi,” You shook your head incredulously. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

He shrugged, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m gonna go grab my bags.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched him walk away, your heart aching just a little at how uncertain he still was in your relationship. You couldn’t blame him — you felt the same way most of the time, you just tried to ignore it.

Going back to work would be an adjustment. Figuring out how to navigate the duality of your relationship — professional and private — would be a challenge. But it was worth it.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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