#the harry cube is great because some sides have *the expression* and some don’t

[edsbacktattoo]

bf just walked in and said “happy valentine’s day” and gave me these

joyous day

[valeriethepussycats]

Assemble

Chapter 5

Pairing- Loki x Reader x Steve (one side)

Warning- cursing 

Your thoughts and other characters are in italics.

Flashbacks are in bold

Your favorite TV show- y/tv

Your Harry potter house- y/h

After Ororo kisses Y/n’s forehead she starts running away trying to make it out of the woods so she wouldn’t be Capture by the Weapon X Program. When Ororo makes it out the woods she comes across a  small town.

What have I done I left her when they after me was

This was Ororo’s only thought.  She had to fight the impulse to run back into the woods and save her daughter. Apart of her knew that her daughter was already gone. What is the point of both of us getting taking said  a darker another part of her. Feeling conflicted about everything Ororo starts to cry.

“You should listen to yourself it would’ve been pointless if you both would have gotten caught.” Said a voice behind Ororo.

Turning around Ororo see a man in a wheelchair. “Who are you?” Ororo questioned.

“I’m Charles Xavier and when came out the store I felt  overwhelmed  sadness coming from you I wanted to make sure cyou were ok but clearly you’re not....what is the matter?” Charles asked.

“These people they were after me and now they have my daughter. They experiment on mutants..... I have to do something to find her.” Ororo explained.

“How would you do it? If you had the power to stop them you would’ve.” Charles stated.

“May you can. Can you help me save my daughter please I’ll do anything.” Ororo pleaded as she wipes her face.  

“There’s not much I can do I’m just a man in a wheelchair who want to create a world were mutant can walk outside without fear.” Charles declared.

“What about my daughter I’ll never see her again.” Ororo sobbed.

Charles lay a comforting hand on Storm’s shoulder. “You never had a daughter Ororo your here because you want to help with your Mutant abilities.” Charles lied as he planted a thought inside  Ororo’s head.

Ororo stops sobbing and looks at Charles In curiosity.

“My school is for mutants who can’t control their powers or want to be around other  people of their kind.” Charles informed Ororo. “Does that seem like a place where you want to be?”

“Yes it does sound like a place I would want to be.” Ororo said with a smile.

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On the Helicarrier Tony and Bruce are working on their monitors to find the Location of the Tesseract.

“That’s the guy my dad never shut up about? Wondering if they shouldn’t have kept him on ice.” Tony remarked.

“The guy’s not wrong about Loki. He does have the jump on us.” Bruce agreed with Steve.

“What he’s got is an ACME dynamite kit.”  Tony mocked. “It's gonna blow up in his face, and I'm gonna be there when it does.”

“And I'll read all about it.” Bruce replied.

“Uh-huh. Or you'll be suiting up like the rest of us.” Tony disclosed.

“Ah, see. I don't get a suit of armor. I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare.” Bruce  explained.

“You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. Tony started then points at the mini arc reactor in his chest. “This stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armor. It's a... terrible privilege.”

“But you can control it.” Bruce pointed out.

“Because I learned how.”

“It's different.” Banner tries to read the computer screen, but Tony slides the  data aside with his finger so the two can see face-to-face.

“Hey, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have  killed you.” Tony put forth.”

“So you're saying that The Hulk... the other guy... saved my life?” Bruce asked. “That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?”

“I guess we'll find out.” Tony replied.

Banner and Stark get back to work at their respective computers.

“You might not like that.”

“You just might.”

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Y/n walks into the room and uses her powers to cover up the cameras with a small little cloud she walks over to Loki so he has his back to her and waits for her to speak.

“Where is the Tesseract?”  Y/n question.

“35 minutes that’s how long it taken you to finally come in here. Loki announced. “See me you felt some thing when you first saw me like your world slow down and all you saw was me.”

How the hell does he know that .....ignore his question that’s what he wants to take the tension off of him

“Where is the Tesseract.” Y/n repeated her question.

“I don’t know where is but if you want to take a look inside my mind I wouldn’t object.” Loki said with a smirk daring wanting Y/n to do it.

Not trying to show her shock she starts to walks around Loki’s cell.

“So you don’t know where it is when you’re the one who took it.”

“Yes.” Loki said Dead serious.

“You’re a real piece of work you know that. Why did you let yourself be captured come on let’s be honest if Thor and his friends can hold their own in a fight I damn well you can.” Y/n proclaimed.

“It was a fair match I was over powered.” Loki lied.

“Bullshit. You expect me to believe that you got caught nah. You want this to happen you want to be here and I wanna know why because your prize possession ain’t here.” Y/n pointed out.

“You got me.  Something told me that you were going to be here I let myself get caught so I could finally met you in person.” Loki answered.

“Why would you do that?”  Y/n wondered.

“You are beautiful beyond measures and you’re nothing like anyone I ever met before You’re different like me.” Loki announced.

“You don’t know me.” Y/n informed sassily.

“I know everything there is to know about you Y/n L. Munroe.  I also know that you want information about what truly happened that night.” Loki commented.

“How do you know that.” Y/n questioned walking up to the glass of the cell.

“A trickster never reveals his tricks.” Loki answered with a smirk.

“Why do I feel this pull towards.....like everything inside of me is screaming to break this glass just to be close to you.” Y/n said touching the glass.

“Then why don’t you.” Loki whispered as he placed his hand where Y/n is on the glass.

“Because your the enemy. You want war.” Y/n Replied as searches Loki mind for the Tesseract.

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“What do you know of Agent Munroe?” Loki asked Clint.

“She is a powerful mutant that can control the weather and read minds.” Clint answered.

Loki calls over two Shield agents. “I want you to tell Dr. Selvig to take the Tesseract and find his opening.” Loki ordered then walks out the underground to get an eyeball.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Damn it he doesn’t know where the Tesseract is.

“I want to be a King and every King needs a Queen.” Loki breathed his words at Y/n.

I understand why eve ate that Fucking Apple

“I need to go.” Y/n rushes out the room and bumps into Thor.

“ You. Me. Talk. Now.” Y/n pulls Thor into The nearest room and close the door.

“What the hell you mean he’s here because of me?”

“I forgot you could read minds.”  Thor stated.

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.” Y/n assured Thor.

“You and my brother are meant to be it’s been written in the stars of Asgard it’s a great honor.” Thor explained.

“What!?”

“My mother told me after Loki died or least we thought he did. She created a spell to find Loki a true love and it’s you.”

Is that’s why I feel the way I feel about him.

“Enough about Loki tell me about you how have you been. Have you seen Jane yet .” Y/n asked taking a sit on on the couch.

“No I haven’t I don’t think I will.” Thor answered taking a sit next to Y/n.

“Because after you leave here you have to go back home.”  Y/n expressed.

“It will be to hard.” Thor replied with a sad smile.

“I understand  it’s ok buddy.” Y/n said as she lays her head on Thor’s shoulder.

“How about you anything interesting happened after our last encounter?” Thor asked.

“I found out my mother is alive.” Y/n answered dryly.

“That’s........Amazing.” Thor proclaimed.

“She left me at the hands of people who hunt and experimented on mutants.”

“My.... apologies”

“I was five I loved her she was my world. All we had was each other. I.....I blamed myself for her death I thought if I would’ve just stayed awake or kept running....” Y/n trailed  off.

“Things would’ve ended differently.” Thor finished for Y/n.

“Ya.....what are we gonna do about Loki.” Y/n said getting up from the couch to pace back-and-forth.

“I was hoping you do something.” Thor proposed.

“I read his mind he gave the cube to Erik and told him to find an opening.”  Y/n answered.

“How did he know about your powers?” Thor questioned.

“Agent Barton told him.....Look I’m gonna go get some sleep I’m over working my brain.” Y/n said in a tired voice.

“Already.”

“I really did miss you Thor.” Y/n said with a smile.

“And I you.” Thor returned the smile.

Y/n walks out the room to her Temporary quarters Y/n lays down in her room she closes her eyes and drift off into a deep sleep.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n wakes up and see she’s not in her bed she gets out of the bed and walks to the nearest window and pull back the curtains and see a city made of gold.

Asgard

Y/n smiles as she looks at every detail. Seemingly built into the rock, large structures with sweeping terraces top many of the cliffs; gleaming pyramids, statues, and columns surround Odin's palace. Another notable feature in Asgard is the-

“The Rainbow Bridge.” Y/n Announced.

“Actually it’s called The Bifrost Bridge.” Said a voice behind Y/n making turn around fast.

It’s Loki. But he looks different he doesn’t have that evil look in his eyes there soft.

“Loki.” Y/n whispered his name. “What are you doing here? What am I doing here.”

“You’re in my mind,when you saw me for the first time we became linked.” Loki explained.

“Oh.”

“Will you have breakfast with me?” Loki asked.

“Breakfast?” Y/n said with a smile.

“You must change.”

Just then two ladies comes walking in the room with to dress then they lay them on the bed and bow at Y/n.

“Don’t you think this is a little too formal. It’s just breakfast.”  Y/n stressed.

“These are Asgard customs.” Loki Informed Y/n.

“Ok I’ll be down in few minutes.”

Loki bow his head then walks out the room.

Why are they bowing at me

Y/n  walks over to the dress on the bed. The one on the left is a long and green with cross stitching on the chest. But the one on the right was long and tan light with red sugar Maple Leafs climbing from the bottom of the dress to around the neck leaving the upper chest expose. Y/n  picks up the dress and smiles.

I not really a dress girl but who could deny this one

Y/n  puts the dress on and walks over to the mirror.

Damn I look good

Y/n walks out the room not bother to fix her hair but it was already in her favorite hair style. The ladies that brought the dresses in the room walks Y/n  to the dining hall. When she gets there she see Loki waiting for her. Loki take Y/n’s hand and walks her to her sit.

“This is all so much.” Y/n  said taking a sit.

“Nonsense anything for you.” Loki said pushing Y/n’s sit in.

”Thank you...I’ve only seen Asgard from Thor’s memories but this is beautiful.” Y/n

“This is my memories.” Loki told Y/n as he takes his sit.

Y/n looks around the Grate Hall in  amazement. There’s two tables a shorter one thats the one Loki and Y/n are at then it’s the longer one where Loki has every earth breakfast food on it.  As Y/n is distracted by the architectural structure of the Castle Loki is looking at her noticing every detail of her face.

“This is really beautiful Loki.” Y/n Praised.

“Not beautiful then you.” Loki remarked.

When Y/n finally looks at Loki she see that he’s giving her the “looks” you know the see into your soul look.

“Loki, what am I doing here?” Y/n wondered.

“I want to know you better is that a crime.”  Loki answered.

“No it is not but I know there’s more to it.” Y/n disclosed.

“I want to know everything about you in exchange I’ll tell you about the night your mother disappeared.” Loki proposed.

“Ok. What do you want to know?” Y/n asked.

“Anything.” Loki breathed.

“Well I find nature relaxing, best years of my life was when I lived in New Orleans with  Gambit, November 18  is the day I control my power l just remember this overwhelming sadness that I couldn’t control.  I caused a state wide earthquake and black out even some city in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Connecticut had black outs. Think I care to much. I’m passionate about everything I do. When I’m losing control of my powers I think of my time with Gambit and it always seem to work. I think I watch y/tv  to much.  My house is y/h . You remain me of Professor Snape a good guy in disguise.

“Who’s Professor Snape is he someone important to you?” Loki asked.

“He’s important to everyone who reads Harry Potter. You see Professor Snape was portrayed to be a bad guy but he never was he was an asshole yes  but not a bad guy. He cared for Harry because he was a piece of the woman he loved.....I’m sorry I really the loved books and movies Gambit used to read them to me.” Y/n stated with a smile.

“No it’s fine you said you were passionate about everything.”  Loki said with an fond look.

Y/n  smiles and starts to eat her pancakes. As Y/n is eating some syrup gets on the corner of Y/n’s mouth. Loki looks Y/n in the eyes as he reaches over and slowly wipes the syrup away from Y/n’s mouth with his thumb. He  then puts the pad of this thumb into his mouth. Y/n is shocked by Loki sudden movement.

“You had syrup on your cheek.” Loki told Y/n

“Um....thanks....Um the view is amazing.” Y/n  gets up and walks over to the balcony needing to put space between her and Loki. But it was in vane Loki walks up behind her.

“I’ve seen something far more amazing.” Loki

“Why are you doing this are trying to put me under your spell?” Y/n wondered.

“No I would never.” Loki said serious voice.

“Then what’s going on.”  

“I just want to be here with you.”

And in that moment Y/n  knew that Loki  was serious even asked all the times he told her he was she finally believed.  Y/n turns around and smiles at Loki she ledes in and kisses him. She then starts to get flashes of Loki’s childhood and smiles into the kiss.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Steve, with all his might, slides the heavy iron door and stealthily walks in. Secure storage 10-C is a large warehouse, filled with Metal crates stacked. Steve looks up, seeing another level. He leaps up high and holds onto the catwalk railing. Steve continues to move forward.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Inside this particular van, Selvig and a few other soldiers are  driving inside a long tunnel. With the CMS device inside, Selvig carefully picks up the small cylinder shape Iridium with metal prongs and lightly places it a slot within the CMS. The CMS Accepts it and Selvig looks at it, devilishly smiling.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

After “accepting” Charles offer to be be apart of this school Ororo went on to be known as the X-Men Storm somewhat of a caretaker of the children at Charles’s school. This was every day routine for Ororo waking up teaching children taking care of them and then probably go out scouting for more mutants with Jean or Scott but this time Charles had a different approach he paired her up with Logan. Yes you heard right the mutant with an unstoppable healing power, adamantium metal claws and no-nonsense attitude and one of the most ferocious heroes in the universe.

Logan and Ororo walk into Cerebro and see Charles. “You wanted to see us Chuck?” Logan  asked.

“There’s this mutant in Manhattan with a the power that can take the potential energy stored in an object and convert it to kinetic energy thus “charging” that item with explosive results. I need you to find him he has information on a mutant that  I need to find.” Charles informed Ororo and Logan.

“What’s he’s name Professor?” Ororo asked.

“Remy LeBeau but he also goes by Gambit.” Charles answered.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Gambit is at a bar late night drowning his sorrows in whiskey. Thinking about all the choices that led to him being here at a bar in Manhattan drinking he’s life away. He missed Y/n more then anything she was his daughter.

Gambit nod at Nick then  walks over to Y/n. “I guess is the end of the road.” Gambit commented.

“Can you promise me one thing?” Y/n Asked.

“What is it?” Gambit wondered with a curious tone.

“Don’t forget about me.” Y/n said with a sad smile.

“Never in a million years.” Gambit promised in a fatherly way.

Y/n hugs Gambit like her life depended on it.

“I love you.” Y/n sniffled.

Gambit pulls back from the hug to wipe Y/n’s tears “I love you too petit.” Gambit replied.“ This isn’t goodbye you’re gonna see me.”

Gambit shakes his head not wanting to remember what he said it makes him feel like a liar. He hasn’t seen her in years apart of him wonders if she would see him would she remember him? Gambit didn’t want to think about that he didn’t want that to be a Possibility. Gambit orders and another glass of whiskey and just when the bartender hands him he’s drinking two people approach him.

“I’m in no mood to fight so whatever business you have with me can it wait.” Gambit announced.

“You Remy LeBeau?”  Logan asked.

“That depends on who’s asking.”  Gambit stated.

“Charles Xavier he wants to know what happened in Canada with you and a mutant.”Ororo explained.

“And who might you be?” Gambit questioned as he turns around and see Logan and Ororo.

“Storm.”

“Stormy. You know my real name but I don’t know your.”

“And that’s how we like bub.” Logan Chimed in.

“No it’s fine I’m Ororo Munroe.”  Ororo told Gambit.

“I figure you were.” Gambit  downs his drink then pays for it and walks out the bar with  Ororo and Logan following closely.

“You asked nice now it’s my turn.”

Gambit pulls out a deck of cards and charge them. “Looks not looking for a fight ok you want to know what happened in Canada.  A little girl woke up in a cell across from mine crying out for her ma. Experimented on her and made her into a powerful mutant. The black out that happened on November 18 her I no doubt.” Gambit explained. “If you came here thinking I know where your daughter is you are mistaken.”

“What’s he talking about?” Logan questioned.

“I don’t know? I have a daughter?”

“I would seem that the good old Professor did more then help you crop. Look I’m not mad at you because you’ve getting me something I never knew I wanted.” Gambit said walks away.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

On a Shield monitor is a photo and record of Jane Foster. Thor looks at her, remembering all the moments they had together.

“As soon as Loki took the doctor we moved Jane Foster. We've got an excellent observatory in Traunsee. She was asked to consult there very

suddenly yesterday. Handsome fee, private plane, very remote. She'll be safe.” Agent Coulson informed Thor.

“Thank you. It's no accident Loki taking Erik Selvig. I dread what he plans for him once he's done. Erik is a good man.” Thor declared.

“He talks about you a lot. You changed his life. You changed everything around here.” Agent Coulson told Thor.

“They were better as they were. We pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced, but we...we come here battling like Bilchsteim.” Thor replied.

“Like what?” Agent Coulson asked.

“Bilchsteim? You know; huge, scaly, big antlers. You don't have those?” Thor wondered.

“Don't think so.”  Agent Coulson answered.                      

“They are repulsive, and they trample everything in their path.” Thor walks over to the side of the ship and looks out the window, lamenting about what has happened and what may come. “When I first came to earth, Loki's rage  followed me here and your people paid the price. And now again. In my youth I courted war.”          

“War hasn't started yet. Nick Chimed. “You think you can make Loki tell us what the Tesseract is?

“I do not know. Loki's mind is far afield, it's not just power he craves,it's vengeance upon me. There's no pain hat would prize his need from him.” Thor explained.

“Loki is a prisoner he can’t do anything to here I won’t let it happen.” Thor proclaimed.

“Then why do I feel like he's the only person on this boat that wants to be here?” Nick questioned.

Thor doesn't answer.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

When Y/n woke up from the dream world she was both relieved and upset. Loki had her flustered and that’s what made her upset. So Y/n walked to the combat room and turns one one of the drone.

“Who would you like to fight?” The drone asked.

“Surprises me.” Y/n answered.

The combat room changes into a living room of a middle class family house.

“Not the living room scenario.” Y/n protested.

The drone takes form of Sabretooth. A feral mutant named Victor Creed, his an animalistic mutant who possesses superhuman strength, mobility and cat-like claws and teeth and  He’s also Wolverine's brother.

You got to be kidding me I fought him one time

Without warning Sabretooth throws Y/n crashing her coffe table in front of the sofa.

“Why is it always the table and never the sofa.”

Y/n kicks Sabretooth in the chest,knocking the big man into a table on the right wall, where he crashes into the  Vases and slides to the floor in a tumult of glass shards and water. Y/n springs to her feet and swings at Sabretooth, again and again, her fist whooshing through the air. Sabretooth grabs Y/n's right wrist. With no room to dodge, Y/n drives her head forward,smashing Sabretooth's face with a glorious headbutt.  As Sabretooth staggers back, Y/n picks up a broken leg from the table and points it at Sabretooth’s neck.

“You know there’s an easier way with dealing with-“Natasha turns off the simulator and the table leg disappears out of Y/n’s hand “Anger.”

“I’m Frustrated Nat. Loki knew I could read minds so he had the cube sent somewhere without him knowing.” Y/n explained.

A red glow starts to form around Y/n. Masking her worry Natasha walks over to Y/n. “You know what’s happens when that part of you takes over.”

“But what if the Phoenix taking over stops Loki and no one gets hurt?” Y/n questioned.

“Y/n there will always be collateral damage in anything that involves saving someone or saving everyone.” Natasha told Y/n.

“Your right......I’m gonna go check on Bruce and Tony in they lab.” Y/n about to walk out the room but Natasha’s voice stops her.

“I was told to find you and give you this.” Natasha hands Y/n a folded piece of paper.

“It’s your Remy LeBeau.”

“Thank you.”  

“Don’t thank me thank Director Fury.”

Y/n smiles at Natasha then walks out the combat room.

Part 6

[chemiste]

Foresight ~ ch. 1

A/N : hey y’all, this is the very first chapter! please let me know what you think of it, feedback is greatly appreciated :) love Anna

You were so fucking excited for the concert.

Maggie and you had been saving up for a trip to Europe during spring break and were floored to get to go. It also helped that her father had been kind enough to take you girls with him on his company jet since he had a meeting in Germany (CEO of one of the biggest companies had its perks). 

After Maggie and you had parted ways with him, you both spent a few days traveling around Darmstadt when Maggie got a call from her father saying one of his colleagues had gotten concert tickets to a show in Basel for his daughter’s birthday but she wasn’t going to be able to make it and gave them to him for Mags instead.

“Ya dad, what’s up?—no way really? Of course we’ll go! Okay, tell him thank you for us!”

“You got concert tickets.” You stated, after taking a sip of your lemonade you bought from the small German woman that had been selling them at the farmer’s market you both stumbled across.

 Maggie rolled her eyes at you, “I can never surprise you can I?!” You laughed, “Sorry! It’s not like I can help it.” “I know, you’ve got your super psychic abilities that unables me to throw you a surprise birthday party!” She exclaimed, then blew a raspberry as if to prove her disappointment.

You were psychic, sort of. Your parents first noticed it when you would say the delivery line of a joke in sync with the late show host of whatever was playing on the TV. 

At first, they thought you must have heard it beforehand but then it just kept happening during things they knew were new airings. You also were never surprised, ever. Which probably was a bit of a bummer but it’s not like you knew any different. The moment they knew you had some sort of ability was during your middle school’s raffle at a spirit week fundraiser. 

They both watched in awe as you recited the 8 number combination of the winning ticket before it had been drawn.

After that significant event, they took you to a doctor who referred you to a colleague that dealt with psychological abilities. They were the ones to inform your parents you basically just knew things before others could. It couldn’t be classified till you got older and even if you did more tests, it wouldn’t do anything so you’re parents just decided to leave it at that. 

You weren’t conscious of yourself doing it when you were young but as you got older, you could catch yourself thinking about something like it’s going to rain in 8 minutes and 36 seconds or I feel really bad that the little girl just dropped her ice-cream just seconds before it happened.

Well, it was a great party trick to use at uni shindigs.

Maggie smiled as a notification popped up on her phone. “Dad just sent over the concert tickets, let's go to the train station and see if we can get a ride straight to Basel.” 

Fortunately, you both had your suitcases with you since you were originally going further down the road to France and then Switzerland, but oh well, you could just reroute. Both you and Maggie were buzzed to be able to go see a concert on your trip and didn’t hesitate to change your plans.

It was easy to find the station and after a bit of horrible German from Maggie to the ticket booth woman, you both had boarding tickets to Basel. 

“I’m really excited to see Harry Styles, the new album is really good.” You said as you both settled into a train booth and hoisted the suitcases to the overhead compartment. 

“I never told you— oh never mind, yeah I’m pumped! These tickets are for the floor so you bet your ass we’re squishing our way to the front. I’m too damn short to be anywhere else!” You chuckled at her statement. 

You started humming the melody of a song that had been stuck in your head all afternoon and scrolled through some pictures on your phone and decided to post something on Instagram.

The ride was uneventful, plus a great time to book a room on Airbnb and catch a small nap before the concert that night. Maggie and you took a cab from the train station to the lovely home you were spending the night in, or rather the spare guest home that was in the backyard. 

It was a fantastic find since most motels had been already booked for other spring breakers, apparently, the couple that was supposed to stay that night had to cut their trip short cause the man’s sister was going into labor in London. 

Well, that’s what the elderly lady—Martha call me Martha— said as she took you girls to the back house.

While Mags rummaged through her clothes looking for something to wear, you very graciously flopped onto the king bed that was pressed to the back wall.

Her head popped up from the other side of the case, “What are you gonna wear Y/N?” She stood up with a sequin pink top stretched out between her to hands to examine it, “I’m thinking this sparkle top thing I shoved in my bag last minute and my black denim skirt.” 

You let out a whine and sat up, “Yeah that will look nice, I’m thinking I’ll wear my Ramones t-shirt and some high waisted blue jeans—ya know the ones that make my ass look fantastic?”

Your bubbly brunette friend nodded her head excitedly at you and then suggested getting a quick bite to eat before the show. “We’ve got several hours to kill before.” After you got dinner, you headed down the street to a small bakery that you snapped a photo of to post later and got some goodies to snack on.

Maggie moaned as she chewed her Mandelgipfel, and you unwrapped one of the Biberlis you purchased. On the walk back, you thought about the setlist (which you had conveniently pulled up on your phone to see what you’d be watching).

“I’m really excited to hear Carolina, he sings like he’s sex on legs during that song.” She told you as she threw her napkin into the bin as she walked by.

You threw your head back and laughed, Maggie could sure be blunt sometimes, you thought to yourself.

Once back at the AirBnB, it was a bit of a mad dash to get ready. You did your favorite makeup and a good hairdo that would last threw all the headbanger songs. Mags went with space buns and bright pink eyeshadow to “match her sparkle shirt of course!” 

Before you knew it, the pair of you took a cab to the concert center and were into the venue without a hassle.

“Excuse me! So sorry, trying to get through!” Maggie demanded as she pushed through the crowd, her 4th beer in one hand and yours in the other, having a pushy small friend has its perks. Somehow, you don’t really know how (too busy trying to make sure your vodka didn’t spill) she managed to get you both to the very front of the stage.

People in black were on various parts of the stage, clipboards in hand. Some had walkie talkies and would speak into them every so often, you wondered how they could hear a response with such a loud crowd.

Maggie and you finished your drinks and put them into the bin over the barrier that was thankfully just an arms reach away. A few minutes later, the lights went dark and everyone started to cheer. Mags leaned over to you, “I think Mabel is coming on!”

The songs Mabel played were fun and the pair of y’all bounced to the beat of God Is A Dancer, the girl bowed and finally the rubric cube showed above on the large screen.

Screams filled the arena, you hollered while your friend jumped up screaming like a preteen.

And then there he was.

Only Angel was fantastic, and Harry looked amazing. He was decked out in a black sequin jacket and pants that shined with every minuscule movement the man made. It was jaw-dropping, to say the least.

After you jammed to Woman, snapped a picture during Ever Since New York, and rocked with Maggie to Two Ghosts, he took a pause to speak with the crowd.

“‘ello! ’m Harry Styles, nice to meet you.” The crowd erupted in cheers. “It’s lov’ly to see all your beautiful faces t’night, ‘m so glad you could make it t’ the show!”

“This next song is one of my favorites to perform, this is Carolina.”

Maggie nearly had a heart attack when he said the first syllable, and you were having a blast as well. Also good to note that yes, Maggie was right, he does look like walking sex when he performs that song (but I mean, when does he not).

You were mesmerized by the way he owned the stage, like it was his lover. You closed your eyes and rolled your body to the beat.

As the song ended, Harry seemed a little jittery which intrigued you, just a moment ago he seemed so confident. Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to perform his new songs.

Wait, what?

“— and uh, we’ve never play this before, this is a new one, this one’s called Medicine.” Maggie and you looked at each other with wide eyes and screamed with the crowd as well, the vodka was starting to kick in and your mind was floating in bliss.

Here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Treat you like a gentleman

Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline

Think I'm gonna stick with you

Here to take my medicine, take my medicine

Rest it on your fingertips

Up to your mouth, feeling it out

Feeling it out

You were singing along with the song having a grand o’l time of it, what you didn’t realize is that Maggie was standing next to you, staring at you with the pikachu surprise face. 

She grabbed your shoulder, “You know the lyrics?!” You looked at her with a mild expression, “ya? Don’t you? It’s what I was humming on the train.”

I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted

And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you—

“—TASTED!” You yelled up during the pause. Immediately you knew something was up when Harry’s head snapped over to look right at you. You were the only one to scream that to him. “Oh, fuck! Nobody else knows this do they?!”

If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive

You got the salt and I got me an appetite; now I can taste it

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy

La la la la la

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

You said to Maggie as people around you gave you a funny side-eye. She shook her head and laughed. “It’s no fair that you were jamming to this hours before I was!” It’s whatever, just enjoy the show Y/N!

Tingle running through my blood, fingers to my toes

Tingle running through my bones

The boys and the girls are here

I mess 'round a bit

And I'm okay with it

The boys and girls are here

I'm messing 'round with them

And I'm okay with it

As you went back to dancing, your fuzzy state of mind didn’t seem to register that a certain singer was watching you as you sang every lyric with him.

Oh god, there must have been a leak somewhere, Harry thought as he finished the chorus.

I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it

And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you—

“—Ride it!” You yelled out subconsciously. Fuck I did it again! You thought. 

Harry couldn’t believe it, there you were, in the front row acting like nothing was strange about you yelling out lyrics he had purposely not sung. He kept going and let his eyes skitter around the crowd of people close to you.

If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive

You got the salt and I got me an appetite; now I can taste it

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

La la la la la

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

They seem just as confused as I do, so luckily, maybe it’s a fresh leak that can be fixed quickly. God, I’m going to have to get a new laptop aren’t I? How are people so damn good at hacking, Harry thought.

I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted

The rockstar shook his head and waved his hands during the ending of the lyrics. The lights went out and he took a deep breath. It’ll be fine.

If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive

You got the salt and I got me an appetite; now I can taste it

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

La la la la la

You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh

The song ended and the concert attendees roared with praise of hearing a “supposedly” unreleased song. Maggie pulled you down into a crouch as she saw the singer looking with hawk eyes over the area they stood. 

“Y/N, He totally heard you! And I don’t think he’s too happy about it.” You both slowly stood up to see him walking over to Mitch, his guitarist and whisper something in his ear. The man in question looked over to where you were and it made you die a tiny bit inside. 

Oh god, I really hope I’m not in trouble.

Surprisingly, you hadn’t ever gotten into a bad situation because of your psychic abilities, it always helped most of the time, like when you were able to stop your friend from running around a corner of a building, not knowing a bicyclist was racing down it; Saved her and the cyclist from a bad crash.

 Now, feeling the eyes of multiple, very important people, made you think this was revenge for all the times you did a good deed. Ugh, I thought karma was supposed to reward good deeds! Not punish them!

Everything seemed to return to normal as Harry started Meet Me In The Hallway, then chatting with a couple fans, sang Sweet Creature, a lucky catch of a lavender bra which he quickly threw back out, and then If I Could Fly, everything was fine and dandy.

Till he announced the next song.

“This song is called Anna, and it’s new. 1,2,3,4!”

As the intro played, Harry kept an eye on you. There was no way you could know this one, they had never recorded it in the studio, only practice. If you did, oh god he didn’t even want to think about it.

Don't know where you're laying, just know it's not with me

Don't know what I'd tell you if I passed you on the street

Okay, it seems fine right now, she’s not singing along, just dancing with her friend as she said something to her. He continued.

I don't want your sympathy

But you don't know what you do to me

Oh, Anna

Fuck. There you were, pretending to have an invisible mic in your hand and belting out the lyrics. He watched for a moment as your brown-haired friend grabbed you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ nodded her head up to him. Wait, did you look surprised that you were singing along too?

Every time I see your face

There's only so much I can take

Oh, Anna

“Oh my god I did it again Maggie! He’s gonna call security isn’t he, and then I’ll be taken down to the station and locked away because he’s rich and famous and I’ll never see the light of day again!” You cried.

Don't know how you taste when there's smoke in your perfume

So chew me up and spit me out, nothing left to lose

I don't want your sympathy

But you don't know what you do to me

Oh, Anna

Every time I see your face

There's only so much I can take

Oh, Anna

Mags took hold of your chin and pulled you down to her face, “It’s alright, we’ll figure it out Y/N, plus they might just check online to see if someone had put up a recording beforehand that they didn’t know about and they’ll just think you’re a crazy dedicated fan. I really don’t think Harry Styles is going to lock you up for knowing his songs.”

You let out a large breath and nodded at her. You purposely kept your mouth shut during the next chorus, not wanting his eyes on you for a bad reason again.

I don't want your sympathy

But you don't know what you do to me

Oh, Anna

Every time I see your face

There's only so much I can take

Oh, Anna

Hope you never hear this and know that it's for you

I don't know what I'd tell you if you asked me for the truth

I don't want your sympathy

But you’ll never know what you do to me

Oh, Anna

Every time I see your face

There's only so much I can take

Oh, Anna

Some guy behind you pushed forward, causing you to squish into the barrier. It distracted you enough that when you looked up, Harry Styles and you were having a little duet.

Well I guess it would be nice

If I could touch your body

If I could touch your body

If I could touch your body

If I could touch your body

That’s it, how the FUCK does she know that part? Harry and the band had only decided to add it to the song yesterday for a fun spin-off of a classic. He was starting to freak out inside but oddly enough, it looked like she was too.

I don't want your sympathy

But you’ll never know what you do to me

Oh, Anna

Every time I see your face

There's only so much I can take

Oh, Anna

The song ended and you whipped around to face the crowd rather than him, back still pressed to the barrier. “Maggie I’m so screwed.” She put her hand on your shoulder and whispered to you, “Are there any more surprise songs?” 

You shook your head, “The setlist is altered a bit but that’s it. Wait, why do I know that?!”

You leaned your head back and looked to the ceiling, “Maggie, my psychic-ness isn’t usually this strong? I guess is the word?"—you looked at her—“why is it so easy to just know this stuff because of him?”

The space bunned brunette only shrugged. “Let's just enjoy the rest of the show, ‘kay?” You nodded and turned back around only to be met with an intense stare from the man on stage, but the stare wasn’t mad—more a confused look, which surprised you.

The rest of the show went very well. Maggie nearly burst into tears when she heard his rendition of TWMYB and then Sign Of The Times. His encore was phenomenal and you sang your head off to The Chain and rocked your socks off to Kiwi.

“Thank you eve’yone!” Was the last thing shouted out by the singer as he left the stage, but not without sparing you one last glance. 

“Let’s try and get out of here as fast as possible.” Maggie agreed and hand in hand you weaved your way through the crowd.

Just as you thought you made it home free, a security guard stopped you.

 “Ma’am, if you would please follow me. You’re needed backstage.” 

Your stomach dropped, oh no.

telephone hour for this chapter

ch.2

let me know what you think! 

~ Jess

[ptrparkcrs]

& you say rise above (self-para)

summary: peter meets an old friend in an unexpected place and faces dire consequences word count: 3002 trigger warnings: violence, injury, death mention, spider-man cops (completely useless, but existent)

It was ten seventeen PM. He had been at work late, probably too late, troubleshooting something small and nitpicky that even he barely understood. At least there was always food somewhere in the building, and FRIDAY liked him enough to not yell at him when he stole a second donut, or a third, or when he ordered an extra-large pizza on Tony Stark’s credit card. As long as he didn’t leave his workspace too greasy and saved some leftovers for Tony, he’d probably be fine.

Whatever it was he had been supposed to be working on, clean energy or artificial intelligence or consumer goods or fancy sunglasses, it probably wasn’t supposed to have been reconstructing the lenses of Spider-Man’s mask to better conform to his facial expressions, but Peter had had to do some repairs after Gabby had torn the thing to shreds. If Tony caught him sewing on the clock, what was he going to do? Let Spider-Man go without a mask? Put Peter’s life at risk? No, he’d be fine. He’d been too antsy to focus on real work, his ribs still healing, his face still a little tender. He’d needed a concrete physical distraction and the satisfaction of knowing he was fixing something.

(He’d be totally fine in a day or two; he was almost there, but Gabby had done a pretty solid number on him. Broken ribs, a black eye, scabs where the pavement had rubbed his chin raw, the whole shebang. He told everyone it was a bike accident, even though he didn’t own a bike, because nearly beaten to death by a chemically ramped-up teenager wasn’t something that could realistically have happened to completely normal, non-superhero guy Peter Parker. In retrospect, he should have said he’d crashed his skateboard into a taxi again, which he had done more than once in high school, but hindsight was 20/20.) 

Still, the time spent on the mask during the day had meant a pile of unfinished work, which had meant staying at the tower later. Peter knew that, as best as he’d tried not to be, he was a nepotism hire. He’d waltzed into Stark industries with little training and few qualifications, and he was determined to prove that he was just as suited to be here as anyone else. Yeah, he’d had the internship, but he’d gotten that through sheer dumb luck and minor internet fame, and he and Tony both knew it had been a cover, anyway. Yeah, he had a college degree, but most of his actual work experience had been mediocre photography for a vaguely predatory, second-rate newspaper. He’d been a child prodigy, sure, but last he’d checked most child prodigies peaked sometime around high school, and building the Spider-Man suit for personal gain wasn’t about to go on his resume. He knew any interview process he’d gone through had been performative; he knew that the job had been his no matter what, so long as he hadn’t actually blown up the company. He didn’t want Tony to regret his decision, and he really did want to keep his job. That meant actually doing his work, even if he did have to stay long past dark.

So he’d finally finished—the work and the mask—and headed home to find Sandwich demanding a second dinner and a walk. Fine. Okay. He could do that.

“All you’ve got going for you is your body, bud,” he said. “Don’t know why you’re so determined to ruin that.” Sandwich was beautiful, in a scraggly rescue dog kind of way (Aunt May said he looked like the dog from Annie, which was probably a compliment), but he was also dumb as a rock. He put a few treats in the bowl anyway and went to find a leash.

As he dug through the storage cube where he was sure he’d left the good collar, Peter heard sirens. They sounded close, maybe a few blocks away, and getting closer. His police scanner was on his nightstand, but there wasn’t time to check. Sirens were as good a cue as any.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told Sandwich, as he grabbed his suit from the pile on the floor, pulled it on, and headed towards the window. “We’ll walk later. Promise. Please don’t eat the couch again while I’m gone.”

The dog grunted and went back to eating.

&&&

Web swinging was hard today. His body groaned with every movement, resisting the stress of his acrobatics. Still healing. He hadn’t realized she’d gotten him quite that badly; he’d been up against way worse than a single teenage girl, but he hadn’t had anyone try so determinedly to kill him from such close range in a long time--not since Norman, or maybe Harry, but that had felt a little more reluctant. Fine, he’d go easy on the somersaults.

So long as whatever was up there wasn’t a troupe of murderous acrobats, he’d probably be okay. At least the new mask was holding up well.

What was up ahead, three or five or seven or twenty-six blocks from his apartment, he’d lost count, was—lights. Sirens. Yelling. A strange, echoing thump-thump. Shit. He dropped himself onto a rooftop to survey the scene, his ribs only groaning a little bit as he landed in a crouch. A bank, long closed for the night, its windows smashed. A row of police cars, like a barricade. Coming in from the north, fire trucks, an ambulance. A small throng of bystanders, their phones out, edging around the scene. A trail of broken asphalt running away in the opposite direction.

And in the middle of it all, a figure.

A man, maybe. In a long jacket, something more than the night obscuring his face. He—if it was a he—didn’t seem very big, but he hovered several feet above the ground, supported by what appeared to be a pair of giant robotic arms. Another pair spread wide into the night air, lashing at anyone who tried to approach.

Peter was pretty sure he’d seen those arms before, or something very like them. Mostly in sketches, then once or twice in a lab in college, never in use, just propped up safely against the back wall. They help my dexterity, Peter. More precise.

But that had been in a secure research lab up at Columbia, where the arms had helped a man’s clumsy hands study nuclear physics at an atomic scale, not ravage a bank on the Lower East Side. Stolen tech, maybe? A copycat? Convergent evolution, two people independently building the same machine at the same time? But what were the odds of that, really? These were robotic arms, not clean energy or self-driving cars. It was too niche. Who was this man, and what could he want?

He swung down, closer, landing on the hood of a police car. The officer standing next to it looked down at Peter and sighed.

“Hey, Spider-Man,” he said. “You can go home. We’ve got this.”

Peter tethered himself to a lamppost closer to the bank and leapt off the hood, angry at his stupid fragile body keeping him from somersaulting away for maximum dramatic effect. “That’s what you always say, Bill.”

“It’s David.”

“I really don’t care.”

He landed on the lamppost, but just barely. The many-armed man had seen him coming and was getting closer, one of his robotic limbs swiping at Peter’s perch. Peter leaped off before the pole could crash down and rolled to the ground, where he finally got a good look at his assailant.

He hadn’t imagined it. He knew those arms.

“Doctor Oc—"

Doctor Octavius. His thesis advisor. A kind, absentminded, academic type, the brand who left their office littered with sticky notes to remember to buy milk, who replied to emails four days late at two in the morning. He’d called Peter a genius kid, said he’d had what it takes to save the world. Because that’s what scientists do, Peter. We change things. We fix them. We make them better. We help the people who can’t help themselves—you get that, don’t you?

Oh, he got it.

Doc was wearing glasses, and his jovial smile had twisted into a sneer, but it was unmistakably him. He lowered himself to the ground, all four metal arms swirling around him.“Oh, great,” he said. “It’s the bug boy. What, couldn’t send any of the real superheroes to stop me? Daddy too busy arresting innocent people?”

With all due respect, Peter thought, what the fuck? Sure, he wasn’t an Enforcer, but his old professor going on a crime spree with a set of weaponized robot arms, probably having some sort of episode, called for enforcement.

He lifted himself off the ground slowly. His body was already screaming for a break, and they were barely getting started. “Look, dude, I respect the whole eight-legs thing, but you don’t gotta be so literal about it. It’s kinda—what’s the word? Tacky.”

Doc lunged at him; Peter dodged. “Wait, no,” he continued. “Kitschy. Campy. Gaudy.” Another swipe, another dodge. “No, I was right the first time. Tacky, it’s tacky.”

The next swipe came from behind him, and Peter jumped out of the way just in time. “What do you even want, Doc? For a guy in tights to teach you that robbing banks and taking hostages is wrong? Congrats, you got it!” He didn’t know if there were hostages; he’d been too stunned by Otto to check, he just assumed there were. There were almost always hostages when the guys in costumes got involved.

“How do you know my name?” Octavius growled.

Yep, there were hostages.

“I dunno, it was just a vibe. You kind of look like my dentist.” And the man who shaped my college career, but same thing.

Most nights he could go on like this forever. Banter, dodge, punch, jump, repeat. Talk him into submission, until he was too worn down by Peter’s endless punchlines to punch back.  Tonight, he was tired. He was injured. He had a dog at home waiting for a walk. This needed to be quick—rescue the hostages, get Otto taken in and looked after. (Kindly, he hoped; the Otto Octavius he knew was a good man, and was probably in there somewhere, scared and confused.) In the morning, maybe Peter Parker could call to innocently, coincidentally check in on his old mentor and get the full story.

“You’re a nuisance, Spider-Man. You know that, don’t you?”

“So it said on my report cards.”

Octavius stepped closer, and Peter webbed one of his metal legs to the ground, but he kept swiping. In his real arms, the human ones, Peter could see a briefcase, presumably full of the stolen money or techno-weapons for looting safety deposit boxes. So he already had what he wanted, but still the hostages, still the rampage, still the crazed look behind those horrible dark goggles. Peter could deal with him, the cops could free the hostages, they’d be fine, this was fine, everything was going to be fine.

But how had this happened—why had this happened? Did he poison everyone he touched? Ben, Gwen, Norman, even Harry, all either dead or driven mad by his proximity. Who next? Tony? May? Steph? MJ? His high school science teacher? His next-door neighbors?

You ruin everything, Peter Parker. They’re safer if you don’t love them, if they don’t love you. You’re a time bomb. A nuclear blast. Look at what you do to them. What you’ve done. You’re not worth it.

His spider sense alerting him to an incoming blow put a pause on the cycle of self-loathing. He couldn’t dodge in time, and an angry fist landed hard against his face. He groaned, and he tasted the blood from his (now probably broken) nose as it dripped into his mouth. “What do you want, Otto?” he spat.

Shit.

“Doctor” he could get away with as a joke, but how would Spider-Man know Doctor Octavius’s first name? He wouldn’t, that’s how. Not unless they knew each other in real life, civilian life, faces uncovered and feet on the ground. Peter, you idiot. His cover, which he had so carefully maintained for the past eight years, was about a minute from being blown by an academic in octopus cosplay. 

This shouldn’t have been happening. He was a professional, he was good at this. He had learned from his past, he was doing better, and these were amateur mistakes. He was off his game, that’s what this was. He was exhausted, injured, overworked, stunned by the improbability of it all. His whole life was improbable; he should have known to expect this kind of thing by now, but he wasn’t convinced he wasn’t living out some middle schooler’s sadistic Mad Libs. He still had time to fix this.

Otto said nothing; he just laughed.

Peter tried to launch himself in the air for a swing and a kick, but his reflexes were slowing, his injuries worsening. Whatever healing he’d done had been set back several days, and every movement was more labored than the last. Before he could evade, the arms, all of them now free of webbing, wrapped themselves around him and pulled him in. Peter hissed in response, his exhalation short and shallow, doing his best to suppress a yelp.

“Oh, come on. Personal space, dude,” he said, and the top left arm pinched his wrists together in response. He was now being held fast in evil, sentient handcuffs, no hopes of swinging away in sight. Nothing this stupid would have happened to Tony; Tony would have had lasers and lights and taken out this guy in minutes. Hell, he could have called in the Iron Legion for backup if he’d wanted, but a single man didn’t deserve it. Peter was a disappointment, again. This should have been so easy, and yet.

And yet.

Peter wasn’t Tony Stark.

“Otto,” growled Octavius.

Peter said nothing.

“Why did you call me that?”

This time, Peter squirmed. He was being held tightly, so tightly. His wrists were raw, his chest burning, and at some point, he had started to bleed. Work was going to have to buy bike accident twice this week. ”I told you. You look like my dentist. His name’s Otto. It was a lucky guess.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

His head spun and his mouth tasted like iron and asphalt as the world tunneled in around the edges of his vision. His hands still tied, he tried to gain some leverage with a kick, but the other arms squeezed even tighter until he was sure he felt a crunch. Great. This was it, this was how he died. Sometime around midnight outside a random bank because his college thesis advisor had taken up a life of crime and he’d been too weak and injured to do anything about it. Yeah, that tracked.

“Who are you, Spider-Man?”

Peter couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only steel himself as his spider sense turned on high alert. Imminent danger, big time. Yeah, he got it. With the human hand not holding the briefcase, Otto pulled the mask from his head.

And immediately dropped him, limp and winded and battered, to the ground.

Peter’s bare skin was so cold, the streetlights so bright, every sound and smell heightened without the mask.

Otto’s face had cleared with recognition, and his sneer fell away. “Peter?”

Peter groaned. Then he peeled himself off the ground and launched a flurry of web bombs until Otto was wrapped tightly all over. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would have to hold long enough to get him taken safely into custody. Locked up in the Raft for ten to life, a brilliant man’s work cut short by his own creation. (Was it too soon to make Frankenstein jokes?) But Peter couldn’t think about the tragedy of it yet. He had to keep moving.

He kept his head down until he found the mask by Otto’s feet. His hands were shaking, and it took impossibly long to fit it back over his head. It was twisted or too small or made for someone else entirely, bunching around his neck and pulling uncomfortably against his swollen face. And then he stood up, wobbly and wheezing, and faced the officers who were pulling the hostages from the building. Maybe they’d been inside. Maybe they hadn’t seen him. Maybe it was okay.

“You’ve got this from here, Bill,” he said, and, with every ounce of willpower he had left, he swung away on shaky arms to pick up his dog, call Aunt May, and hide in his childhood bedroom for the rest of his life.

&&&

The officers may not have seen him, but there had been bystanders. There are always bystanders, just like there are always hostages. They have cameras. They have social media. They flock to danger, to drama, to sensationalism. They post suffering for the likes and the retweets and the fleeting moments of fame. A Spider-Man sighting was pretty commonplace--novel, but not extraordinary. But this tableau, a hero in crisis, an identity revealed, that was media gold. This was a millennial icon’s Pyrrhic victory. This was a new weak spot in the Accords. And under all that bravado, he was just a scared little boy. They didn't recognize him (there was at least one audible boo when someone realized that Spider-Man was just another pasty white boy), but they’d seen him, and that was enough.

The responsible thing would have been to keep his secret, to respect the sanctity of what had happened here tonight. But the bystanders are never responsible.

While all the others had been texting and tweeting and snapping and streaming, at least one had had the wherewithal to take a picture with one of their fancy, enormous, three-lensed phone cameras and capture Spider-Man unmasked, clear as day, battered and bloody but distinctly him, and send it straight to the Daily Bugle.

(The ball’s in your court now, Jameson.)

[slothgiirl]

Y/N and Harry are best friends

“Hey you,” you call out, arms outstretched towards your best friend, Harry, “long time no see!” It was ironic, you'd graduated uni and moved to london just as Harry went on his world tour.

He smiles widely, enveloping you in his arms, smelling of musk and dark florals and something warm that you couldn't name but always associated it with Harry. “Miss me much babe,” his eyes sparkling as he teased you easily, all these months meant nothing now that you were together again.

“You have no clue,” You answered honestly, “I had no one to bother late at night or eat my terrible bread creations.”

“It's a recipe,” he says with a shake of his head, swinging you both slightly, “I don't know how you can mess it up!”

“Whatever mr I can't park,” you snap back.

“At least I can drive.”

You both burst out laughing and he lets you go briefly before taking your arm in his, and leading you into the restaurant, both of you pretending not to notice the far off paps in the corner of the street. It came with the territory and the mad obsession the media has with your friend.

It was monday afternoon and you'd been looking to this for days when he told you he was flying back from japan, which sounded like a dream. You'd never been further than Scotland.

“Cebu is always so freaking good,” you tell him, taking a sip from your vodka cranberry, “but tell me more about japan! It looks so cool! I'd love to visit the Aniu or sleep in one of those cube hotels.”

Harry laughs, drinking from his own beer, “It was cool. I mean I sent you all those pics didn't I! It was good to get some downtime after the past year.”

“At least you make friends easily,” you say, scrunching your nose, “my first term at uni was so lonely, I don't know what I'd have done if I'd never met Julia.”

“You just have to talk to people I mean you wouldn't love you! I spilled coffee on you and you didn't completely hate me. That's best friend material.”

“Think that says more about you than it says about me,” you laugh. “Still Japan is much cooler that spending the workweek in a lab.” It had been cool at first, but the novelty of being out of school and getting paid and not having exams had worn off by now.

“You get to do crazy wacky science,” he teases, “how long until you’re an x man!”

“I'd rather be spider-man,” you tell him without missing a beat, “when the rami movies came out I spent a good few months looking for spiders in the garden to bite me.” It had been so dumb in retrospect but you'd always hoped one day you'd wake up with superpowers.

Harry roars with laughter, “how'd you get into Oxford again?”

“Don't be an ass,” you reply, “we can't all being amazingly talented singers.”

“You forgot the wildly attractive part,” he says with a smirk, leaning close to you.

Unable to help yourself, you snort, “there goes your giant head again!”

“Hey,” he protests, looking the very picture of offended. If you didn't know him any better, you'd think you'd gone too far. But there's a hint of smile pulling at the corner of his lips and you just laugh.

“My most sincerest apologies,” you respond a girl to match his on your own face. Harry has a way of just making you so freaking happy no matter what else is going on. There's never been a time in your friendship when talking to him hadn't made you feel better.  “maybe bangs?”

He brings a hand up to his chest, mock offense written into his expressive features before his face lights up with glee. You know you're in for it now. “Oh where oh where has my baby gone,” he sings just loud enough to for you alone to hear.

“Stop,” you protest, flushing red and laughing, tears welling up in your eyes. You teared up easily when laughing. “Please the puppies are begging you to stop!”

Harry laughs, his gaze completely focused on you, “did you finish the art project you were working on then?”  

Despite him being the only person you trusted with your super secret art projects, you still felt yourself blush, hand coming up to brush stray hairs back behind your ear, “the initial photography, but I’m still working through the editing. The ones I've finished are coming out almost the way I pictured them.”

“Almost?”

“Well things are never exactly how you imagine them are they,” you note, “or maybe I'm just overthinking things and have been working on them for too long.”

“You probably just need a pair of fresh eyes,” Harry says as they bring out your food. Their eggs in tomatoes looked deceptively simple and yet yours were never as good.

“Smooth,” you utter, grinning at him. “Do you hit up everyone's DMs like that?”

Harry shakes his head, “no but really baby, can I see what you have so far?” His lips are drawn earnestly.

You nod, “sure, we can make a movie night out of it too. I've been dying to try out this no bake chocolate cream pie.”

“Only if I get to pick the movie?”

“Deal.”

*

You slump on the cheap ikea couch you and your roommates had pooled cash together to buy once you get home, bag full of snacks.  

“Tired,” Julia asks from the kitchen, shamelessly eating straight out of the pan.

“Yeah,” you tell her, “Arjun called in sick and since I'm the newest hires I got the short end of the stick and pulled a double shift.”

“Isn't work amazing,” Julia replies, bring the pan and an extra fork for you, settling down next to you. “My boss called me this morning at 6am and had me call a bunch of places in India to find some extra fabric for a client. I wasn't due til 9!”

“What an outrage,” I deadpan.

“Maybe we can still be witches in the midlands,” she offers, “or raise cows in the highlands.”

“God that's such a mood,” you sigh, taking the fork and eating her cheesy pasta dish. “I thought working in a lab would be nice and easy compared to school and it is but dealing with my boss and the hectic hours has left me with no social life.”

“Right! I've missed so many parties and good djs because I'm on call talking to far off places sourcing textiles! I just hope I get promoted so I can go on trip to source and not just spend all hours of the day being an errand girl.”

You nod, mouthful of pasta, “I heard hospital labs are pretty good but I've been told I need more experience.”

She laughs bitterly before gazing at your loot of snacks, “Harry coming over?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “we’re watching a movie and pigging out after a long ass week.” You has been looking forward to it all day despite how drained you were; to the bone, to the point coffee wasn't much help.

Opening snapchat you see harry's sent you a couple photos.

Him in a ruffled white shirt, loosely buttoned, caption reading in the mood for a period romance? ;))

The next was of him in a tastefully ripped shirt that probably cost more than your rent, and a worn flannel, or a rom com?

The there was Harry wearing an old dark knight shirt you'd gotten him for his birthday at a charity shop, or will we go full superhero landing!?!

Rolling your eyes and smiling your reply with a blurry selfy, the most dramatic frog to ever prince.

“God I can't wait til we're all sixty and you've both been married and divorced and finally get together,” she says teasingly, “or worse it's like you're both gotten together and your s.o’s are the third and fourth wheel!”

“Shut up,” you tell her, “we're literally the same. You spent most of fresher in my dorm once we met. You made me help shave your back.”

“That's friendship bitch,” Julia says with a laugh, “just keep in mind Imma be like dead to the world.”

“Wow,” you state, “you've come such a long way from being a complete party animal.”

“Right,” she mutters, “I miss drinking and showing up hungover to class.”

“It's all downhill from here,” you tease.

She swats your fork away from the pot, “what a depressing thought.”

*

Harry texts you to let you know he's here and you buzz him up, hugging him before saying, “i might have to steal this sweater from you.” It ridiculously soft the way only old sweaters are.

He laughs, “I brought a bottle of rose.”

“ooh let me try this knife trick i've been practicing,” you tell him as he kicks off his boots and settles in.

“Don't want to die today but thanks.”

“Harold,” you respond mock affronted. “So what movie have you chosen for us today art hoe?”

“You're the one who can quote the cool girl monologue by heart,” he retorts, grabbing the wine opener and starting on the cork. Unlike you, he managed it without cursing for half an hour and deciding boxed wine wasn't a bad idea.

“The movie harry,” you say, grabbing a couple of blankets and pillows for the couch along with your art journal.

“Searching,” he answers, “Sarah said it was really good and slept on.”

“And even if it's not there's always chips and hummus.”

“Very true,” Harry responds, pouring wine into mugs like a maniac and settling down next to you on the couch, his own worn journal in hand. “But it's Sarah and Mitch they have great taste in pretty much everything.”

“High praise coming from you,” you note palming through your journal, over the drawing and words you'd written down over the last few months.

He grins, looking perfectly at home in your modest flat. Harry has never been weird about being famous and rich and- it made it that much easier to be friends with him. To forget about all that and just be friends with Harry, not Harry styles. “It is ain't it,” he utters lips curled into a sinners smile, the kind he gave girls and boys when you went out to clubs.

“There goes your big head again,” you retort, putting your journal down and curling up with a handful of popcorn.

“Oi!” Harry furrows his brow staring you down for a second before launching himself at you, pinning you down and tickling your sides, “take it back!”

“Never,” you yelp, giggling madly, Your arms against his chest as you push him off easily. It's so easy to be comfortable with him, he's just such a hugger and you can't say you don't like it, the warmth and security you feel.

He laughs, “so long as you let me see your journal baby,” is his only response, chest still shaking from laughter.

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” you respond jokingly. The sense of humor middle schoolers had still there in your head.

“Deal,” he replies, shifting so his head is resting in your lap, passing you his own journal before grabbing yours off the coffee table. You'd never felt as grown up as you did when buying a coffee table, even more so than buying pans and dishes instead of eating everything out of a mug.

Mindlessly, your fingers run through his hair, soft and silky and starting to curl up behind his ears. You wonder if he'll let it grow out again. You prefer him like this but it was fun to braid his strands of hair.

His journal is more full of words than drawings, in his sloppy scrawl, like in old letters. Leather bound parchment, it's tons nicer than your own moleskine you'd gotten on sale, with the true victorian era feel you'd been obsessed with in your younger years.

There's a dreamy quality to the writing, fragmented thoughts that he trusts you with.

The tv plays quietly in the background, you’re too immersed to say anything, to break the comfortable silence with any words, occasionally reaching for a chip, smothering it in hummus.

In the beginning, when Harry had first crashed at your small cramped flat at uni, he'd drunkenly looked through your journal, well one of your journals, covered in all your loose thoughts and many many drawings and sketches, ideas for pieces that you'd spend what little free time you had doing.

You'd gotten annoyed and a little mad, because your journal was private and personal and who did you think you were? Frida Kahlo? It wasn't like he'd meant to, drunk and a little high. It wasn't one of your best moments but he'd bought you a cuppa tea the next morning before you'd woken up and let you flip through his own journal, just to make it up to you.

That's how he'd become the person you trusted to show your art to.

“Don't laugh at my sad attempts at poetry,” he mutters, his gaze meeting yours somewhat self consciously. His cheeks are flushed red but you can't tell if it's from laughing or because he's actually embarrassed.

“Trying to be just like Bukowski,” you tease. You'd never actually read anything by him, you just read about him being kind of an asshole in real life.

He rolls his eyes at you, “ever since you sent me that song I can't think about him the same!”

“I just thought you'd want to know. That song is such a depression mood though.”

Harry grows serious, looking up at you. Your hand stills in his hair. “Are you alright?”

You nod, “yeah I'm fine I was just joking.” It's true. You haven't felt depressed in months, haven't been bad in longer. Progress.

“You'd tell me if-”

“Oh course,” you cut him off with a smile, closing his journal. “Want to see how my latest and greatest projects progressing?”

He smiles softly, “why else do you think I'm here for?”

You smack him lightly with his own journal, getting up and getting your laptop. This latest idea of yours has come at the cost of having to learn to use digital editing. Thank god for youtube.

Harry sits up and watches as your scroll through some of the more finished pictures of both women and men you'd reached out to, dragging Julia with you to feel braver about approaching strangers. Something you wouldn't have done a year ago.  

Their pictures have been edited to exaggerate their insecurity, ranging from overly larger noses to small eyes and thin lips. It had been an idea since you'd read about Jacqueline de Ribes who someone had said how sad it was if you didn't have a great big nose like she had.

“Especially in this era of face tuning and filters and contouring where everyone is trying to hide what they feel insecure about,” you tell him, watching the shift of his lips, his pensive gaze, trying to gage his reaction. No one but you has seen these. Although when you’re done they'll also be sent to your models, who'd been nice enough to open up about their insecurities to you. Maybe it was easier to talk to strangers you'd never see again about these things. Wasn't that the whole idea behind therapy?

“At first I only edited it slightly but I didn't think the idea came across as strongly and in your face. I mean maybe by airing out and owning our insecurities we can overcome them? Or maybe just stop idealizing one specific type of feature?” These were the questions that you thought would be answered by doing this, but there didn't seem to be any easy answers.

“I like them,” he tells you, “It's like things you wouldn't have noticed I mean most people are alright looking and then you actually get to know them and it all warps how you see people. Like gee doesn't Tom look like such an bloody asshole.”

You snort, shaking your head, “you had me in the first half I'm not going to lie.”

After that you both mess about, putting on parks and recs for the hundredth time, skipping to the second season when Ben and Chris come in. It's still as funny as the first time you had watched it.

It's late and your both half asleep on the couch and smiling at the tv, legs bumping against Harry's much longer legs.

“I should probably go,” he mutters.

“No stay,” you tell him, “it's late and you can just crash with me.” You’d both slept in the same bed lots of times by now, the initial awkwardness long gone as you stopped to you underwear and an old t shirt that was long enough to pass for a dress.  

“Should I be worried about your alarm?”

“I can actually wake up even if my alarms just on vibrate,” you let him know, because god you wish you didn't have work tomorrow so you could wake up late and go get overly expensive breakfast at the dinner down the street who made the fluffiest american style pancakes. It was a treat you loved to get yourself.

Harry helps you drag some of the blankets into your room, tossing them onto the bed. You curl up next to the wall, nestling into the covers. From the corner of your eye you watch Harry pull his shirt off before kicking off his jeans, ripped at the knees.

He's fit and you can't help but mentally trace over the butterfly he has tattooed that you thought stupid at first but had grown on you.  Gracelessly he flops onto the bed, sliding under the covers.

“Your feet are always freezing,” he complains which just makes you kick him lightly. “Ow! Woman!”

“Shut up and sleep,” you tell him turning over on your side, curling into near fetal position.

“But what about going on my phone for an hour in bed?”

“Good night harold,” you say in lieu of an actual reply.

“I won't let the bed bugs bite you.”

“Your so dumb,” you whisper fondly, closing your eyes and easily falling asleep after a long day.

[sweethazzababy]

Toxic Friends

Plot: Y/N’s friend cruelly mistreats her, and Harry defends her having enough of it (a request)

Harry x reader

Words: 3k

A/N- two posts in one day yay!! this was a request, and i really loved the idea of it...writing it made me mad, bc of how i made the friend treat Y/N so i hope it infuriates you too lol but don’t worry Harry saves the day being his cute and loving boyfriend self! also might have overused the italics lol but i feel like adding emphasis to words helps me picture it better...thank you for requesting, i hope you guys enjoy it :)

Aggressively pressing your fork into the avocado, you huff in annoyance just wanting to be done making this damn guacamole that Harry requested.

“If you wanted it so bad, you could’ve made it.” You grumble, glancing up from the bowl to Harry who is giggling to himself as he watches you get bothered by the task.

“No one makes guacamole like you do babe. Take it as a compliment!” Harry reaches over the island to poke the tip of your nose, a growing smile on your face at his cuteness. You can never stay mad at him for very long.

“Can you at least help? Dice up a tomato or something.” You shrug your shoulders, pointing to the ingredients laid out on the counter behind you. Harry chuckles to himself as he walks over to the counter picking up the tomato that looks so small compared to his large hand, and he takes a knife from your knife holder along with a small cutting board. Placing it next to you, he nudges your hip with his own playfully.

“Look at us cookin’ together, such couple goals.” Harry gushes, a beaming dimpled smile on his face. You snort, shaking your head at his ridiculousness because you don’t consider mashing up some avocado and sprinkling some ingredients, cooking.

“I wouldn’t call this cooking, Harry.” You snicker, reaching to grab the garlic powder sprinkling a small amount and eventually mixing it into the avocado. Harry starts slicing the tomato and watching him slice it you nervously bite your bottom lip hoping he doesn’t accidentally slice his finger.

“Have you talked to Lindsey or Grace?” Harry ponders, glancing over to you with a skeptical brow. You know how much he hates your two best friends, for the sole purpose that they aren’t exactly the greatest to you. When Harry is home from tour, they treat you like you’re their favorite person and once he leaves, they ignore you.

“A little bit. Mostly since you got back.” You mumble, chewing the inside of your cheek. Humming to yourself to hopefully distract yourself from the unwanted conversation, you take the lime slice and squeeze a little bit of the juice into your guacamole, and then taking the fork again to mash it in.

As soon as Harry got back, and they found out, they started blowing your phone up with messages about hanging out and coming over to see you and catch up with Harry. You have other friends, but Lindsey and Grace have been by your side since high school so it’s easier for you to accept the stupid things they say to you sometimes.

“I don’t like them.” Harry bluntly says while casually dicing the tomato into small cubes.

“I know. But they’re the closest people I have other than you. I think they’ve just been jealous since we started dating.” You counter, defending your two best friends when you know you’re stupid for doing so. 

Harry doesn’t know, but they’ve been extremely shitty to you the past few months, jokingly mocking you for dating Harry and insulting you sometimes on your appearance. Sometimes they imply that you aren’t good enough for Harry and that you should leave him, so he can be with someone who understands fame better than you. Lindsey is the worst of the two of them, being absolutely merciless on some occasions. The problem is, they claim they just want the best for you, but you know that’s not their motive. They’re just jealous of your relationship and that you are the one who ended up dating the ‘star’. When Harry is home, they instantly apologize for their ruthless words, and come over to hang out but you know they just want to be around him.

You know you’re stupid and weak for letting it happen, but you’re scared of disposing of almost 8 years of friendship with these girls. They used to be great before Harry came into your life, and you of course don’t blame him for that. Then all of the sudden, they changed like a switch of a light.  Harry has no idea that when he isn’t home for a few weeks you feel so alone, between him being gone and your friends not being supportive. You just can’t bring yourself to tell him, because you know he’ll take matter into his own hands and would gladly rid of them for you. But you’re scared.

Finishing up the guacamole, you clean everything up from the mess you and Harry made. The vibrations of your phone buzzing on the table, startles you. Picking it up, Lindsey is calling.

“Who is it?” Harry asks, putting the rest of the ingredients back where they belong in the pantry.

“Lindsey.” You sigh, and Harry turns his head to look at you and he rolls his eyes.

“D’you have to answer it?” Harry groans, walking back over behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder kissing it lightly.

“Hey.” You answer the phone, ignoring his plead.

“Hey Y/N! Are you busy tonight?” Lindsey’s peppy voice rings through the speakers on your phone making you wince from the volume she’s speaking.

“Well, Harry’s home so I wasn’t planning on having anyone over tonight.” You truthfully decline, hoping she doesn’t push it.

Harry is still holding you into his chest from behind, and you can hear him grumble words annoyingly into your shoulder as if he’s holding back from taking the phone from your hands to curse Lindsey off. The fact that he doesn’t know how ruthless they’ve been to you, makes you scared to think about what he would do if he did know.

“Y/N, please we can just hang for like an hour, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I know Grace feels the same.” You sigh deeply, considering having them over knowing she won’t leave you alone if you say no. Harry gently nips your shoulder, making you squeak and slap his arm but he just snickers quietly doing his best to distract you from the phone call.

“They are not coming over. Haven’t had a proper night with you in a while.” Harry objects, a whine in his tone which makes you giggle because he sounds like an adorable child. The idea of a cuddly night with your boyfriend is a night you’ve really needed and with Harry being gone a lot of the time, you miss being in his arms.

“Lindsey, I’m sorry but not tonight.” You purse your lips, hoping she doesn’t argue back. Evidently, you can hear her sigh on the other line and you know she’s rolling her eyes right now.

Harry on the other hand, smiles into your shoulder and tickles your sides a little, clearly satisfied with your answer. You squeal, holding the phone away from you so Lindsey doesn’t hear the weird sounds you’re making and ask questions. Harry just laughs as he stops tickling and continues to hug you, kissing your cheek down to the side of your neck, peppering kisses wherever he can reach sending shivers down your spine. Biting your lip, you try and suppress a small moan that’s willing to leave your mouth as Harry caresses you’re neck with his lips, his large hands gripping your hips.

“Ugh, fine.” Lindsey accepts the decline with a slight giggle at the end which you know is definitely fake, and she hangs up. Putting your phone down, Harry immediately turns you around, so your back is against the island, and engulfs his soft lips onto yours for a short but passionate kiss.

“Thank you.” He mumbles into your mouth, gripping your waist. Smiling into his kiss, you fiddle with the hem of his shirt. Pulling away, Harry kisses your nose, then wraps his arms around you for a proper hug as he squeezes you into his chest.

“Need to cuddle with you properly.” Harry’s green irises are sparkling as he speaks, the excitement evident in both his tone and his facial expressions. Grabbing the guacamole from the fridge, you set it down on the coffee table in front of the TV with a bag of tortilla chips.

After you and Harry got settled on the couch with blankets and cuddles enjoying the yummy dip you made, you hear a knock on the door. Harry gives you a puzzled look, and you give the same look to him because you’re just as confused as he is knowing no one is expected to come over.

Reluctantly, you get up from your comfortable position in Harry’s arms to open the door and to be met with Lindsey.

“Lindsey…what are you doing here?” You groan, putting your face into your hands at the sight of her because you just wanted to be with Harry tonight. You peer over your shoulder to Harry who does not look amused one bit.

“Damn, you could act a little happier to see me.” Lindsey remarks offended by your reaction to her arrival. “Hey, Harry!” Her tone completely changed to an overexcited, flirtatious greeting to your boyfriend. You purse your lips, still holding the doorknob and not moving to let her in.

Harry just gives a tight lipped smile with a small wave, clearly not happy she’s here ruining his time with you. Lindsey pushes past you since you’re blocking the entryway, and plops down to Harry taking a chip and dipping it into the guacamole.

Not one word has been said between either of you since Harry is just taken aback by her actions, completely still next to her with his eyebrows pulled together as he watches her eat the food you made together.

“Geez, not happy to see me?” Lindsey muffles, a mouth full of guacamole. “Y/N stop being a rude bitch and get over here!” Lindsey laughs, motioning with her hand for you to come sit next to her. Harry is now glaring at her, his hands balled up into his fists and you know he hates the way she speaks to you.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you…just thought we said not tonight.” You mutter, walking over to sit on the opposite side of Lindsey who is not giving you room to be next to Harry.

“Yeah, but I always come over unannounced you should’ve just expected me to be here.” Lindsey shrugs, acting all buddy buddy with you in front of Harry. “You’re so quiet, Harry. Everything okay? How was tour?” Lindsey places her hand on his bicep, attempting to be a caring friend but you deem it to be different.

“Yeah—yeah jus’ happy to be home with Y/N. Haven’t had a proper night with her in ages it feels like. Tours been good, just really missed her you know.” Harry clears his throat as he speaks, implying that he really doesn’t want her here. You muffle a laugh, resting your hand by your mouth so it doesn’t slip.

Lindsey nods listening, but unaware of her burden.

“Actually, Y/N can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Lindsey focuses her attention back on you, her eyebrows raised as she motions to the kitchen just a few feet away. Sighing deeply, you get up from the couch as does Lindsey, and walk over to the kitchen. Harry just gazes at you as you walk by, his eyes pleading for you to come back into his arms, but you nod hoping talking to Lindsey will only take a minute. Harry turns the TV on to pass the time, and your heart is aching to jump back onto that couch with him.

“So, he hasn’t left you yet. Surprising.” Lindsey quipped, her demeanor immediately changing once you guys are in the kitchen.

“Why would he leave me?” You counter back, trying to speak quietly so Harry won’t hear.

“Y/N, sooner or later he’s gonna find someone better. You know it, I know it…it’s just a matter of time. His past girlfriends are all skinny models, and you’re far from it.” Lindsey casually speaks, acting as if she’s helping but really her words are cutting into you like knives. 

Your insecurities start to creep up into your thoughts and as much as you know what she’s saying isn’t true, the dark thoughts are unavoidable. Being with Harry, you’ve had your fair share of hate comments from fans but hearing it from someone you’ve known for a very long time, from someone you used to trust, is much different.

“Lindsey, you’re wrong.” Your voice is shaky as tears start to prick your eyes, trying your best to defend yourself.

“Am I though? I just can’t believe that night at the club he went for you instead of me…people say I look like Kendall Jenner, and she’s way prettier.” Lindsey rambles as she shrugs her shoulders leaning into the island casually, her dark brown eyes glaring into yours making you feel small. She speaks to you like this so nonchalantly, making it seem like just best friends having a conversation when really, it’s just her insulting you over and over.

“What did you jus’ say?” Harry hisses, slamming the remote onto the coffee table making both of you jump, as he marches over to the kitchen, his jaw clenched and his green eyes darkening with anger. Lindsey is taken aback by his deep voice booming through the house, and so are you.

“I-I, um—” Lindsey starts, stuttering over her words not knowing how to explain her cruel words, and definitely not expecting Harry to overhear the conversation.

“How dare you speak to Y/N like that! How fucking cruel of you to belittle her and make her feel like she’s not good enough for me.” Harry seethes, walking closer to Lindsey step by step. Lindsey just gulps, eyes wide as she steps back from him. The anger radiating from his body doesn’t go unnoticed, and even you are a little scared of him at the moment. Harry doesn’t get angry a lot, but when he does it’s terrifying.

“Harry—”

“Shut the fuck up Lindsey! You’re so fuckin’ jealous of Y/N that you insult her over and over? S’that the case? You fuckin’ should be jealous of her, ‘cause she is way more beautiful and perfect for me, than you will ever be. She is the most amazing person on the planet, and I would never even have a distant thought of leaving her for anyone, especially not for you, a fucking bitch, of all people.” Harry fumes, rage nearly consuming him as he scolds her. “How can you call yourself a friend, let alone a fuckin’ decent human being when you treat someone like that?” Harry’s eyes are burning into Lindsey as she stands there with wide eyes still taken aback by his outburst. You, on the other hand, are feeling relieved that Harry is stepping in.

“No, you must have heard me wrong I didn’t—” Lindsey defends, trying to cover up her malicious words.

“Get the fuck out of our house.” Harry commands cutting her off, his voice moving an octave lower as his words tremble slightly with fury.

“Y/N!” Lindsey looks to you for help, but you shake your head, your eyes now piercing into hers with rage.

“Get out. I can’t be friends with a ruthless bitch.” You seethe, holding your ground. Lindsey steps back from the both of you, hurt expressed all over her face as she quickly walks to the door, closing it behind her.

Harry immediately runs to you, bringing you into his chest as he cradles you in his arms kissing the top of your head. “M’so sorry. She was terrible to you, and I didn’t notice how badly.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I should’ve stood up for myself sooner, I should’ve told you sooner. I just was scared to cut her off after being friends with her for so long, which I know is a stupid thing for me to do. She put thoughts into my head that made me doubt your love for me.” You confess, feeling ashamed with your lack of confidence, gripping onto his soft sweatshirt. Harry pulls away from the hug to look at you, both of his hands cupping your jaw as he pecks the tip of your nose with a kiss.

“Don’t you ever doubt my love for you. I’m so in love with you, more than I’ve ever felt with anyone else. You’re mine, and you’re perfect for me. So beautiful, inside and out. I know it get’s hard for you, with the fans and the press, but don’t ever think for a second that I don’t want you.” Harry consoles, his green eyes lightening up with twinkles again, recovering from his anger. His thumb softly caresses your cheek, and you grasp one of his hands that’s cupping your jaw holding it against your face. His words make your heart flutter still to this day, and tonight you feel like you’re falling for him all over again.

“I love you so much Harry. Thank you for standing up for me, when I couldn’t.” You praise, so thankful for him. You don’t know what you would do without him by your side.

“You’re my girl. Can’t let you get hurt.” Harry comforts, moving his hands down to your hips rubbing gently up and down your sides. You grin at his words, your heart warming more and more. Harry leans down to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours making you shiver. His tongue slides against your bottom lip, and you open your mouth slightly as he kisses you deeply moving his lips against yours as they fit together so perfectly.

“Now let’s get back to our guacamole, wanna cuddle and eat with you on the couch since I’ve missed you for months.” Harry mumbles into your mouth, playfully nipping your bottom lip making you gasp into a giggle. He leads you back to the couch, as you rest your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you.

You’re both eyeing the dip suspiciously and you know you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I can’t eat that now. The devil touched it.” You titter, a chuckle leaving your throat. Harry throws his head back with a cackle because he probably had the same exact thoughts. 

[maraudergirls]

12 Days Of Falling In Love ( Harry x Hermione )

Merry Christmas @hermione-who ! We love you so much and we hope you enjoy this fic of ours. 

read on ao3 now? 

On the right side of the fence where Santa and His Jolly Elves are singing their carols, a majestic pine tree has been planted in a corner. Plastic reindeers circle it, stiff in their pause that suggests they are probably dancing. The one with a red nose is nudging a pile of kaleidoscopic, sparkling card boxes.

The row of heavily decorated backyards extends itself infinitely, along Puddifoot Street. Some feature three feet tall angels holding out bowls of candies -- that must undoubtedly be real --, other have a miniature, feisty city that takes half of their space. Red, green, and gold colors are everywhere, sprinkled with snow from yesterday night’s fall. There are even some Santas hanging from gutters, or half-stuck in chimneys.

A loud whistling sound calls Hermione back to her kitchen, and she is glad to tear her stare away from the scene.

If asked about herself, Hermione would say there is not much to say.

She works at an elementary school where most of the kids ignore her, except when they need to go to the bathroom and have to raise their hands to get permission. Her fellow professors, which are more experienced -- a professional way to say old as mummies -- tend to avoid her too, except when favors need to be granted.  

She has lost contact with her university friends after moving to the south, and has struggled for a time to find other mates, before abandoning the hope on behalf of her job. Getting up at six and leaving your workplace at seven in the afternoon doesn’t really leave you any time to do anything.

The only reason she actually likes Durmstrang Elementary School is the Christmas break. It starts on December 13th, for no other reason than the institution’s tradition of sending everybody home for the twelve days before Yule.

A thick column of vapor rises from the beak of the kettle, and Hermione pours the boiling water in the color washed teapot with a hum of approval.

Her kitchen, like the rest of the house, is bare, empty of decorations.

She doesn’t hate Christmas.

She has some amazing memories of eggnog evenings with her father, or of opening the Advent Calendar with her mother. Winter was her favorite time, as a child.

She mechanically walks toward her desk, in an angle of the living room, and puts her steaming cup down. Rolling her sleeves up her wrists, she tucks her tongue out, looking for the bookmark she set yesterday. And ends up irritating herself.

With her bad habit of falling asleep on her documents, she never remembers what her bookmark looks like, let along in what book she puts it.

“I know you're here somewhere,” she whispers, turning her Advanced Psychology of the Human Species manual in her hands.

Outside, the wind flirts with the naked branches, swooping over the fresh snow to carry its coolness under the doors and in the little cavities of the houses. The road is quiet, respectful of the concentration that the woman needs to-

Wait.

The road is not quiet.

A light laughter spreads itself over the fences that delimit the perfectly aligned gardens, and reaches Hermione's ears. So used to live in total silence during Christmas break, she's taken aback by the simple sound of it.

Except for the Lupin family, which owns the house right next to hers, nobody has children at home at this time of the year. And, every Christmas break, the Lupins send their Teddy -- who’s enrolled in the same school where Hermione works -- to Center London, to spend the first part of the holidays with his godfather.

Hermione stretches her ear, but the laughter has vanished. Maybe she just daydreamed about it. After all, her last class was only yesterday.

She gets back at fighting with her pile of books.

Studying is her way to get out of reality, to forget the world around. It used to be reading, before. She loved when Aunt Marjorie took the time, at the end of her day, to go through a couple of fairytale chapters with her. She would do se when her parents were too busy to come home before she went to bed. She used to love those moments, those stories.  

But she has grown up. Tales of princes on their white horses and fighter princesses are over for her. Getting her Psychology degree is her main goal at the moment.

She has always dreamed of opening her own studio, to help kids who struggle with familiar issues. She has seen so many. Has been one herself.  

The few people with whom she still has some interactions have told her countless times that, unless she becomes a mother, it will be impossible for her to understand the intricate reasonings of families.

That’s bullshit.

Women do not have to have children to be useful.  

Plus, her classroom has become her field of observation, and she has gotten used to pre-teen mindsets.

Still, one point on which she agrees with those uninvited opinions is that she won’t be very skilled to treat couple problems, even after passing the exam. She absolutely has no experience on the matter.

“About darn time,” she mutters, finally getting a grip on the plastic wrapping that she stuck in the chapter 7 of Psychology of Women .

The title of page 164 reads: The Early Stages of Falling In Love .

A groan escapes her throat.  

Not the topic she wanted to work on today.

She grabs her cup of tea, resigning herself to today’s subject, but chokes on the liquid when a muffled thud echoes from her roof, followed by several others and loud shouting.

Definitely, Teddy hasn’t gone to Center London this year.

Ignoring the noise seems the best to do, but she has to give up after five minutes of trying.

The wooden floor, stiff because of the cool weather, creaks under her steps.

Pushing the curtains aside, she peeks at Puddifoot Street. Behind her empty flower pot, there is a coat of snow on the little alley that links her house to the next one, and some blurry people seem to get great advantage of it.

She had never witnessed Mr. Lupin playing with Teddy during winter. She had assumed that the man with scars like tattoos all over his face suffered from a rare health condition, preventing him from staying outside too long in a cold climate.

Pulling her woolen sleeve to the window, she erases the mist that gathered on the glass panel.

When the transparent surface is finally clean, she leans forward, but only has the time to catch a glimpse of a pair of glasses framing green eyes -- that most certainly don’t belong to Mr. Lupin -- before a loud crash makes her start.

The fragments of the pot that was resting on the window frame two seconds earlier are now decorating the concrete floor that borders the house, the only place not reached by the snow last night.

Shit. Aunt Marjorie’s pot.

With hurried steps, Hermione exits the warmness of her interior. The atmosphere attacks her through her light clothes, stinging her ribs with its icy claws. Wearing only slippers and a pajama under her sweater, she does not dare to kneel down, but her constatation of the disaster is still the same.

She feels a bit dizzy. Not because of the cold.

It was a horrible pot, heck yes. But her and Aunt Marjorie had had a good laugh when they had bought it. And this was what mattered.

She feels like crying, but the dryness of the air doesn’t allow her to.

Her Advanced Psychology of the Human Species manual would probably define her as slightly deranged because she’s mourning a flower pot.

Lost in her illogical reverie, she doesn’t hear the steps behind her, crushing the snow in a prudent cadence. She only gets out of her trance when something heavy falls on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione turns around, and the jacket that the boy had put on her back falls down. He bends to retrieve it, and shakes it before offering it again to her. “You’ll get one hell of a cold if you stay out here with barely a-”

His voice trails down, and Hermione suddenly remembers that she’s wearing pajamas bottom. She grabs the coat, and wraps herself in the hot leather, blushing madly. It’s a relief to feel the soft texture of faux-fur around on her neck.  

She looks up at the man, about to mutter a ‘thank you’, but his embarrassed expression is a reminder of why she’s outside while it’s below zero.

“You-”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

He tries to scratch his neck, but his muffles make it awkward. Hermione could almost smile, but-  

“Blimey,” the boy whispers, noticing her chattering teeth. “You should get inside and have a hot chocola-”

“Yeah, I’ll do.”

He narrows his eyes a little, as if thinking that she’s not the type of girl that would make herself some hot chocolate.

“I- I was about to make some,” he adds. “And, I want to apologize for-” He gestures toward the reddish bits on the floor. “But make sure you decide quickly, because you’re about to turn into an ice cube.”

Hermione scrutinises him, his face, his green eyes that seem to send sparkles into the fizzy weather. She doesn’t know him. Where’s he from, first of all? He just materialized from thin air. The only thing she knows is that he was having a snowball fight with the Lupin child, two minutes ago.

The wind lifts some snow around them, and the tip of her nose seems to turn an awful blueish color.

Questions for later.

“Ok for the hot chocolate.”

xxx 

It’s weird, isn’t it?

Hermione, the plain-life psychology student and model teacher, drinking a hot Christmas beverage in the house of a stranger. And doing so while wearing pajamas.

“Remind me of your name?”

The guy is leaning backwards on the kitchen counter, cuping his mug with both hands. His glasses’ lenses are whitish, reflecting the cold light of the window. He observes her from behind them.

“I haven’t told you.”

He looks down. “Right.”

She doesn’t remember his, even if he told her.

He had opened the door of the house next to hers, letting her in before him.

Once inside, he had held his hand out, muttered his name and something like “we forgot to present each other properly,” but she had not paid much attention. Hurried steps had scuttled away on the floor above.

He had led her to the kitchen, and started breaking down some cocoa bars, almost suffocating in the awkward silence.

The only bit of conversation was the “here you are,” “thanks,” exchange of courtesy.

The breaking of Aunt Marjorie’s pot hit her hard, but now she forces herself to look at him with less resentful eyes.

She had already noticed his deep green eyes, but her stare trails on his fine traits, brown pigment, and messy hair. Something about his shyness makes him appear skinnier than he actually is: there is no way to ignore his broad shoulders after a second glance.

Common people would describe him as being very cute.

She sees him more as… interesting. 

“It’s Hermione.” 

Both of them look to the door. A frail, blue-haired kid is eyeing carefully from behind the frame. 

“What, buddy?” Interesting guy lays his cup on the table, and kneels down, so Teddy has to look down at him. 

“Her name,”  he points at her face. “Is Hermione.” 

Messy-hair looks up at Hermione with his intense stare. She hasn’t seen him smile yet, but she guesses that he terribly wants to. And finds herself wishing he would. 

For science’s sake, of course. 

“Your secret is revealed, I guess,” he says. 

For some reason, the kid’s presence makes her much less angry. Or is it Green-eyes’ dimple, which he’s finally showing with a wide grin? 

She shrugs, and can’t avoid to reflect his expression. “It was not a secret.” She takes a short sip of the hot drink, turning to Teddy. “So, Lupin, who’s the man who broke my pot?” 

And she nods toward Dimple-smile. 

Teddy’s mouth contracts in a grimace. After looking better at his hair, Hermione notices the purple points. She knew that the Lupins were- quite original, but she would have never guessed that… it would be at this level. 

“I broke the pot, Ms. Granger,” he admits, wrinkling his nose, as if he was gulping down something bitter. “But my godfather likes to take the blame for me.” 

Hermione’s lips part in surprise. She had always assumed that Teddy’s godfather was a 50-years-old greyish man, passionate about bridges, and with an enormous collection of old stamps and creased plaid shirts. Not somebody like Broad-shoulders. 

Not somebody as cu- interesting. 

“He takes the blame for you?” 

Teddy nods, recovering his mischievous expression. “Yeah, a lot. Especially if it’s an excuse to invite a pretty lady to dr-” 

“Do you want some cocoa, buddy?” 

Chocolate-skin, who had been silent until then, quickly rose, before his godson could finish the sentence. But the kid’s laughing eyes are enough for Hermione to get the whole meaning. 

Teddy shakes his head, and sprints out in the corridor. 

“Little pain in the neck,” the godfather whispers, before calling out, “Teddy, you forgot-” 

“Sorry, Ms. Granger!” shouts the kid, already halfway up the stairs. 

Then, he bursts in a wave of giggles, and his steps echo on the floor above.

Interesting-guy turns to Hermione, his face skin a darker shade of brown. 

Coffee, she thinks, is a beautiful shade. 

A cherub ‘awwws’ from a corner of her mind, but she shakes him away very quickly. 

“I guess your secret is uncovered now,” she teases. Her host looks very confused, as if fearing that she’d believed what his godson said. “About always covering up Teddy’s little mistakes.” 

“Oh! Er- yeah.” Relief can really be seen in histhe eyes , Hermione thinks. “Well, what’s the point of being a godfather, if not?” They smile together. “I’m- very sorry for your pot.”

For a second, she had forgotten about it. 

“Don’t worry,” she shrugs it away. “I can’t hide that I was very attached to it, but- it was just an object, right?” 

Green-eyes nods, and offers her an encouraging grin. “Do you want some more chocolate?” 

And, Hermione still wearing pajamas, and Messy-hair melting more nectar of Christmas, they resume their drinking, slowly getting deep in a conversation about anything and everything. 

 “Don’t you like the holiday?” 

Ugh. The question she dreaded. 

“It’s not-” The bottom of her cup, with its little grains of cocoa swimming in a puddle of brownish milk, suddenly seems very interesting. “It’s not that I don’t like it.” 

It’s just too hurtful. 

The man feels that the question makes her uneasy, but how can somebody not like Christmas? Maybe there is something he can do for her. “Your house is the only one empty of decorations on the street, and your sweater,” he points his spoon at the blue wool under his leather jacket, “Is obviously not Christmassy.” 

Even if she knows her old jersey by heart, Hermione still grabs the textile between two fingers, and frowns at it, “I don’t see what you can reproach to my sweater. It’s very good and warm-” 

“But it’s not Christmassy.” His spoon falls back inside his cup, sending drops of the beverage in the air like little fireworks. “Something needs to be done to fix that. And what about your front yard? I brought a lot of light garlands that we can’t use here, we’d overcharge the house. I can help you to-" 

“It’s very nice of you,” she stops him with a sigh, “But I don’t have time for mistletoes or golden ribbons in my living room. Plus, the only other organic form of life that would enjoy them is my cat, and he would throw everything to the floor anyway.” He’s about to reply, but she doesn’t let him. “Where are Teddy’s parents?” 

The green eyes twinkle with a special glint, the one that sparks up when somebody accepts a challenge. This topic’s conversation is over. But just for now. 

“They have gone to France for a few days, visiting Dora’s family. They’ll be back on the 17th.” 

It’s nice to celebrate with someone , thinks Hermione. But the thought is gone as quickly as it had manifested itself. A red light in her mind flashes: SWITCH TOPIC. 

“Is Teddy’s hair- bicolor?” 

To her hesitant question, Interesting-guy bursts in a loud laughter. 

“He just dyed it, two days ago, before his parents left.” He shrugs, lessening the importance of the action. “He wanted to look like his favorite character from this- wizarding book. And Dora’s quite young and open minded, you know. She dyed hers too, bubblegum pink.” 

It’s hard for Hermione to imagine her neighbour with a neon mane. “Did Mr. Lupin-?” 

The man has to spit his drink in the sink, coughing and laughing simultaneously. “Oh, that would the best gift I’d received in years. But unfortunately no, he hasn’t dyed his hair too.” 

Hermione would have found his behavior disgusting, in other circumstances, but she smiles. It’s true that imagining Mr. Lupin with green or red hair would let no one impassible.

A draught runs along Puddifoot Street, precipitating snow down from the roofs, shaking the windows, and moving the decorations in the backyards. The 24-carats-smile Santa is now facing the house number 34, also known as the Lupins house.

At Hermione’s home, the bookmark is still laying open on chapter 7 of Psychology of Women.

Chapter 2: Day 2

Her steaming cup of tea is patiently waiting between the pile of books and stack of revision papers, tempting her with its bitter-sweet smell. The street has been really quiet for the whole morning: not a sound, not a laughter to be heard. In other conditions, it would have been the dreamed setting for a day of study.

But Hermione is not really in the mood for sitting down. One of her fingers slides between the curtains, and pulls them apart, just enough for her eyes to fall on the outside.

Naked, sad, upsettingly grey. And empty.

She sighs.

The snow has melt down, leaving behind its characteristic muddy soil. There is not a soul to be seen, it’s still too early for --regular-- school vacations, and too impossible for-

Oh, honestly. What was she waiting for. It’s not as if this kind of distraction could happen everyday. Plus, it was just some civility between neighbours.

Still, what a c- interesting guy, that… What is his name again?

She had heard Teddy going on about his godfather for hours sometimes, at school, and now she can’t even identify him. Ugh. If she was used to complain, she would say it’s because Advanced Personality Psychology occupies too much of the available space in her mind.

She struggles to find bits of memory that could help her putting a name on the messy hair and cute dimple smile.

The dimple smile… It had captured her attention when he had said his name…

No. No. Not the smile. She was angry… And then, it was the chocolate. And she’s just very tired from her week of revisions. This is why she can’t remember his name.

Nothing else.

But when the doorbell rings, her heart jumps to her ears. It takes all her self-control to refrain from swinging the wooden panel open.

“Yes?” The chillness, so contrasting to her cosy inside, burns the point of her nose as her eyes meet a very green stare. “Oh, Harry…”

She remembers his name, actually. Minds can be quite tricky.

Her hands cling to the doorknob without her notice, her body hiding in the introvert security of her home. All she can do is lower her eyes, in a very embarrassed way.

And she can’t even explain why.

The man’s smile falters a little, his eyebrows bow slightly. “Er- Am I- Am I bothering you?”

“What?”

Boy, he could speak louder.

Well, she could be a little less distracted too.

“I-” He hesitates, taking a step back.

This is when she notices that he is hiding something from her vision. And that she has kept him waiting for a good minute in the cold weather.

“Oh, I’m really sorry! I’m such a terrible neighbour. Where do I leave my brain some days?. If I just- You should probably- Oh well, what a mess I am.” Her tone is full of clumsy apologies, which brings his side smile back. “Come inside, it’s freezing here.”

She opens the door widely, and the winter wind hits her comfortable living room meanly, causing a window shutter to slam in some place of the house.

Harry has the common sense to close the door, pushing it with his feet as he gladly steps inside, amused by her sudden awkwardness.

Meanwhile, Hermione is still releasing her little moment of embarrassment with a flow of words. “I just rarely receive visits, you know, and they are mostly from colleagues who bring more material, so I do not have any Christmas cookie in the oven. It must sound horrible to you, but I don’t even have milk to make some hot chocolate. You’ve been so nice to me yesterday, what are you going to think of me now th-”

His hand on her shoulder makes her start.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, his eyes anchored in hers. “I don’t think anything about you except that you seem very nice.”

His smile is warm like a summer breeze. On the spot where he touches her clothes, her skin seems to be melting under the soft grip.

Her muscles relax.

He doesn’t think she’s a cruel neighbor, so everything’s fine.

“And we can still fix the whole thing about the cookies,” he adds, pointing with his chin toward the kitchen’s open door.

Is he offering to cook with her? It would be a disaster, she can’t even tell a spatula from a spoon. If he let anything of it slip in front of Mrs. Lupin, the whole neighborhood would know about it.

Last thing she wants is to be reputed as an unfamous cooker.

“I- I don’t think it’s- The fact is-” She holds her breath, blushing a little. “I was actually going to study.”

That did sound rude.

Harry’s smile vanishes, his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to annoy you. I just thought- I don’t even know what I thought.”

He grins sheepishly, hoping that his delusion is not too noticeable. He takes a step back, when he remembers about the secret object behind his back. Bringing his hands forward, he reveals a pretty pottery with chirping birds and butterflies carved on its surface.

“That’s- I know it probably can’t make up for the emotional attachment,” Hermione stares at the earthy vase in amazement: there was a world between Aunt Marjorie’s horrible trinket and the gift that her neighbor was holding out to her. “But, well, we broke yours, yesterday. It only seemed fair to get you another one.”

She feels his eyes on her face, and grabs the pot, her fingers tracing the reliefs. The little bumps tickle her skin.

Harry faintly clears his throat. “I guess that I should go now. Leave you to your studies.”

The dimple on his right cheek attracts her attention. It definitely is a cute dimple, that shakes Hermione from her surprise, only to remember that she was being very disagreeable to him.

“Oh, wait!” She bites her lip. Thinks about her uselessness in a kitchen. He probably assumes that she’s quite skilled, and he’ll be very deceived when he’ll realize the contrary. “This is- This is very thoughtful. Thank you.”

Harry’s eyes recover a bit of their sparkles. “It was Teddy’s idea,” he shrugs.

Something in his fleeing stare makes Hermione smile. You can’t lie to a Psychology student. “Oh, you know, I’ve always considered Teddy an incredible boy,” she smiles. Harry grins, maybe convinced that his little lie worked out. Hermione suddenly feels a wave of sympathy rolling in her chest for the messy haired godfather of his turbulent neighbor. One of those waves that pushes you to consider stuff you’re reluctant to do. “You know, about the studying, it can wait. Cookies are crucial in Christm-”

A phone rings, cutting her sentence midway. The man drops his stare to his jacket pocket, and extracts his flashing device from it.

“Talking about the dev- angel,” he mutters, pressing the green button with a smirk. “Teddy! Did you burn the house down?”

Hermione internally laughs: she has lived too long next to the Lupins to discard this possibility. But any amusement disappears from her traits at Harry’s creased brow and doubtful humming.

“I get it, buddy. I’m coming over.” He hangs up, and she somehow dreads a bad news. “Teddy is not feeling very well. I have to go.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll be able to study.”

He scratches his neck, and Hermione notices the muscles of his arms that stir his clothes. She becomes very conscious of the pot’s weight in her hands.

“Great,” she whispers, then bites her tongue. She had built up some courage for the cooking actually.

“Er- I’ll see you soon, then.”

With a few steps, he is out of the door.

The tea is now cold on the table, but Hermione doesn’t notice it. Not for a good fifteen minutes, during which she watches the ghost of his shadow on the door, and wonders when ‘soon’ will be.

Chapter 3

Hermione highlights a page of her textbook, murmuring the definition softly, hoping she’ll remember it. Memorizing has always been her strong suit, but when said mugging includs learning about a supposed theoretician who was absolutely barmy on several counts, she finds it ridiculous.

When she'll finally get a degree and have some status, she’ll make some serious changes in the psychology field.

 Huffing as her mind goes off track for the second time in a row, Hermione slaps herself. First, she had been thinking about the rare event of Harry stopping by, and now, she was thinking about her superiority over sexist researchers. Her eyes fall on the clock which announces she’s been dreaming for almost an hour.

“Focus. You’ve got this. Now, why do critics view statistical hypothesis testing as-” She’s cut off abruptly as the doorbell rings.

She can’t help it then; she groans. She severely doubts it can be Harry so it must be someone from work. Not expecting anyone, she’s tense as she walks to the door.

Peering through the whole, she lets out a breath of relief as she sees her neighbour, Harry. His eyes are cast upwards like he’s cursing the existence of Olympus, and there’s a hue of pink on his nose.

When she opens the door, it feels like deja-vu. She tucks a curl of hair behind her ear and stares at him expectantly.

"Hi!” He says loudly, wincing immediately. “Good morning.”

“Good morning….Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.” Harry shoves his shoes and trails after Hermione like a puppy. “I was wondering if you-if you liked the vase.”

It’s obvious that he wanted to ask her something else, but she eases herself on the chair across him. She tucks her feet closer to her body and lets it go. “Oh. I did. Thank you. You didn’t have to, honestly.”

“I did.” He replies immediately. “I’m glad you like it. Teddy helped pick it out. He was very sorry about the whole mess.”

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Hermione considers if she should offer him food or perhaps, a drink. When he coughs awkwardly, she snaps her gaze to him

“Er-” Harry begins, and then laughs breathily. “This is so uncomfortable. I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Hermione's own surprise is mirrored on Harry’s face. “Your company is appreciated.”

“Right. Yours is too.” Harry stares at the room, face merging into shock. He does a double take, and Hermione almost laughs at the pure dread  he sports. It’s the face of a seer when the stars are aligned in a way she wished hadn’t occurred. “Please tell me there’s a Christmas tree somewhere.”

“I’m afraid not.” She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t lying the other day.”

Harry smiles at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m used to being a huge fan of the season. I’m surprised other people are not. May I ask you something, though?”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t you miss celebrating the festival?” Harry asks cautiously, already regretting his question, worried that his stress on the issue might irk her.

“Not really.” Hermione shrugs. “I told you yesterday why and I don’t really have the spirit for it. Truth be told, I wish I did. My parents don’t know what a total Grinch I am.”

“It doesn’t need to be like that!” Harry pipes up. “I’ll help you get your Christmas spirit back. It’ll be my gift to you. Please?” he adds when she stills looks unconvinced.

“I don’t know.”

Hermione thinks about the statistics of the opportunity. It would be nice, she reflected, having a Christmas tree up for once. Maybe, the change of decor would help her study more efficiently. She quickly constructs a row of pros and cons in her table, but her decision is made up as she sees that damnable dimples on Harry’s face -- which, honestly, should be illegal.

“You’ll help me, right? I have a Christmas tree on the cupboard and some ornaments so we don’t need to worry about that.”

“I will.” Harry jumps from the seat and shrugs off his coat. “Oh and Hermione? Remember when decorating, we go big or we go home.”

Hermione frowns at him and pouts.

It doesn’t do her any good as Harry continues to laugh, bending over and clutching his sides in a vain attempt to tranquilize the stiches. “Oh my god. You’re just so cute and smol.”

Her height has always been a subject of discussion. Even past twenty, people still refused to believe she was anything but a teenager. Just now, she had tried reaching the top tiers of the tree but, unable to do so thanks to her height, she has resorted to glaring at the branches. And obviously, Harry finds that particularly amusing.   

“I’m 5’2!” Hermione protests fiercely. “That’s a perfectly reasonable height.”

“For a fairy, maybe.”

The man coos when Hermione pouts again and, frustrated, she stretches, trying to reach the tip of the Christmas tree. Arms wrap around her waist and there’s a tug in her stomach - a protest against gravity before she’s suspended in air.  

Letting out a squeak, she cries. “Put me down!”

He laughs and she can feel the warmth of it on her lower back. “Put the ornament up first, Hermione!”

Floundering like a fish, Hermione hastily places the star and Harry sets her down, carefully. Scrambling away from him, she places a hand on her heart and glares at him. “Harry James Potter!”

Rubbing his neck, Harry provides her a sheepish smile. It never is a good sign when a woman called you by your full name - even if they do look as threatening as Tinkerbell. "Sorry. Seemed like you needed some help.”

“It’s fine. You just startled me.” Hermione claims, knowing that she’ll be rid of the feeling of his arms. Have they always been muscled? Now, she is just getting distracted.

After passing a reindeer ornament to her, Harry steps back to marvel their hard work, and she follows his example.

It’s not exactly what she would call a fairy tale Christmas aesthetic, but they did all they could with the limited decorations. And, it does look good in its own way. There are multiple tiers of gold lights that blink every few seconds, complemented with accents of rosy baubles. Wrapped with red ribbons and holly, the tree surely can’t be called naked.

Nothing in the house can, really. A Santa Claus figure stares at them with beady eyes from his perch on the table. The cushions on the lounge got replaced by festive ones - a plump red one with a snowman in the middle articulating the words Meowy Christmas!  Banners strung with leaves and berries hang from the canopy.

A thrill of excitement shots down her spine. For the first time in years, her blood thrums with the joy of Christmas, and she revels in it.

The only hang up here, is that there is a lone stocking against the wall. Hermione mentally decides to buy it a companion. Her budding friendship with Harry implies that she would need a gift for him. Maybe, she could convince him to go shopping with her.

For now, she can imagine she is a princess in Disneyland. The string of lights above her certainly makes her feel like she is set up in a fantasy.

Funnily enough, the only decoration the house lacks, by the end of the morning, is mistletoe branches, and the both young people are careful to maintain that status.

Chapter 4

She swings the door open at exactly ten in the morning. Harry’s hand remains suspended in air, most likely preparing himself to rap the door.

He seems baffled to see her, as if her presence wasn’t expected at her house . It's Pride and Prejudice all over again, she thinks. Except she never disliked him. It was quite the opposite emotion that consumed her body. Even when he broke her pot, she still found him kind and cu- sweet .

“Good morning.”

“Hi.” Harry chimes back, stupidly and winces at the response. “Good morning. You look nice.”

Hermione laughs, a beautiful sound that reverberates through him. “I literally just got up.”

Harry gasps, sidestepping her and shoving his shoes off. “I stick to my point. And, I’m shocked, Hermione. Shocked is an understatement. Do you mean to tell me you just woke up? Eight hours after you were supposed to.”

“It was all for a good reason.” Hermione protests, adamantly. “I read an article where they instruct people to give themselves a rest day once a week. So, I woke up at seven.”

“You said you just got up.”

“From the table.” Hermione clarifies. “I was studying.”

“ Well .”  Harry remarks sarcastically as he makes them a cuppa. Instead of the tea bag that he usually inserts, he sprinks a tablespoon of cocoa powder into their mugs. “That's a first.”

“What are you making?”

“Hot chocolate, Princess.”

Hermione’s eyes grow wide. “What did you just call me?”

“Princess.” Harry repeats, unabashed by her admonishment. “It suits you well. The first time I saw you, I thought your hair looked like Princess curls so.”

Stunned into silence, the most she can do is hum. “You know tea is better than hot chocolate, right? Tea fights cancer, all the while increasing your immunity, cardiovascular health, digestion, mental activity like improved concentration and focus and prolongs longevity. Don’t you agree with me?”

Harry doesn’t seem fazed by her argument. In fact, the mask on his face is akin to smugness. “While all that may be true, hot chocolate contains more antioxidants than coffee and tea . It lowers blood pressure. The antioxidant gallic acid is used to treat internal hemorrhages, prevents kidney disease and diabetes. The flavonoids help your body process nitric oxides which improve blood flow and prevents the formation of clots. Shall I go on?”

Beyond awed at his list, Hermione could only gape. Men like Harry, by their looks, managed to inflict cardiac arrests on a woman like herself simply by a glance . To discover that said man was intelligent as well was the cherry on the cake.

“How do you know all that?” Hermione asks, grasping for something witty to say but fails at it, rather spectacularly and wants to scream for ten hours straight. The approach of her question was blunt enough that it could be considered as offensive which in no way did Hermione mean for it to sound.

Thankfully, Harry waves the comment away. “I’m skilled at my craft, Hermione. A gentleman like me has many skills and talents.”

“Indeed.”

The underlying analysis of his sentence makes her swallow, nervously and makes her hyper aware of their positions. He’s barely a few inches away. Not a very appropriate distance for just a neighbour. Retracing her steps, Hermione misses the look of undisguised dismay that washes over his face.

By the time, she looks back at him, the moment is long gone. Setting their glasses on the countertable, Harry flashes her a dimple. “Better go get changed. Today includes another outdoor activity.”

Wishing she could groan out loud because that sounds far from fun, Hermione nods sluggishly and departs, pulling on some boots. Looping a scarf adorned with gold and red, Hermione makes a half hearted attempted to straighten her hair but when her hair reverts back to its original momentum, she realizes it’s a futile attempt and shuts her door.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate.” Hermione tries to express her gratitude, hoping she hasn’t managed to leave an unimpressed reaction on her neighbour. Judging on past experiences, she wouldn’t put it past her. Conversations in the real world short circuited her speech.

Harry doesn’t reward her with a response, instead bestowing her with a smirk. “Let’s go. Teddy’s thrilled. I’m worried about making him wait for some more time.”

“Teddy’s coming?” Hermione says with excitement, shrugging on her coat. The blue haired child often light up her day with his childish glee. Seeing him, always, causes her lips to tug upwards to form a grin. Perhaps, it was the motherly side of her but children were beacons of lights even on especially heavily exhausted days.

Harry sighs dramatically like a man who opens the fridge, only to woefully discover it empty of his favorite contents. “I knew you liked Teddy more.”

“I like you both equally.” Hermione teases which is a lie if she’s being honest. While Teddy is a light in her life, Harry is soon becoming the sun to her world. Ever since she was a kid, she was the type of person who ran headfirst into relationships. She had fallen too soon and too hard. It hardly surprised her that her actions repeated with Harry but she felt a bit different with him in the room: confident, relaxed and jovial.

Harry rolls his eyes and tugs her with a hand outside where they find a cross Teddy Lupin, arms folded over his chest and a single eyebrow raised that glared at them. If looks could kill, they would still be very much alive for despite Teddy’s best efforts, he still hadn’t lost his cute and chubby cheeks. It was like a teddy bear insisting he had committed a grave crime.

Hermione coos his name, wrapping the boy in a hug and spinning around. “How’s my favorite boy?”

“Why don’t you ask Harry?” He replies impishly, showcasing his milk teeth.

She taps him on the nose. “You’re my favorite everything. Your uncle prefers the worst drinks like hot chocolate.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Hot Chocolate is the bestest best!”

A mock look of disappointment plasters on her face. “I highly regret befriending this family.”

“Nope!” The boy says looking unnaturally gleeful for his age. “You love us.”

Hermione narrows her eyes at the boy and when his smile is a mask of excellent innocence, she switches direction...right in time to hear the shriek of delighted laughter from the boy in her arms as a snowball whipped across her face.

Her eyes shut at the impact but once they open, they are deadly. “Harry. James. Potter. You have three seconds to get the hell away from me or else I will stab you so-”

Teddy giggles and burrows his face into her armpit. Caught off guard, Hermione sets the boy down, blocking his ears with a hand as she mouths a string of latin words to the sniggering man in front of her.

“Is that a challenge?” Harry spreads his arms wide open, ducking down to obtain a fistful of snow. “I doubt you’ll have much success.”

Hermione, for all her remarkability, has never been unable to back down from a challenge. It was her fatal flaw, some would say. Others would take it upon themselves to dare her with strange conquests.

There was only one line she daren’t cross; the education line. People had foolishly took it upon themselves to convince her to give up studying, fail and interfere with faculty . Would you believe the horror of it? Hermione certainly couldn't. It hadn’t mattered then, this quirk of accepting even the wildest and most ridiculous dares. Nothing did, really, when it interfered with studies. A firm believer in the truth that studying was prime and above all, she couldn’t let teenagers come in the way of her goal.

Yet, there were times when she was guilty of attending a party and getting drunk. It happened only once but the experience was vile enough to make A time when she had jumped in the pool from the first floor because someone had riled her up. To be fair, it wasn’t that much of a height but still enough for several jaws to drop.

And, that time when she had sworn off tea for a month . She still got nightmares over that one.

And, so when Harry stood there with an armful of snow, Hermione wasn’t merely considering participating in the fact, she stood analysing strategies and planning her victory dance.

“Teddy.” She says, hushed for this might be a top secret mission. The kite needed for triumph was dancing right in front of her...if she could just maneuver it to her advantage. With years on education that stressed on human behaviour, Hermione has enough confidence in her ability of analyzing people. She knows she can win.

“Do you want to join my team? I’ll buy you pancakes.” She adds smartly for if she knows anything, it’s that a Lupin cannot and will not refuse desserts. It goes against their morals. “I’ll buy you blueberry pancakes. With extra maple syrup.”

Based on the way his smirk decorates her face, Hermione knows she’s succeeded. Masterfully weaving her elaborate bid-pancakes for his cooperation- she’s secured a member who she knows-without a shred of uncertainty- will not betray her.

Teddy shakes her hand, growing serious like a businessman on his first day of work. Hermione exchanged a nod with him and looks at Harry who seems wary that she just had a conversation with his impish nephew.

“Hermione?” He begins, apprehensive, stepping away even though she’s empty handed and he has a weapon of snow. “Are you going to join?”

Careful, precise steps. Nephew and neighbour both descend the steps. After all, you can’t win a war on uneven terrain.

“Harry-” She states nervously, manipulating the timely case of events. He doesn’t know her the mechanism of the way her gears work in her head. She can win. She will win. She is Hermione Granger. The man looks at her captivated, waiting for her next move.

It’s not a very intelligent move for the next second, Hermione yells, “ Run !” to Teddy before she uses his flabbergasted movements to her advantage. Running like the devil’s on her heels and immediately, gasping because her lungs are weak things, she presses herself against a wall, sinking to the ground and capturing a mouthful of snow. Rolling it on her palm, she repeats the process and readies herself for battle.

Harry was so going down.

Blue lips and shaky hands were the result of playing with snow a few hours later. Despite her hands being practically immobile- She couldn’t even bend her fingers- there was nothing more satisfying than running around while screaming bloody murder.

There was a part of her that longed to return to her comforters and pull on her special winter socks - Christmas flea ones that had reindeers painted on them but it soon faded as another snowball pelted and smacked Harry’s face.

Despite his insistence, he was terrible at the game, constantly attacked by his nephew and Hermione. In fact, at the beginning, he just rested on the ground and watched the clouds in an overly dramatic manner.

After they had flung another snowball at his groaning mouth, Harry had resolved to best them-or at least, hit them once- but his efforts proved vain.

She can see his mop of hair behind a car that resembles a blanket of snow and wonders what’s next. In the same trapped position as he is, Hermione can’t risk giving away her cover.

Turmoil takes root in her, obnoxious enough that she only hears the incomer far too tardy. It’s the snapping of a branch that makes the following events appear in a sedated motion. Panic wills her up, instinct causes her to turn, and fate desires the first catalyst to be set into motion.

Harry stumbles thanks to the branch and Hermione tries to steady him which is pointless. Momentum and gravity grips them both and tugs them downwards. Harry, the precious man, tries to save her at the very least but all that he manages to do is elevate the damage. Both of them land on the ice with a sharp crash.

“Ooof.” Hermione grumbles, glaring at him but soon, softening as his eyelashes flicker at her like a giraffe. It’s spectacular that anyone could be so undeniable adorable. He had long eyelashes, she thinks dazed, hardly aware about her surroundings.

Perhaps, she should move her leg, the one that’s locking the boy against her. It’s very ridiculous, absolutely barmy and not at all like her.

“Hermione?” He breathes, a questioning look in his eye and she wonders if sleep deprivation isn’t a hoax after all for his eyes might, might have flickered to her lips for a second.

She steals the moment’s joy, wishing she could capture it and relieve it a thousand times for it feels like something she would want to remember. Her heart is beating unnaturally fast, a trait he’s yet to catch upon him and to think it’s because of him , of a man she hardly knows.

And, it’s then that the Oh settles in. The ‘Oh’ that girls dread to think about for it brings a whole bout of side effects. The Oh that she might find this man desirable .

It was insane.

Positively insane.

And yet.

Yet, she can’t look away from his eyes - emerald, a trapped image of evergreen forests and vivid leaving her breathless and reminiscent about growing pastures that blew in England. She’ never been much of a photographer or painter but the longing to sketch out the shocked expression etched on his face along with his slightly parted lips is salient.

Then, then his mouth opens and she realises what a complete and utter fool she is for this is her neighbour, her friend and she’d just been lying on top of him without his consent having been stunned into dumbness. Scrambling off him, her body rubs against the ice creating friction.

“Oh my God- shit- I wasn’t-I’m a disaster, putain .” Hermione swears, backing away like Harry’s a wild animal who accidentally provoked. “I didn’t mean to- I’m.”

“Um.” Harry states eloquently, brushing off the snow off his pants. “It’s honestly okay. I - It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t sit on me!”

Harry blushes and tucks his lips inwards embarrassed. “I would have done the same thing. God, no ,  that came out wrong. Not that I don’t want to sit on you but also, fuck. I short circuit when I panic and I’m rambling and can we just not talk about this?”

Hermione wishes she could escape the awkward silence that hangs over them like fog. “I-It’s alright. Yeah.”

They stand there for a minute or two, neither able to hold the other’s gaze, infinitely afraid to even think about how the contact might have sparked a tremor in the other. It’s times like this when Hermione has the maddening urge to flee and sink in her bed. Beginning a conversation is hard enough, sustaining it is a whole other story. It’s like looking at a mountain but then, having to climb it.

She’s delved deep in her lame excuses of social interaction when a cheerful giggle splits the air and the pair of them turn, the evolution of instincts dictating their movements and their denseness, apparently because they don’t’ have the common sense to imagine what might happen in a battlefield- a battlefield that has a ten year old kid who’s special expertise is causing havoc.

They don’t have time to run, to scream or run from the monster who’s flinging balls of snow on them at a million miles per second.

At least, Teddy didn’t betray just her. The boy, future spy and man who would write ‘How To Be A Crook’ 101’ turned on both of them.

Spoiler Alert: Harry and Hermione surrender..

Chapter 5

The first thing she does when the steady and loud pounding of her headache registers is swear. Despite the numerous books, self care books in particular that promote positivity especially in the morning, lining her shelf, she finds herself victim of not promoting the principle of a healthy lifestyle.

Her voice comes out as a rasp and she idly bounces the thought of finally singing like Chloe Kohanski and Miley Cyrus, but her throat resists the formation of a few syllables, so she disregards the fantasy.

Burrowing under the covers as tremors rack her frame, she coughs. Once, twice, thrice.

And, then swears once and only once because she doesn’t have the energy to follow it up with another colorful word, much to her dismay.

Her eyes slink shut and the lilac scent of her bedsheets lull her into a soundless lullaby. Rocking with shivers, and with a clenched jaw to ward off another coughing fit, the illusion of peace sent only by the season of winter carries Hermione to slumber.

When she awakes, a few hours later, she wonders if there’s a burglar in her house. There’s a substantially loud racket in her kitchen. The concerning matter is Hermione doesn’t care. Her head is positively swimming which is absolutely dreadful if she wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating.

Groaning as her feet pad across the floor, Hermione indulges in the fantasy of passing a stern dialogue to whoever disrupted her sleep. Perhaps, the intruder was a blessing in disguise as she now, severely, realized she needed to study. Revised, only, eight times, she lacked the self confidence required for passing the test.

“Harry?” She says, stunned, pausing at the foot of the staircase.

For it isn’t a robber nor a murderer but her neighbour, Harry who greets her with his infamous dimple cheeked smile and green eyes. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, offering a radial view of the brown glistening skin.

“Hi!” He blinks, waving a spoon in her face, an attempt to greet. When he notices her fixed look, his eyes glance down at the silverware in his hand. “I, uh, was making soup.”

Hermione stares at him. “Um.”

An immediate motherly look washes his face and with a tone of horror, Harry fusses, “You’re sick, go back to bed!”

“I’m fine. I need to revise.” Hermione argues, already walking towards the kitchen, grabbing a book on the nearby desk.

The cough that trailed her declaration helped prove her point significantly. “Look, I’m perfectly ha-happy. Why are you making soup?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s my mother’s famous soup. Always helps me when I’m on a cold. I don’t make it as well as she does but the main ingredients should make you feel slightly better, if anything.”

Hermione smiles at him, a touched smile that brightens the room. “Thank you. You’re the sweetest.”

Red blooms on Harry’s neck like roses in a greenhouse. Pride erupts in Hermione’s chest, a fiery little dragon, claiming victory for eliciting a flustered reaction.

Harry mutters his gratitude under his breath. “Get to sleep, yeah? I’ll wake you up when the soup’s done. You can study then.”

“Revise.” Hermione corrects, shuffling on her feet as she ascends the steps. “And, Harry? Thank you .”

“Mione? Fuck , you’re burning up.” Harry whispers and the volume sends another pang of pain through Hermione.

Nausea rises from the pit of her stomach and fills her mouth, drawing an empty gag. Not capable of much thought, she simply hums.

“Can you sit up for a second? The soup’s still warm. Mione?”

There’s one thing that Hermione is known for-her buck head stubbornness. It provided favorable characteristics in debates and very few managed to spar verbally with the prodigy for more than a few minutes. True to his credit, however, after much persuasion, Harry convinces her to sit up.

Blearily blinking up at him for he’s nearly a foot taller than her, she doesn’t protest when the spoonful of soup travels to her mouth, without her volition. Hermione sags against the bed frame, swallowing a few spoons. Tears flicker behind her eyelids like lamps as the heat stings her throat. Forcing herself to digest it, she’s relieved when Harry keeps the bowl on the table, at last.

“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up later.”

His voice is melodious and warm and she’s tempted to listen to him but with much difficulty, she recounts his earlier promise. “Revise.”

“You can’t even open your eyes.” Harry remarks, a combination of exasperation and amusement. “How do you plan on revising ?”

In response, Hermione gestures for her book. Sighing, Harry stands up and jogs down the stairs before he returns. Firmly pushing her hand down, he scans the pages. The whole book, Advanced Educational Psychology is colored in fluorescent yellow and orange- a fact that makes him grin.

Unlike her textbooks, his pages were covered in doodles- of mythical dragons and yes , puppies- with various texts from his best friend, Ron.

“ Trait emotional intelligence or Trait emotional self efficacy refers to “a constellation or behaviour dispositions and self-perceptions regarding a-”

“You don’t-don’t have to read for me.” Hermione manages, trying to secure her hold on the book.

“S’alright.” Harry continues reading, after throwing her a charming smile. “Can’t have the star Princess exhaust herself, now, can I?”

Hermione’s glad she’s sick for a moment, solely because she can chalk up to the blush that stains her cheek on the fever.

And, Harry continues to read about emotional intelligence. Each word was submerged in that British accent Hermione’s come to love for the reaction it ignited on her skin - rows of goosebumps, adds to the challenge of focusing on the quality of the lesson.

Eventually giving up, she enjoys the way the man in front of her pronounces his r’s and l’s . It was hard to believe that men like this, indeed existed. Men who fed her soup and read her illegible notes. It appeared that some men, outside the fictional world, were pretty great too. Her last thought before she falls asleep is Harry.

Ringing blares through her lucid haze, jolting her from her nap. Hermione rubs her eyes and yawns, a mellow gold light shining and wrapping her form.

There’s another ring and Hermione picks up the phone, stifling another yawn.

“Uncle Harry! How was your first time being on TV?”

“Hello?” Hermione asks groggily, eyes growing as round as saucers when she looks at the phone. She’d assumed it was her phone but that was ridiculous because it wasn’t even her ringtone. In a lapse of judgement, she’d answered Harry’s phone.

Embarrassment and guilt flood through her blood. It soon is diffused by curiosity for Teddy’s words take meaning.

“Aunt Hermione? Is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“Are you and Uncle Harry finally getting married, now?”

Hermione chokes on air and coughs loudly. “What? Where did you get that idea from? Did Harry say anything? Never mind. No. The answer is no .”

“Bummer.” Teddy’s disappointed and childish voice grits through the bungled up connection.

“What do you mean bummer ?”

“Uncle Harry has a cr-”

“Mione?” Harry’s puzzled voice drowns out the rest of Teddy’s sentence which was the real bummer because Hermione was on edge. She’d half a mind to ask Harry to wait just so Teddy could finish but smiling sheepishly, Hermione hands him his phone. “It’s Teddy. Sorry, I answered. Thought it was my phone.”

Harry’s eyes widen. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was sick on the way nausea grips him. Along with his red face. “Did he say anything about me? Did he know you were speaking?”

“Yes.” Hermione replies warily. “Why?”

His face immediately collapses in utter repose which adds to her confusion. “No reason. Hang on a sec’, yeah?..... Hey, bud….. I didn’t! Your Uncle Harry’ll talk to you later, okay? Mione’s sick and she needs the doctor…..I’m an amazing doctor, you rascal….Love you too.”

Hermione stands from the bed, rubbing the weeds of the lasting headaches. Brushing her hair which is a lost cause, she ties it with a band.

“Harry?”  

“Yeah?”

Hermione wrings her hands together, staring him straight in the eye. “Did you have to go somewhere today?”

Harry winces. “Did Teddy say-”

“Can you answer the question? Where were you supposed to go?”

“I-Yes.” Harry draws a long breath and looks up at the ceiling, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “It wasn’t a major thing. Had an interview. They wanted me to cook something for them.”

“Where were you supposed to have the interview?”

“Buzzfeed?”

Hermione rubs her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you passed up Buzzfeed to take care of me?”

Harry looks outraged at any other scenario. “It’s just Buzzfeed .”

“Exactly! Buzzfeed .” Hermione throat protests the loud vocal and she visibly winces. Harry’s at her side in an instant. “You should have gone. I can’t even begin to understand. You’ll regret-”

“I won’t regret anything.” Harry holds her gaze and adds, fiercely. “You’re more important than any of those things.”

Hermione chest heaves as she exhales, shakily. Somehow, Harry had managed to claim title of best friend, crush and person who proclaimed the most romantic words ever said to her in a few days.

Opinions mattered to her which wasn’t very healthy and she’d gotten better at blocking out negative criticism on her teeth, her brains. An excellent feeling from someone she thought of greatly nearly sent her weeping.

Hermione memorizes his face for a heartbeat longer than a friend would, speechless beyond repair.

“Thank you.” She knows the words aren’t adequate enough. Nothing will be.

“S’not a problem.” Harry responds and his words are laced with gentleness as if it’s more than enough.

Perhaps, she was still dreaming. If dreams did indeed, take shape, Harry would live amongst fairytales. He was too good, too kind.   to be true. Maybe, Harry was merely an apparition or a figment of her imagination for there wasn’t a possibility in all the realms of the world that Harry would look at her with such fondness and love.

But he was.

And, fuck , if she wasn’t screwed.

Biting her lip, she takes a step back, missing the disappointment that flashes across Harry’s face for a nanosecond before he masks it away.

“Want to watch a Christmas movie?”

Hermione’s hesitance is not abundant yet present. She had studied and revised. The exams were a couple of months away, though. Surely, she ought to-

“If you want to study, then we can do that.”

It’s the use of we that spurs her choice of an answer. “How about several movies?”

“Home Alone 1 is way better than Home Alone 2.” Harry states, scrolling through his phone. Showing the list of movies on his phone, he asks Hermione, “What are we watching first?”

“The crime is way better in Home Alone 2.” Hermione mimics, weaving a carefully crafted debate. “The pranks are ridiculous, surprisingly funny and they have the best toy story. How do you not like that?”

Harry laughs. “Have I ever told you how intelligent you are? You know how to appeal to my mind but nope, you can’t change my mind. I’m adamant in the belief that Home Alone 1 is unbeatable. Now, choose. Which movie?”

Hermione squints at the screen. “I don’t know. You’re asking a bisexual to choose something. This is going to take forever. You’re better at Christmas movies. You choose.”  She admits reluctantly. It would be a lie if she confessed his reaction would not deter her.

“Well, love, you’re talking to a fellow bisexual. I want to say everything.”

Hermione grins at him. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“It would help my ego if you kept saying it.”

“Did you know that the origin of ego is from Latin? It came from literally ‘I’ in the nineteenth century.”

“Mione.” Harry lets out a weak chuckle. “That’s all fascinating but which movie? ”

“Let’s watch all but in alphabetical order. So, stream A Christmas Carol first.”

“This is why we make a good team.”

Hermione hides her smile as she walks towards the kitchen, Harry following behind.

“What are we doing?”

“Popcorn?”

Harry scrunches up his face and pouts. The sentiments are reflected on Hermione’s face.

“How about tea and popcorn?”

A rush of affection for Harry consumes her. There wasn’t an honorable man who disliked tea. “Yes. We could have a sleepover or something. Build a fort, later on?”

“How about now ?”

xx

The fort was an absolute disaster . Every spare linen, including Hermione’s long Russian coats and bedsheets- were thrifted to form a structure that tethered shoddily. They inspect the fort with great pride, however. It wasn’t strong enough to take on a rival army but seemed perfect for the two of them.

Harry crawls in and Hermione looks away, blushing as his butt is shoved in her face. She was not looking . She wasn’t .

Under the canopy of fairy lights that twinkle, Harry threw a blanket of hand knitted wool over Hermione. Mug in hand, they marvel at their creation. One of Hermione’s book cabinets support the fabric, included coincidentally, of course.

They crawl towards a common sofa, wondering if this was a good idea, after all. They felt like adults concluding the observation on the way their backs grumbled. Traitorous. Undependable and painful backs.

“May I read this?” Harry asks, eyes fixed on a shiny book. After admiring the summary, he passes a smile, “Romance and princes are my thing .”

Hermione nods, excitedly like a kid drugged on candy.

“When we got the letter in the post, my mother was ecstatic. She had already decided that all our problems were solved, gone forever.” Harry’s lips twitch upwards. “The big- wish we could have this kind of luck in the real world- BIG HITCH in her brilliant plan was me. I didn’t think I was a particularly disobedient daughter, but this was where I drew the line.”

Hermione lets out a snort when Harry wiggles his eyebrows at her imitating a walrus. “Am I a disobedient daughter, Mione?”

“Read the book, will you?”

So he did. For nearly an hour, Hermione heard, with  great rapture, the inevitable love story between a prince and a commoner. The Selection was one of her favorite series. It had just the right amount of romance and suspense. It was the ninth time she wished she lived in a palace that contained a magnificent library within its walls.

His phone rang and Harry stops abruptly, in the middle of dialogue which was the greatest tragedy. He shuts the book and crawls to the TV.

“What are you doing?” Hermione crosses her arms and stares him down. “Aren’t you going to pick up your phone?”

“Nope.” Harry responds, having an internal battle with the buttons on the TV. “It was an alarm. We’re going to watch a movie now. Like we were supposed to do an hour ago.”

“Can’t we just read?” Hermione whines. “It’s much better.”

“What are we going to do with the popcorn?”

Hermione debates the issue with herself. “Fine. We’re going to read as soon as we finish the movie and that’s that..”

“Whatever you want, Princess. I recommend watching at least five movies, though.” Harry tugs his phone out of his pocket. “It’s very Christmassy.”

Hermione fixes him with a glare. “I’ll watch. As long as you admit Home Alone 2 was better.”

He throws her a wounded look and clutches his heart with a hand. “I feel so hurt . But because I want to watch the movie, I’ll say Home Alone 2….was better than certain other movies-like Home Alone 1. However, know that I will never forget how mean-”

She huffs. “Just play the movie, Mr. Dramatic.”

Swiping at the phone before he places it on the floor, Harry scoots closer to Hermione and leans his head against her shoulder.

“Happy Movie Watching.”

Hermione swallows and hopes it wasn’t as loud as she imagined it to be. “You too.”

If her voice appeared choked, Harry didn’t appear to notice. She resists the need to adjust, wary that her movement might push him away. His head tickles her a little and Hermione bites her lip. Taking a peek at his hair, she looks away, her head swimming with the conscious desire to ruffle it.

Willing herself to exercise some control, Hermione tries to focus on the melody bouncing around them.

“Why does it feel like we’re watching a horror movie instead of a Christmas one?”

“I guess it’s symbolism.” Hermione whispers back. It makes her think about times when she was a child and she’d play pass the whisper. She wonders if Harry and her could be friends as children. She’d like to think so. “At the end of the movie-”

“No spoilers.” Harry interrupts, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and passing it to her.

“Haven’t you watched this yet?”

Harry shakes his head, hair tickling her skin. “Not this film, nope.”

“How can you-” Hermione begins, pulling away from him slightly. “Never mind. You’re in for a treat.”

True to her word, Harry discovered that he was rather ridiculous and wished he had watched the movie earlier. A fond fan of magic, he was beyond delighted and fascinated as Scrooge flew. The elements of magic kindled the inner child in him.

Hermione would probably be set on fire if she said the light in his eyes wasn’t endearing.

As the credits for the third movie flashed, Hermione shut her eyes. Darkness had winnowed in, almost an hour ago but exhaustion only seemed to weigh her down now. Eyes burning, she drops her back on the floor, side eyes memorising the names of the actors.

“Want me to switch it off?” Harry asks, stretching as much as the proximity allows. After confirming the time, he tells her, “It’s almost nine.”

“Night’s young.” Hermione mumbles, face pressed onto the cold layer. “I’m watching.”

His chuckle is warm reminding her of the taste of hot chocolate drunk on a winter’s night. He drops his body next to her with a thump .

“How you’ll see?” She slurs her words together, hazy with warmth.  

“You’re short, Princess.” Harry claims which it a total lie. She’s 5’2, a perfectly admirable height. If the rest of the world comprised of giants, it wasn’t her issue.

“Am not.”  Hermione nestles into him, his warmth practically a soundless lullaby. And, into the arms of Morpheus, she crept.

The next morning she woke up to Harry’s snores and noticed her leg around his waist with his arm wound around her lower back. Psychology dictated their involuntary actions so she didn’t panic.

It was funny to notice how he seeked her warmth. The blanket was draped around her form while Harry remained bare, excluding his cotton shirt. As the blanket suspended on his body, her fingers brushed his skin, inducing electrifying shocks through bone and marrow.

Hermione carefully strived not to think about how she didn’t untangle herself from him despite being awake for minutes.

 liked it so far? read the rest on ao3 

[sassyshish]

Unexpected

Or the one where she really, really doesn’t like him. 

“I don’t like you" she said bluntly, in the same tone as one would say "I bought a new shirt today”.

He blinked several times, taken aback by her statement. It was completely out of the blue… he was just talking about the new Fleetwood vinyl he got earlier that day, couldn’t see any reason why that would lead her to such emotion. He knew he could be a bit boring sometimes, losing himself in frivolous details, - the flat tone and all that - but still that didn’t seem to bother her the times the two of them had engaged a conversation.

“Whaa-?…why?“ He blabbered, very confused. She didn’t know why she said that or better, she knew why but she didn’t mean to come off so brutal, and besides, it wasn’t properly necessary. She sipped on her drink and looked around the pub, avoiding his hard stare that was burning her left profile, she was trying to think about something to explain herself. Shit, she had this amazing talent to get herself in the loveliest situations.

“I don’t know… I guess you try too much?“ She said hesitant with a questioning tone, as to ask him confirmation, still not meeting his eyes.

“I try what too much?“ He asked back, starting to feel offended at that point.

"To be liked! You try too much to be liked, I guess… I never know if what you say is what you really think or what people want to hear… It’s fucked up man, that’s what it is… And for that, I don’t like you!" She rambled, not knowing how to word her thoughts properly and getting nervous.

It was that type of situation where she just kept frantically talking to try to make it better, but it just turns way worst. Even if she loved him, he annoyed her very much, it drove her completely crazy that he never truly expressed himself, never took a position in arguments, never seemed passionate about stuff, always saying cliche stuff like "well love, it is what it is" or "everyone got different opinions”.  He was diplomatic to the extreme. Never once, in the time they knew each other she heard him call someone’s bullshit.

She knew that under all of those layers, those smiles and calculated answers laid his true personality. She knew his fire, his passion, she knew how amazing he was, but he covered all that more often than not. They knew each other for quite some time by then, always on and off, always on each other throats. She didn’t know why she was so frustrated with him, why everything he did seem to piss her off, sometimes she didn’t understand it either. 

She noticed the way his eyes would light up with anger when someone - her - would say something he didn’t like, and every time she caught that sparkle in his eyes, her skin would tingle in anticipation, waiting for him to explode. But nothing. It never happened.

She knew he had to be like that, she knew he wasn’t the confrontational type, she knew that years spent in front of the cameras and judging eyes had turned him in the stoic, unaffected, always-composed guy he showed to the public eye. Yes, she knew all those things, and she had rationalized everything - or at least had tried to - but it still didn’t fail to bother her to no limit. She just wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him till he would loosen up a bit. And maybe even tell her to fuck off. Nothing would make her happier than him cursing her out and not apologizing right after.

“I don’t think there’s nothing wrong in wanting to please people. I’m just trying to be polite. Why that angers you so much, love?" He asked with a tight jaw and controlled voice. She always did that, always pushed on his buttons and called him out on his every move. No one could upset him as fast and as easy as she could. Harry always tried to pay no mind to others opinion, trying to live his life calm and steady when he could. But she rocked his boat, always snappy and ready with a comeback

He actually didn’t know why he put up with her… if he came to think about it he didn’t like her much either.  The two of them didn’t seem to get along since the beginning, he treated her gently and politely as he did with anyone but on the contrary, she didn’t do much to cover up her feelings towards him. Yes, he was a people pleaser, he wanted to be on good terms with everyone, and yes he tried to be liked by her because he didn’t understand why she was so put off with him since the first seconds they met.

Oh, how oblivious she was of what she woke in him, the deepest of his instincts rose so forcefully anytime that sharp tongue of hers provoked him with her comebacks and sarcastic jokes. The ones he let out just in certain types of situations with certain types of people. He often entertained himself with the idea of showing her his secret side, the shock in her eyes and the surprise would be priceless. If she only knew… Every time something rude would come out of her mouth, his hands tingled, wanting to grab her and throw her on his lap and teach the girl a proper lesson. He wanted to show her how much her attitude affected him, wanted to turn that very lovely bum a bright angry red, leave his marks on her so much so, every time she would sit she would feel him and remember him. She once called him apathetic, and all he wanted to do was to show her how wrong she was. But he couldn’t, so he just tightened his jaw and furrowed his brows waiting for her to answer.

She woke in him that type of interest that he tried very much to control, considering not everyone liked that kind of things. The dominant side of his personality was greatly tantalized by her mouth and witty mind, and deep down in him, he knew that she would love the punishment.  "It doesn’t anger me! I just find it annoying… and hey, it is what it is, after all, you can’t be loved by everybody, Styles! Even if that’s your life goal, apparently. Sorry to crush your dreams!" She left her empty glass on the counter and leaned towards him to pat his cheek, then twirled on her stool turning her back at him, ready to jump down and go back to her group. She was acting so petty she was annoying even herself, if she was to be in his place she would’ve slapped herself.

"Bloody asshole…" Harry murmured under his breath, shaking his head and looking down at his pint.

"What did you just say?" She turned around so quickly the lights in the pub blurred out for a second.

Even if the place was crowded and noisy, she was close enough to hear him just before she left. Harry’s head snapped up with such violence she was afraid he strained a muscle on his neck or something. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed several times like a goldfish, in search of words, his cheeks turned an endearing tint of rose, in embarrassment.

"I… uhmmm… Nothing… I just-”

“I heard you" she interrupted him, waving her hand swiftly up and down as to dismiss his potential excuses.

"I’m-" he started with a sheepish tone, cheeks burning so red she could have cooked eggs on them.

"If you just think of apologizing I will kick you in the balls, I swear!" She interrupted him again before he could ruin it all.

"You don’t want me to apologize…?" He was confused to say at least at that point, the situation getting weirder by the minute. The girl was a Rubik’s cube. Her answers weren’t normal. Her thoughts weren’t normal. She wasn’t normal.

"No," she said simply, smiling big and bright.

"WHY?" he whined out, throwing his head back to the ceiling, staring hard and pleadingly in search of help from the above.

"Cause I acted like a bloody asshole" she explained still smiling at him, her hand going to his forearm and squeezing with warm reassurance.

”… Shit, you’re mental" he dragged his eyes back to her, shaking his head in disbelief. The genuine laugh coming out of her mouth making her squint her eyes in the sweetest way.

“I have to do that love, I need to be guarded and choose my words with everyone. I learned that the hard way. When you’re in this business it’s better not to trust anyone who just comes around" he said right before snatching up the olive from the stick in her Martini, throwing it in the air while opening his mouth wide and obviously failing to catch it.

"Shit, I never get it right…" He mumbled in disappointment, staring accusingly at the offending olive that was happily rolling away from him and his mouth.

"I think it is time for you to stop trying, you just don’t have the gift Harry, deal with it…" She laughed at his expression, making him smile in return.

"I can’t even imagine that you know" she resumed their line of talk, "It must be really shitty though, having to be so wary of everyone. I would be terrible at that, I just can’t stop the urging need to express my opinion or make some type of comment on situations. I would get a lot of people very angry all the time" she smiled imagining the complete disaster she would be if she had to be in his place.

"Yeah I have my slips too, but luckily for me - and my team too - people forget very quickly. It usually takes just a couple of days and everything gets lost in the sea of the latest spicy news" he laughed, looking at her with a new light in his eyes.

"You have great temper, very stoic lad you are. It must help you a lot in this business. You’re great at what you do Harry, really." She genuinely complimented him, cutting him some slack for once.

He always liked the way she seemed so carefree and candid. He admired the fierceness she had in voicing her thoughts, the fact that she never seemed to be afraid to get in a debate. He liked the way she carried herself, the confidence coming off of her in waves, and the natural charisma that made everyone turn their heads towards her and listen to what she had to say. Usually, her best stories starting with, "You’ll never believe what happened to me today!”, and just like that all eyes would be on her, smiles already gracing the lips of her listeners. And she would get so flustered and concentrated in her tale, that she wouldn’t even acknowledge the loud laughs and the people just staring at her in genuine interest.

He received that type of attention too, way more than she did actually, but for her, it was just effortless and natural, for him it had a lot to do with his job. People hung on his every word and looked at him with adoration, agreeing with him on everything. When he had a funny story to tell, everyone would laugh their ass off like it was the funniest shit they ever heard, when in all honesty it wasn’t even that hilarious. And really this type of things could get even in the head of a saint, and he was nowhere near sanctity. He got tired of it sometimes, everything feeling fake and tasteless, that’s why he needed to get back to his friends and family, cause he could just relax a little. 

He needed to stay grounded and focused or else this life could turn him in someone he didn’t want to be.  But she was a completely different story. She didn’t buy his shit, never. When he said something stupid she pointed it out, when something wasn’t funny she didn’t laugh, when he was in the middle of his philosophical rambles she usually said something sarcastic like "Do you spend your nights writing these stuff on your diary and then just drop the bomb when it’s needed?“, or "You have such a tortured soul, I can see why everyone is so infatuated with you”. And it never failed to surprise him and also irritate him.

She seemed the only one immune to his infamous charm, and that bothered him a lot. So that’s why he always tried a little harder when he was around her, not because he wanted to hit on her or anything, but because his ego was bruised and, well, a man and his ego, right? Well… maybe he did want to hit on her a little. She had something that kept him on his toes, and he liked that something. After that little bicker, he just let go of every facade, easing his mind and not measuring his words anymore, forgetting about the constructed sentences and over-thought answers And they hit it off, just like that.

They talked all night long, sitting in a corner of the counter, their drinks warm by then, long forgotten.

Soon enough the last call was announced, the disappointment very clear on their faces at the thought that their time together was over. When they saw the few friends still left there walking towards them, he had an idea.

“Did you came here with your car?” Harry asked her, already knowing the answer.

“Ehm… no, I came here with Jamie… but I don’t see her anywhere…” she looked around trying to identify the tall brunette in the small crowd.

“If you’re looking for Jamie, she left hours ago with Paul babe… she was a little drunk so that’s probably why she forgot to give you a heads up. I can give you a ride if you want!” Sarah told her as soon as she and the others were close enough.

“No worries babe, I’ll take her, I’m on that way” Harry quickly answered, not letting her time to accept the offer, wanting to take her home just to spend a few more minutes with her.

“Yeah… Harry will drop me off, thanks Sarah” she said while keeping her eyes on him, with an inquisitive look.

The entire group locking at them funny, since it wasn’t a secret that they weren’t best friends, but still they minded their own business for the moment and kissed goodbye. The night was chilly and she shuddered, hugging herself tight and looking down while walking, a million thoughts running through her mind. He was walking right beside her not knowing exactly what to say, starting to feel a bit nervous. He just wanted to get those thirty minutes more just to keep chatting with her, he found out she was more endearing than he thought when her guard was down and she didn’t attack him every second. 

It felt weird to not bicker, to not having to be alert and careful to his every word. The sudden calm between the two of them was shocking and threw her off a bit. She didn’t expect for him to be so open with her, for once seeing him ease up and relax, noticing that his smile was a little bigger that night, his eyes sparkling with amusement, his shoulders not tense as usual. She found herself watching him with wonder, finally being able to see how fascinating he truly was, the conversation flowing freely and naturally. While she was lost in her considerations, she didn’t notice that they were in front of the car and Harry was holding the passenger door open for her to slide in for God knows how long.

“Uh… Oh, sorry. Was lost in my mind.” she mumbled looking down her feet to avoid the amused smile that was plastered on his face

“What? Too lost thinking on how irresistible I am?” he joked, already slamming the door closed to avoid one of her comebacks that he was sure was already forming on her lips, winking at her through the windshield while he rounded the car.

They were silent during the ride, her window open as she looked outside and hummed along with the radio. Harry threw looks at her, noticing how her hair danced around her face, her lips so naturally pouty, her little nose. She was very pretty he had to admit it. He was slowing ready to take the right and get in her driveway.

“Do you wanna drive around? I don’t feel like going home yet,” he asked, right before getting in her driveway. She turned her head and looked at his lovely face

“Yeah sure,” she answered simply. They drove around for what felt like hours, just listening to music and singing along. And now and then she would turn the volume all the way down just because something would pop in her mind, and she felt it was vital for him to know They ended up at a place where she hasn’t been in ages, memories flooding her mind of when she was in high school and met with her friends there on Saturday’s nights to drink beers and chat all night long, sat on the curb of the low wall that went all around the square. The view of the city simply breathtaking from there. A bittersweet smile gracing her features from the nostalgia of those carefree days, when everything was simpler and easier.

“My God, it has been so long since the last time I’ve been here…” she looked around spotting groups of teenagers here and there, couples walking hand in hand and stopping now and then to share a kiss. Since it was a Saturday night the streets were still crowded and full of life. God, she was so in love with that city, everything feeling so vibrant, so colorful, so romantic. The lights, the people, the sounds and odors so unique, she could never leave her home even if they paid her millions to.

“Do you want something to drink?” he gestured towards the small stand that sold every type of drinks, recognizing the seller from the time she went there.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay, then I’m good too.” he answered, softly smiling at her, walking close toward the curb and jumping on it, sitting face to face, their legs on either side of the wall.

She got distracted from a couple of guys playing around, pushing each other and shouting loudly. She smiled, shaking softly her head, “Kids, yeah?”, turning toward him and not expecting his hands suddenly cupping her face and all about pulling her to his mouth, taking her completely off guard.  Her eyes wide open in shock, her hands flying to his with the initial instinct of pushing him off of her, but when she felt his soft lips moving on hers, his tongue sweetly caressing them and asking for permission to get in, her body melted to him and started to respond to his lips.

Her hands now holding his to get him closer, to feel his body as much as she could with all the layers of clothing between them. He smelled so good, tasted so good, and, oh his skin, felt so amazingly good under her fingertips.  He interrupted the kiss as abruptly as he started it, his eyes a bit wild and his devilish mouth shiny, frustration painted on his face for the position they were, grabbing her thighs and bringing her over him on his lap, getting a hold of her ass and eliciting a small gasp from her, going back to devouring her mouth. 

She was so shocked, in her mind she couldn’t believe what was happening, she couldn’t believe the hands that were so forcefully groping her and pushing her down his crotch was Harry’s. But more than anything she couldn’t believe that she felt her skin burn for him, that she felt that type of eagerness for him. For him! That was fucking Harry! The one that got on her nerves, the one that she argued with almost every time they saw each other. Fucking hell, she didn’t know what was going on with her. And while she was having this nice little debate in her head with herself, he had slipped his hand under her shirt causing her eyes to flutter, and around her naked boob - she was never a big fan of bras.

“This shirt clung to you so nicely… I could perfectly see the form of them all night long, the way they swung every time you moved… I could see your nipples… were driving me crazy." he murmured in her ear while softly caressing her, tracing the form of her boob, gently pinching her nipple.  She felt like dying, he was saying things so cheesy that with someone else would make her burst in a loud laugh, but she didn’t know if it was his voice or his lovely mouth, or his shiny green eyes, whatever it was, it was working and it was making her melt into puddle to his feet.

“God… it’s your perfume. It’s driving me crazy” he whispered to her getting a hint of her scent, that was much stronger on her throat just behind her ear, inhaled profoundly, feeling it hit him right on his cock. He never felt this kind of arousal, so strong and so sudden, he never got so excited from just a few kisses, but something in her was driving him completely mental. He bit down her neck and she let a moan escape her lips, involuntarily grinding down on him, her body looking for the right friction. He kept licking her neck, kissing it, trying to get that irresistible flavor on his tongue.

“God we need to move, or I’ll fuck you right here,” he told her with his eyes closed, while she was softly rocking on him kissing sweetly the line of his jaw. She felt weak just at the mention of that, never heard somebody sound so filthy simply saying the word ‘fuck’. It was the way he talked, so steady and calm, it was warm and profound. He took his time when talking, articulating every word in such way that made her stomach twist, she couldn’t deny that his voice was extremely erotic, and it was even more undeniable that he had an ample vocabulary and she loved that. She had a type of kink for men that could talk sophisticated.

“Jesus… yeah, yeah... Let’s go” she panted.

She was a mess and all they did was kiss for a few minutes. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she would’ve felt if he really fucked her. He moved her from him, glancing swiftly around the place to see if someone was looking their way, or worst if someone had recognized him, but everyone seemed too occupied with their own stuff going on to notice a couple heavy petting on the dark corner. He jumped down fixing his hair, passing a hand to his mouth and adjusting his pants as he could that still felt too tight, throwing a look at her and winking. He helped her down and grabbed her hand sprinting toward the car, walking a bit funny because of his half hard on. Harry didn’t even look at her, too concentrated on keeping himself together.

As soon as they both got inside he accelerated down the street, running like someone was chasing him. He threw a look at her and saw on her face an expression so clueless but her eyes were on fire, it was a mixture of naive and naughty that made him lost it completely.

“Fuck..” he shook his head not being able to control his hand that went straight to her pussy and cupped her over her jeans. She let out a gasp of surprise that quickly faded in a moan, pushing down on him, wanting way more from him.

“Are you wet baby?” he asked in the dark. He was never shy with his partners, but never this bold right away. Something in her made him feel completely unchained like he could do or say anything.

“Feel it yourself,” she whispered to him, making him inhale sharply, his hand going to the button of her jeans, opening it and going inside, immediately feeling that she wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Bloody hell. Who the fuck are you?” he was talking more to himself than her. His hand froze in place to her mound not wanting to go down to feel her completely and risk a car accident.

“I need to fuck you.” he told her, and she knew it was his way of asking if it was okay with her.

“Yes, please…” she mewled, grabbing his wrist and keeping him pressed on her.

He lost his vision for a moment, the ‘please’ sending his brain in tilt for a few seconds. Fuck if it sounded nice coming from her, he wanted nothing more than hear it all night long.

“Say it again,” he commanded.

“Fuck me, please”

And it was it for him. His foot stepping down on the gas, his hand pulling off her harshly to grab the wheel, his face stern and tense. She could feel his body heating up, the veins on his neck thick and noticeable. She was losing her mind and her thoughts running wild, she didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but hell if she ever felt this type of fire with somebody else. She knew in her bones that sex with him would be phenomenal, no doubt on that in her mind, and she also had a feeling that he was a little dominant in bed. God, how stupid she was thinking that he was so bland and passionless.

"My place is closer from here… is that okay?” He asked in a murmur.

“Yeah, sure.” She said in a small voice. At that point, it was safe to say that she was nervous, and even a bit scared A few minutes later he pulled to the side to get in his driveway, rolling down the window to punch in the code to open the gate. He parked in front of the house, getting out of the car and not giving her the time to even take the seat belt off before he was holding the door open for her to get out.

“Thanks..” she said sounding almost shy, so out of her character.

“Feeling shy baby?” He asked with a smirk grabbing her by the waist when she was standing in front of him. He hugged her close to him with a strong, steady arm, while with his free hand slammed the door closed. She jumped at the loud sound and lied her hands on his chest. 

He leaned his head down on her, their faces getting so close she could smell the mint of his ever-present gum. Their kiss this time very different from the first one, calm and sweet savoring the moment, growing in intensity and leaving them breathless and hungry, they let it close naturally, till they were standing cheek by cheek in the night, taking each other in. They said nothing, simply held hands and walked inside the house. She knew the place, having been there a few times before. He guided her to the kitchen first wanting to get some water, because he felt like he was dying of dehydration.

“Fancy some water? Or anything else..” he asked opening the fridge and looking in it.

“Water is just fine, thanks” she smiled at him, feeling at ease now around him. 

“You don’t talk much now, how come? Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked curiously while sipping on his glass. His filter completely broken now around her, letting his thoughts flow on his tongue freely.

She fiddled with the cup, looking at the water dancing around, “No you don’t love, I just don’t have anything to say. Ask my opinion on Trump and you’ll hear plenty” she answered smirking, making him laugh.

He was so handsome, the short hair is a bit of shock for her the first time she saw it but now used to the new cut. Needless to say that he was the type of guy that could pull off every style.  She was one of the first people that he told about the movie, she was very excited for him, told him she was so proud and that he deserved it. They had this very conflicted relationship, one day it was all love and fun and the six days after it was all arguments and bad mood. But they were close in some way, he really valued her mind, he knew she was very smart and he trusted her, even if she was so harsh with him. He also knew that it was her way of approaching people, so more often than not he ignored her not so gentle ways.

“It’s so weird, innit?” He said amused by the situation. She caught right away what he meant, “Yeah, it is. I think that our friends wouldn’t believe this even if we showed'em pictures.”

He let his glass down on the counter, and walked to her, his hands going to her hips and pulling her closer, his nose rubbing the side of her neck and taking her in.

“Don’t know about that, rumors have it that some of them are betting on us.” he said smiling against her neck.

“What?!? Who?!?!” the surprise evident in her voice, making him laugh in amusement.

“C'mon baby, if you think about it we are a bit cliche`… The old ‘I hate you but I actually wanna fuck you’ vibe between us” he joked with her, swinging her side to side and laughing at her horrified expression.

“What the fuck are you talking about Styles?!” she retaliated with furrowed brows, trying to get away from his iron grip.

“Here she is! Now I recognize you! You were treating me too nicely, I was getting suspicious… Ouch!” he said in between laughs while she tried to get away from him, and when he didn’t let go she bit him on the shoulder.

“Stop it! I’m joking, I’m joking… You bit me!” he was hysterical, his laughs could probably be heard from the street. 

“You are physically restraining me, I could report you for sexual harassment,” she said teasing him.

“Unfortunately there is nothing sexual going on here, love” he said faking disappointment, her responding by grabbing his face and pushing it as far away from her as she could.

“MY NECK! AAHH!” he was definitely exaggerating and she let him go immediately because he was being extremely loud.

“Ugh… My ears” she whined, holding her ears like the deaf monkey.

“You are too violent Missy, it’s not good” he reprimanded her pointing his finger to her face, promptly hiding it behind his back when she playfully snapped her teeth in his direction. They smiled at each other and he felt safe to hug her again after the silliness of the moment, her arms going around his neck, and his hands landing on her hips. 

“You idiot” she whispered rolling her eyes.

The mood swung to a more heated one, their thoughts reflecting on both of their eyes. He took her upstairs in his bedroom and hugged her close to him kissing her breath away. She clung to his hair wanting to get as close as she physically could, grabbing his shirt and swiftly starting to unbutton it, struggling with the last ones.

“Tear it up” he panted to her when she couldn’t get a hold of the last button, but he didn’t even wait for her to catch what he said and simply grabbed the edges of his shirt and pulled making that final little button pop away and land somewhere in the room. His chest was in complete display now, unfortunately not having the time she wanted to admire his tattoos before he lifted her from the ground, her legs instantly going around his hips. He took the few steps that divided them from the bed and let her fall into it, following right after. She slid up and he chased her, grabbing her by the thighs and elevating on her.

The didn’t need words at that moment, they were too concentrated in taking every detail in, too preoccupied to notice every bit of skin revealed, to savor this first time and to save the memories as vivid as they could.  He unbuttoned her jeans, threw a look at her for confirmation and slid them down her legs, throwing them behind him. His eyes glued to the place he wanted the most at that moment. His pants were evidently straining by then, he unconsciously unbuttoned them and slit the fly open to get more space, since it started to feel very uncomfortable.

Her thighs were bent at the knee and slightly open, he let his hands travel from her ankles to the top of her soft thighs, his thumbs teasing her while passing by. She was a shivering mess while he kept his journey, sliding his hands under her shirt, hooking his thumbs on the hem of it, taking it up and revealing her bust. Her breathing was a little shallow, while he was looking at her body she was looking at his face, and she saw how every inch of new skin revealed it affected him, she saw it in how his nostrils trembled while he inhaled deeply after he took a good look of her boobs, she saw how his eyes were on fire, she saw how his mouth had opened almost in awe. He was making her feel like the most beautiful woman on earth without knowing it.

She got slightly up to help him take her shirt completely off and she finally was naked.  She noticed how he was mostly dressed, and how she didn’t feel any bit of discomfort on being on full display for him. It was something in him, something in the way he looked at her like he couldn’t care less of her stretch marks on the side of her hips, or the fact that she wasn’t properly shaved. She knew he didn’t care, she saw it in his eyes.

“It’s crazy how much I want you…” he whispered, his hands still going up and down her body. He bent over her, his face going to her chest and inhaling deeply, her perfume sending him in overdrive, a moan escaping his mouth.

“You really like my perfume Harry, I’ll get you a bottle”, she giggled when he started sniffing her like a dog.

“You have no idea. But it is not a fragrance, it is you. It’s your natural perfume, it’s very strong… And so good..” he said, stopping at every phrase to take a sniff at her, he looked like a drug addict.

“I think those are called pheromones, apparently chemistry kicked in” she laughed at him, not believing it affected him as much as he was claiming.

“Dunno. Don’t care… I love it” he moaned on her neck, biting the nape of it. He got up and took his hands to his jeans, getting off the bed to slide 'em down his legs, when he was just in his boxer she could definitely see that he was well endowed. Very well endowed. He slid off his underwear too and her jaw almost fell off, but luckily she recollected herself before he could notice.  He was big, that was undeniable. He wasn’t that impressive in length as he was in thickness, he was big enough to burn initially but not that much to hurt. Oh, and he was circumcised. It was beautiful.

She knew her eyes were glued to his cock, she knew he was looking at her with a cocky smirk on his face. She wanted to stop staring, she couldn’t. He moved back to the bed and above her, and her hand went straight down to circle him. She wanted to feel him, she was impatient, needy. 

His neck felt weak, letting his head rest on her shoulder while she was feeling him out, slowly rubbing the ache away. He sighed and kissed her cheek, and she caught him off guard when she pushed him to the side and slid between his legs. He didn’t know what was happening until he felt her lips on the head of his cock, she was looking at his face while she teased him with her tongue, licking and circling. He groaned with relief, his hand shooting to the back of her head, putting a light pressure to invite her to take more of him.

“Oh God, yes kitten…” he moaned when she took less than half of him in, rubbing her hand up and down where she couldn’t reach just yet. She knew he was a challenge, and she most definitely knew that she would have a sore jaw after this. She laid him on his stomach and took a good lick from base to tip, going down again and sucking on his balls, making him get restless. 

“Look at me baby, give me those eyes..” he whispered to her wanting eye contact, “Spit on it, make it nice and wet for me, yeah?” he said in a heated tone, not having any type of filter with her.  She felt her stomach drop at his words, she never heard someone be so filthy the first time she slept with them, and usually, dirty talk crept her out, thinking that it was something that could work only in porn and not in real life.

But goddamn, if it didn’t feel hot coming from him. She felt herself getting wetter just by those words. Well, if he wanted messy, that’s what he would get then.  She lined him up and while still looking at him she spat on his head, his head falling to the pillow, a deep guttural moan leaving his mouth. 

“Again.” he whispered after he met her eyes again, and she obliged. And she did it again and she took him as far as he could get, making him feel her throat close up on him, her gag reflex triggered by the fullness, choking sounds filling the room.

“Yes! Just like that, fuck…” When she was about to pull away, his hand flew back to her head and involuntarily pushed her back down. He let her go seconds after and she took air in like she just came up from underwater.

“I’m sorry, so sorry baby..” he apologized to her for holding her down, sincerely worried. She looked at him noticing the red of his cheeks, the light sweat on his chest, his wild eyes, and she felt nothing but arousal. She didn't answer him, getting back on sucking him, teasing his balls with his other hand, spit all over her hands and chin. She never gave someone head this way, it was dirty, but it felt good. Like they were doing the things they both enjoyed, without lies, without restraints.

He was losing his mind above her, and she was definitely in killer mode. She was taking so much pleasure in giving him head that she couldn’t even believe it herself.

“Stop, stop… Fuck. Stop” he told her with urgency, but she didn't listen, so without thinking he took a hold of her hair and pulled hard to get her away from him. He knew that it hurt, and he saw the flash of pain going through her eyes, but right after that he saw the pleasure painted on her face, her eyelids fluttered, her lips turned into an ecstatic smile while she moaned. And her reaction made him moan in response. That was all he needed to know about her, now he knew how to talk and act with her. 

“When I tell you to stop, you stop kitten” he tightened his hold making her hiss and close her eyes for a second.

“Do you know how to respond to that baby?” he asked sweetly, her hand around the base of his cock, his head caressing her bottom lip. She shook her head, her eyes wide.

“You say, ‘Yes, sir’” he explained to her, carefully looking at her to catch any sign of discomfort.

“Yes, sir” she repeated promptly, wanting to please him. She saw how much it affected him, that little answer made him throb in her hand.  Oh well, he was much more than a little dominant. 

He kept his hold tight on her hair and pushed away the hand that was holding him to replace it with his own, taking full control of the situation. She never took her eyes off him, almost in trance by how he was acting.

“Put your hands behind your back and keep 'em there. You don’t touch” he told her in a low stern tone. He brought her mouth back on him, guiding her up and down, making her take it till she couldn’t breathe. He was pushing her limits, he could tell. But at the same time, he was very attentive, looking her in the eyes all the time to make sure she was okay.

Her mouth was making him see stars and the way she bent to his will made him lose his mind. He pushed her down on him again and held her there to feel her throat contract around him. He let her go and took a deep breath to try to calm himself. She could see how easy it was for him to slid in that role, and the way he was talking to her, telling her what to do and how to call him, spoke volume about his experience in that type of things. She felt safe with him, saw how careful he was, how he knew when and how to push her, and it was blowing her mind. 

Since the second he took control his demeanor changed completely, he didn’t make a sound and his face held a concentrated expression. If it wasn’t for his flushed cheeks and chest, and his deep breaths she would’ve thought that he was totally unaffected. He let go of her hair making her lose her balance for a moment before he helped her move next to him. She was a little frantic, her breath shallow and heart running wild, he stretched his arm out to the nightstand to grab a couple of napkins, cleaning her wet chin and under her eyes where she had teared up, and then tossing them on the ground.

He caressed sweetly her face, letting his hand travel back to her hair to massage the roots that he pulled, peppered small tender kisses along her cheek. He wanted to bring her back to him, to make sure she was comfortable with all that.

“Are you okay baby?” he whispered with his lips caressing her forehead. She didn’t know why but her eyes watered and she felt a sense of vulnerability hit her. She was completely losing the grip on her emotions and reactions. 

“… Please” she said in a small voice. She didn’t know what she was pleading for, but she knew he would’ve understood in some way. He hugged her tight to him and kissed all away, taking her back to reality, her heart and breath going back to normality, a small tear running down the corner of her eye and into her hair.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me” she murmured against his throat, not wanting to meet his eyes after that.

“Don’t worry about it. Do you wanna stop?” he knew what was going on with her, he saw it happen before. Having sex the way he enjoyed was shocking for who wasn’t into that world. She most definitely had a submissive nature in bed but she probably didn’t realize it until that moment.  It was a very delicate moment for her because she was connecting with her deepest needs. Most of the times the need to cry and the vulnerability comes along with being a sub, she wanted to be taken care of, she wanted to follow his orders and please him as she could., she didn’t want to think about anything that wasn’t their pleasure.

It really was beautiful when his partners gave everything up and trusted him completely, crying for him in need. He thrived on that, he loved that moment. And that was what she was experiencing, even if she didn’t know. 

“Just…kiss me” she whispered raising her head from her hiding place. He smiled at her and rolled her on her back and got on her, resting between her legs. He kissed her with hunger, with all the passion he was feeling at that moment. The intensity of the kiss making her moan.  He moved his hand down feeling her most intimate part for the first time.  God, she was perfect. So soft, so wet. He broke their kiss, his face held an expression of deep unadulterated pleasure

“Fuck.” he moaned when he got two fingers in and she arched against him, her mouth falling open in a silent moan. He kept fucking her with his fingers, making her lose her mind, her head thrashing side to side. He lowered his head on her chest, kissing with an open mouth all around, catching with his tongue her right nipple and sucking it in his eager mouth.  His eyes never left her face though, and when he saw her lose it too much he bit down, the pain so sudden and sharp that made her eyes burst open, a quick scream escaping her lips. Her first reaction was to grab him by the hair to get him away, but he bit harder when she tried.

“Fuck!” she harshly whispered when he let go, feeling it throb. He took his free hand and pulled her hands away from his hair, pushing his two fingers so deeply and forcefully in her she lost her breath.

“You don’t push me away. When I do something to you, you say "Thank you, sir”. Understood?“ he stated with a stern voice. She was so distracted by the feeling of his fingers that didn’t promptly answer. He took his fingers out of her and in one swift movement slapped hard her clit, to which she jumped like she got an electric shock.

"Answer me.” his voice even deeper this time.

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” she said in a whiny tone. 

“Good girl.” he pets her hair, kissing the corner of her mouth, “If this was another occasion, I would’ve punished you for your behavior. But I’m guessing you’re not used to this, so for this time we’ll let it pass” he said against her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip.

“And what would you do?” she whispered to him, her eyes held the same amount of fear and hope.

“I guess that I would’ve started with something easy. The old nice spanking sounds lovely.” he smiled like the devil when he saw her face light up with curiosity and excitement.

“I want that…please.” she felt his cock twitch against her stomach after she spoke.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, licking her open lips.

“Yes,” she felt weak. He smiled that mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling with pure deviousness. But before starting anything he needed to make sure something.

“If in any moment you want to stop, you say so. If it gets too much, or if you can’t take it you tell me right away, okay?” he looked into her eyes to make sure she understood he was talking seriously. He didn’t want in any way to hurt her or to do anything that she didn’t fully want. If the communication lacks in that, it was easy to go from pleasure to abuse. 

The step was very small. That’s why he never engaged that type of sex with inexperienced women, it was dangerous because they didn’t know their needs, didn’t know the rules in all that.

“Yes, sure” she nodded, appreciating his concern.

“Okay then.” he murmured pensive, his mind at that moment thinking about how he wanted to go with this one. He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth, his hand cupping the side of her face. He moved to get off the bed, leaving her lied down alone and a little confused.

“You need to get at the end of the bed, all fours,” he said while standing at the side of the bed with a firm look. He sounded so authoritative that chills run down her back when he talked.  She got in position looking right in front of her at the headboard, she didn’t know what was coming for her. She felt a little nervous, her mind going a million places in those few seconds. She wasn’t completely oblivious to that world, she saw “Fifty Shades of Grey” after all, but she knew that was all fiction meant to intrigue the public and tickle the fantasy of normal boring people. She knew that Harry was a completely different story and that he was going very easy on her. She was both curious and fearful of what he could do in a real session.

While she was lost in her thoughts she didn’t notice that he had moved around the room, and when her vision went dark she gasped not knowing what was happening.

“Shhhh…” he shushed her like you do with a crying child, “It’s just a blindfold, if it’s not okay I’ll take it off,” he said in a reassuring voice.

“.. N-no. It’s okay, you just caught me off guards” she explained turning her head in his direction even if she wasn’t able to see him.

“You sure?" 

"Yeah.”

He was right behind her looking how her arms were covered in goosebumps, her thighs trembling a little. He knew she was nervous and it was normal counting that she never did something like that. He ran two of his fingers down her spine making her arch, chills chasing down her back. She was a true vision at that moment and he couldn’t wait to play with her. He pushed down her shoulders, taking her arms behind her back and tying them at the wrists. Her face was turned to the side with her mouth open, and her breathing was increasingly becoming heavier. In that position, her ass was sticking high and her pussy was on full display, his cock giving a tug at the thought of fucking her into the mattress. His eyes were glued to that magnificent artwork in front of him, hands going to cup her ass while he leaned down and gave two long licks to each cheek, leaving two shiny patches behind.

“Oh my God…” she felt weak, never having experienced that kind of arousal in her life. She was pretty sure she was dripping wet and he didn’t do anything yet. He bent down to grab the thin whip that he retrieved from the drawer. It was an easy one, not too painful, it just left a light sting behind, and after a little while, the burn felt incredibly pleasurable. The secret was in spreading the feeling everywhere and not going back to the same spot. The first hit left her breathless and shocked. Her eyes wide open under the blindfold, her mouth not letting any sound.

He waited a few seconds and struck again, this time a short high-pitched scream making its way out of her lips, luckily it wasn’t of utter indignation. She was enjoying this She couldn’t believe he was whipping her, she couldn’t believe he had her tied down, blindfolded and he was whipping her for God’s sake. And she was losing her mind.  It felt so burning at first, and after every hit, she felt like she couldn’t do it anymore, but she found herself bathing in the pain of the new one, it was so addictive. 

She lost control of her sounds soon after, moans mixing with loud screams.  Her ass and thighs were on fire, she felt them sore, but she was getting so much pleasure from that she thought she might’ve gone insane. She could hear him behind her, every time he struck down and she screamed, he screamed with her. Every time she moaned, he moaned with her. Tears were running down her face, soaking the blindfold. He whipped her till she lost her voice and he couldn’t take it anymore, throwing the whip away and grabbing forcefully one cheek with one hand while with the other he guided himself to her opening, getting inside in one powerful push.

She screamed so loud he was sure his neighbors across the street heard her. The stretch burning and shocking, God she never had someone like him. He was keeping still to give her those few minutes to catch her breath and adjust around him, fighting his need to fuck her raw.  God, she was so fucking tight around him, her walls shaking crazily making his vision turn white. He couldn’t take it anymore, and let his body take over his mind, his hips starting to piston her violently. The loud smack of his hips to her ass almost drowning her screams. 

He completely lost it, his fingers sunk deep in her round hips to keep her still. His thrusts short and deep, oh so deep.  He let his head fall, sweat running down his chest. He was so lost in his pleasure, never feeling this kind of rush. He felt like he could fuck her for hours, feeling a deep want for her even if he was balls deep in her in that exact moment.  She had clamped her teeth on her bottom lip, she felt like it was overwhelming her like she could drown under his passion.

“P-please…” It was too feeble, almost murmured, he couldn’t hear her. “Please… Harry please…” the whiny broken tone got to him and he snapped his head up in a heartbeat, stopping right away

He was breathless, looking down he saw she was shaking her head no so he promptly untied her hands and the blindfold, letting her free, although she didn’t make a move, keeping the position in silence with her eyes closed.  He moved her on her back, laying down with her and moving n the center of the bed. She opened her legs for him and hugged him tight to her, tears still running down her face.

“Shhh… Baby, it’s okay, you did well. You were so good kitten” he whispered in her ear, letting her grip to him and take it all out, pulling her to his chest. He kept reassuring her, kissing her face and lips, hugging her tight till she calmed down.

“Oh my God… I’m so sorry” she said in a sheepish tone, not understanding what had happened but feeling like she needed that cry. She felt liberated, calm. 

It was fucking crazy. All that was happening was mental. And the more mind-blowing thing was that he seemed to understand all of it, not making questions, taking care of her. She felt a type of connection with him at that moment, that she never felt before.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You got a little carried away, it happens.” he sweetly kissed her lips, softly smiling down at her.  When he tried to separate their lips she chased him, her hands lacing in his hair and kissed him with all that she got in her. 

“Jesus… Fuck me please” she whined on his lips, the burn of arousal in her stomach still very much present.

“Beg for it,” he smirked whispering against her mouth.

“Fuck. Please Har-" 

"No. Say it right” he interrupted her before she could finish, one of his hands going to grab himself, starting to rub his scorching head on her clit, making her gasp and lose her voice.

“Ohh… Jesus Christ…P-please sir, fuck me” she whined out, teased to the extreme, seconds away from the strongest orgasm of her life.  He didn’t even reply, just pushed in deep making her arch her back and moan out, he inhaled deeply and started to fuck her hard and steady, hitting her in all the right spots.

“Tell me how good it feels?” he moaned to her, wanting to hear her voice.

“Oh my God… So fucking good baby”

“Do you want to come, baby girl?” he asked in a tempting tone.

“I’m so close” her head was thrashing side to side, thighs trembling hard around him, her moans turning to screams. He raised his upper body and got leverage from his knees, grabbing her thighs and pushing them on her chest, having her completely open. The change in position making her lose her mind.

“Fuck, baby you are so wet.” he could see her glistening pussy take his cock so nicely and smoothly, the vision getting to him and shoving him closer to his end. He could feel his orgasm burn deep in his belly, doing all he could to resist the impending urge to come all over her.

“Ask me” he panted 

“What?” she was so lost in her own pleasure she wasn’t understanding what he was asking from her.

“Ask me if you can come” he grunted while still fucking her deep.

“Please, please, can I come? Fuck…” she was restless, so close she was afraid she couldn’t hold herself if he didn’t answer soon. He stopped. Deep inside but completely still.

“Can I come, what?” he asked looking intensely into her eyes.

“Can I come, sir?” she whined on the verge of tears from frustration, she was so close and he stopped. He let go of her thighs bringing it to rest on his shoulder, while the other was pushed flat on the mattress wide open, fucking her mercilessly. 

“Yes you can,” he grunted, triggering immediately her orgasm. She arched her back high, thighs trembling and legs trashing out. Her hands moved convulsively trying to get a hold of something, giving him a few scratches in the process, her fingers laced on his necklace pulling him down. Unfortunately, the necklace lost its battle and broke. Her orgasm seemed endless, and in all that time he didn’t stop prolonging her pleasure for the longest time. After she came, she became even louder, being too sensitive to bare much else. 

“Please baby, come. Come all over me” she whispered to him, wanting to see him reach his orgasm.

“Yes, fuck. You take my cock so good baby” he panted, wanting to hear her voice.

“You fuck my pussy so good baby, your cock made me so wet. Yes, baby fuck me hard” she knew he needed her dirty talk, she could see how much it affected him. His thrust became sloppier till he pulled out and with two pulls came with a deep guttural moan on her stomach and pussy, painting her white.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her, from the place he just marked. She was fucking beautiful.

“God I could fuck you again right at this moment” he whispered hotly, his hand still moving on him while he watched her. 

“Please don’t! I’m exhausted” she giggled with her eyes closed, not having the energy to take him again. She felt tired, her body all kinds of sore. She knew that she was full of marks left by his hands where he grabbed her, her bum was flaming red, her wrists would probably turn purple the day after.

“Okay, okay… I’ll let you rest” he laughed at her expression, laying beside her and staring her profile while she was trying to sleep.

“Hey” he whispered.

“What?” her voice was slow and deep, seconds away from sleep.

“You still don’t like me?” he softly asked with a smile. She stayed silent for a few seconds, and he thought she fell asleep.

“Of course.” She was already smiling when he started to laugh so loudly that the entire bed was trembling.

Here you can read pt. 2 - Surrender 

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