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novelistrry · 1 year

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She looked at the drink in her hand, suddenly feeling demure and childish holding a drink the bartender told her was called Sex on the Beach after she asked for something that doesn’t take like alcohol. He noticed her hesitation and the way her eyes flickered between his drink and her own. “Would you like to try it?”

She nodded her head yes, letting him know that she did want to try it. So badly, she wanted to try it. Not because she wanted to taste the tequila, she was sure it wasn’t very good, but because she wanted to taste where his lips pressed against the glass. She could see the subtle fog where he was placing his lips every time he would take a sip. So, he handed her his drink and when she turned the glass and pressed her lips against where they both knew his lips had once been, he murmured a small, “Christ, Y/N.”

Harry is a young professor and Y/N has never felt this kind of attraction before

Disclaimer: I didn't do a lot of editing to this, and it is also part one out of at least three!

Word Count: 14k+

Y/N was always one that was good at school work. She was punctual for class, thorough with her assignments, and would spend way more time than the average person studying for exams that she knew she would ace regardless. She flew through her undergraduate program, enjoying the learning component of school so much that she decided she would attend a graduate program.

She thought she would fly through it like she always had.

Y/N was wrong.

It was her first day in a teaching position as a graduate student, and the professor she was assisting for the semester only taught advanced level psychology classes. She thought that maybe assisting a professor in the class she was struggling most with — even though he was not her direct professor— might be helpful with bumping up her grade and understanding the content of the course.

Although Y/N was not new to this program, she was struggling with one psychology course in particular. As the opportunity arose for her to TA (the pay was minimal, but she would take anything at this point), she jumped at the offer when she realized it was a position for a class she was nearly pulling her eyelashes out over. Of course she went over it with her guidance counselor to make sure the school didn’t qualify that as an unfair advantage. She didn’t want to be scolded for thinking it was appropriate to TA for a class she was concurrently taking, but her guidance counselor quickly reassured her that as long as she didn’t TA for the professor she was taking the course with, she had absolutely nothing to worry about.

To say she was nervous was an understatement. The professor she was assisting was one she had never heard of before. With much frustration, she scoured the internet trying to find any inkling of information regarding him. There were no reviews on his teaching, no rating on how hard his course was, and the only thing she managed to find was his name (not even a picture) on the faculty website. Typically, Y/N could look up faculty and find a rating on some college website to let potential students know how hard their class was on a scale from one to five, how heavy the course load was, and if the student rating them would take a class with that professor on another occasion.

There she was, outside of his room, fifteen minutes earlier than she needed to be because she was always stressing over minuscule things (to her, five minutes early might as well be ten minutes late). Stress oozed from her pores, and she felt the tension build in her shoulders as it began sinking in that she knew nothing of the man who she would be spending quite some time with. She let out a small breath, trying to ease some of the tension in her shoulders and the way butterflies were infiltrating her brain and stomach. Y/N was in what she would call, a stress pocket. Like she had picked herself from the world and tucked herself away in a separate dimension that was only filled with stress. No happiness, no laughter, no sorrow, no anger. Simply stress. She could view the outside world from the clear stress pocket, but she couldn’t quite find a way to crawl out of it.

With one more breath and a copy of his course schedule in her hand, she flicked her gaze down and scanned it over once more preparing herself. As far as she was concerned, he had no class during this time slot and she could easily rasp her knuckles against the oak door, but a fizzle in her stomach stopped her from doing so.

What if he didn’t know he was given a TA by the school? Is that possible? She went over a few practice lines in her head to make sure she had the words flowing through her brain before she worked up the courage to knock. It was somewhat of a habit of hers. When she ordered food for takeout, she spent a few minutes rehearsing her order so the words slipped out of her mouth nicely. Otherwise, her brain became flustered, her face would heat, and her eyes would gaze down at her shoes.

Before she had the chance to rehearse what she was going to say, the door unlatched and popped right open revealing who she believed was Professor Styles. A satin shirt laid across his chest, slightly showing the tips of a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out. Long dark blue slacks covered his leg, flaring at the bottom and possibly made him look taller than he actually was.

“Thought I saw a shadow lingering outside the door,” he murmured, stepping to the side to allow space for her to walk in. “What’re you doing standing out there for so long?”

It took her brain a couple seconds to compose her thoughts. This is exactly why she always prepared what she would say in advance, because her brain was becoming foggy as he held her gaze. She couldn’t help but scan his face a little more intensely than she probably should have, noting the slight pink color to his cheeks that matches his lips, the way his green eyes had a sort of sultry look to them, and the way he brought his hand up to his jaw, scratching at the stubble growing in as he looked at her. She had to avert her eyes, otherwise she may have never been able to get the words out— his beauty was a little too intense and overwhelmingly unexpected.

Y/N doesn’t think she had ever seen anyone quite as beautiful as him. It was like an angel carved him from stone and decided the world needed a little more beauty. They planted him in the soil and grew him with the clearest spring water they could find, the sun nurturing his cheekbones and the soft brown curls that wrapped around the frame of his face so well. He was not accidental, he was planned by the Gods. Beauty that was a gift to the world.

“Sorry,” she managed to squeak out, her eyes plastered to the wall behind her as she cleared her throat to avoid any voice cracking. “I didn’t knock because I was a little early. I didn’t know if I would have been interrupting something.”

His fingers pushed the door closed once more, then turned away from her and strode to his desk with long steps. Y/N took a chance to look at him once more, familiarizing herself with his features. She could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curved upward that he was sure of himself. “Mmm,” the hum coming from his vocal chord raised an octave up as he looked over a piece of paper on his desk. “You wouldn’t have been interrupting anything. How can I help you?”

She glanced down at the paper in between her fingers, and realized she was gripping it a lot harder than she processed. An indentation was made in the paper where her forefinger and thumb were straining it. In a few steps, she made it to his desk and slid the paper over to him, a slight shake of her hand as she gently pushed it across the desk. He looked up at her as he noticed the tremble in her hand, but chose not to say anything about it.

“I’m your new TA for the class that’s starting in about ten minutes.” She spoke clearly, quickly removing her hand from the wood of his desk, and shoving it into her coat pocket. Y/N shifted on the backs of her heels, a tendency she had developed to self soothe in tense situations.

His face lit up in realization, a look of understanding washing across his features like he finally put the pieces together as to why a random student, (certainly not one of his own because he’s great with names and faces), was nervously standing outside of his door. Her shy gaze faltering slightly as he asked why she was lingering behind the door suddenly made sense, and the nervous hand trembling was completely understandable when he realized she was reporting for her teacher’s assistant duties for the first time ever. She was just a little nervous, and he was determined to make her warm up to the new atmosphere around her.

“Yes,” he smiled down at her, trying to make her feel welcome and comfortable. “Y/N, right? If I’m being completely honest, I forgot that I was getting an assistant today, but I’m happy you’re here!” He reached out his palm, encasing her hand in his with a firm shake.

Her hand was delicate in his, the firmness of his made her feel small and she simply wanted to melt into a puddle against the tile as she took in his excitement. He wasn’t going to be so excited when he realized that she was actually very, very bad at abnormal psychology and couldn’t, for the life of her, remember any of the terms she was supposed to. A quick heat crept up her neck and infiltrated her cheeks at the thought of him thinking she was stupid.

Y/N was not stupid. Y/N was anything but, and her greatest pet peeve was being belittled or ridiculed for her lack of knowledge because she spent a great deal of time intaking the material her professor’s provided her with. Hell, that’s how she got into grad school. It was just that abnormal psychology wasn’t her strongest course, and she couldn’t be faulted for that. She spent a lot of time studying for it, but her test scores were suffering more than she would like to admit. It could be because of her bashfulness, or maybe it was just her ego, but she couldn’t bring herself to visit her professor during office hours or even show up to the tutoring center. On the other hand, it also could have been because her professor was not the most approachable human being to exist and quickly made it known if you were inconveniencing him in any way.

When she didn’t say anything back, he sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and motioned for her to follow him. Inside his classroom was a medium sized personal office tucked in the corner. Walls and a chestnut colored door separated it from the actual learning portion of the classroom. His fingers gently tapped against the door with the red undertone as he hooked his long fingers in the door knob and pressed it down. The door swung open, revealing another girl probably the same age as Y/N sitting behind one of the two desks.

“Hi,” the girl behind the desk chirped. Her eyes were kind, and she sported big chunky glasses that suited her face well. One of the first things Y/N noticed was the subtle glow to her skin, and if she thinks a person could embody sunshine, it might just be this girl behind the desk.

“Y/N, this is my other TA, Mallory,” Professor Styles motioned toward the girl, Mallory, sitting behind the desk with a bright smile across her face. “She is also one of my TA’s for abnormal psych, but she is here with me in the mornings. I only teach abnormal psych this semester, so a couple TA’s will help me balance the workload. Sometimes your schedules may overlap for about twenty minutes or so, but whatever you’re falling behind on let Mallory know and she can pick up the following morning.” He glanced between the two girls, a smile spreading across his rose colored lips, “Same thing goes for Mallory. Whatever she needs help with, you’ll continue the task in the afternoon.”

Mallory motioned for Y/N to step inside the office, so she took the cue and walked inside. As she looked around, she noted that the office was decorated beautifully, like whoever designed the workspace must be keen on interior design. It felt more like a home than an office, really.

A green sofa with orange throw pillows flushed against the wall, as what she assumed was a comfortable area for students when they visit Professor Styles during office hours. Two fully wooden desks, side by side, though one was more cluttered which she assumed was Professor Styles’ workspace. A faux leather swivel chair was placed directly parallel with his desk for students to sit at while he chatted with them, or maybe even his colleague friends that visited him for lunch. The walls were decorated with paintings, mostly paintings with sage green and a burnt orange color to match the same vibe as the couch, and when she cocked her head to the side, she saw a small bench next to the door that held papers with community resources so students could tear off the contact information they needed.

“Mallory, do you think you could get Y/N familiar with the desk and the space? My next class starts in a few minutes and I just want to prepare a couple things. After that, you’re free to go.”

Mallory simply nodded as Professor Styles strode out of the doorway and back over to his main desk in the classroom. Y/N tore her gaze from him, trying not to ogle too much to the point where it becomes increasingly more noticeable. She made her way closer to the desk, where Mallory began showing her where all the supplies were. The top drawer of the desk was for pens and pencils, the second drawer was for extra sheets of blank paper, and the third drawer in the desk held an organized filing system which held all the answer keys for the tests he gave throughout the semester.

“These are the tests I’m currently grading. I was able to get through his first two classes and part of his third class, but there are two more classes of 60 people that need to be graded plus the one that I didn’t finish all the way through.” Mallory pointed at the stack of tests that needed to be graded, and next to it was the hefty stack she had already worked through this morning.

Y/N looked down at the answer key displayed, and realized it was the same exact test she had taken just last week in her abnormal psychology class. “This is the same exact test I took last week,” she picked up the answer key and scanned it, noting the same wording on each question, same multiple choice answers, and same write-in questions.

Mallory nodded, a warm smile across her face as her voice chirped out, “Yeah, you’re in Professor Smith’s class with me. I recognize you. I sit behind you. Smith’s class is one week ahead of Harry’s which is why we’re able to TA for him, because we’re taking the same tests but a whole week before Harry gives them to his students,” she shrugs her shoulders up and down, “It makes it fair.”

It took Y/N a minute before she realized who Mallory was talking about. The name Harry got lost in her brain as she tried to understand who Mallory was talking about until she realized that Mallory was Professor Styles’ first name, and she knew that due to her deep Google searches on the young professor.

“I see,” Y/N nodded her head and placed the answer key back on the desk, not quite sure what else to say to Mallory. It seemed pretty straight forward, and if she finished before her time was up for the day, she was sure Professor Styles would give her something else to do for the remainder of the time.

“If there’s anything that you need, you can just ask me. My contact information is on that little piece of paper taped to the desk,” Mallory pointed at the corner, and Y/N read her full name, phone number, and email address, “But everything is pretty straight-forward.”

Y/N nodded, mumbling out an appreciative “thank you” as Mallory began gathering her stuff. Right before she exited the door, Y/N cleared her throat as she worked up the courage to get Mallory’s attention.

Mallory turned her head slightly, her eyebrows raised as she held the edge of the doorway with her fingers, waiting for Y/N to say something.

“I was just wondering if…” Y/N trailed off momentarily, her eyes drifting to where Professor Styles stood as he greeted the students that were flooding in his room in large groups, “I was wondering if you liked assisting Professor Styles.”

Mallory’s smile grew larger as she understood the nervous gulp Y/N gave in between words as she spoke. If Mallory was being completely truthful, she was skeptical of him at first too. She couldn’t find any ratings as this was his first year teaching and sometimes you truly don’t understand a professor’s temperament until you get to know them. “He’s great, I promise you.” Her eyes glanced behind her and she lowered her voice, “He’s nothing like Professor Smith… And he’s easy on the eyes.”

Mallory sent a wink toward Y/N, and Y/N felt that familiar heat crawl up her neck once more.

___________

By the end of the day, she had nearly finished the stack. With a glance toward the clock, she realized she only had a few minutes left and wouldn’t be able to crank out the thirty or so tests that needed grading. Her fingers drummed against the desk as she contemplated how to let Mallory know she didn’t completely finish.

Y/N could send her an email as her contact information was taped to the corner of her desk, but it didn’t feel like a good enough reason to email her and she really, really didn’t want to bug her. Y/N thinks if she were in Mallory’s shoes, an email letting her know she didn’t finish felt unnecessary.

Multiple shoes clicking on the floor in the main classroom rang in her ears, the sound of nonchalant talking as the students shuffled out the classroom, and the sound of papers rifling in backpacks signaled that Professor Styles’ class had ended, concluding his classes for the day.

It was only a few minutes before the last student finally made their way out the door, the familiar sound of the door clicking closed told her that he had finally completed his work day.

Like he was anticipating the end of his day, he gently tapped his knuckles upon the door of the office and before she could even mumble a small “come in,” the door was flying open. Y/N realized then that the tapping against the door wasn’t necessarily permission for him, but a courteous way of letting her know that he would be entering the room.

He stood in the doorway, his lean shoulders pressing against the frame. The satin top that exposed just the tips of his tattoos taunted her, almost as if they were looking back at her while she tried to decipher what might lay under his shirt.

With hard eyes, he glanced down at what she was staring at and when he realized where her gaze was studying, he brought his nimble fingers to the top button and securely covered it so that the tattoos were no longer in sight. He cleared his throat and she swallowed hard, glancing around the room to try and play off her wandering eyes.

“How was your first day?” He asked, giving her a somewhat hopeful look. The kind of look that told her he must have had a TA at one point that had a terrible first day, and ran out of his abnormal psych class screaming, never to be seen again.

If she was honest, the subject in itself was something she might have had trouble mastering, but the assistant duties weren’t that terrible. All she had to do was review an answer key, mark in red pen if they got the answer wrong, and total up the number of points they got on their test. It didn’t get much simpler than that.

“It was good, Professor Styles,” she tried to make her voice sound as chipper and friendly as possible. She wanted him to know that she was happy to help him out and liked doing it.

He shook his head slightly, a small smile forming across his lips to indicate amusement. It was almost as if she could see his eyes shine a little brighter than they were before as he brought his hand up to his neck and rubbed in a comforting way like. He searched the air, trying to find the same words he used for Mallory when she began assisting him.

“I like to be called Harry if that’s something you’re comfortable with. I want you to feel like we’re on the same level, almost like we’re colleagues. You don’t need to address me as ‘professor’ because I’m not your professor,” he began the same spiel he told Mallory, letting her know that they were equals and it made Y/N’s insides warm a little bit. “For example, if one day you told me you wanted to teach the lesson, I would absolutely trust you to do so.”

Her eyebrows scrunched and her tongue flicked against her lower lip, the eyes that were previously locked with him now analyzing the pattern of the wooden desk as she shook her head in a gentle way. Giving a lesson was definitely not something she wanted to do. Maybe Mallory was the kind of TA that wanted interaction with the class, but not Y/N. No, that wasn’t Y/N at all.

Y/N considered herself to be a simple person. She didn’t mind sneaking into the office he had tucked away in his room with the door closed as she graded papers. She didn’t mind the silently working alone, reading through answers, trying to decipher sloppy handwriting, but she did not want to teach a lesson,

Maybe Mallory was her polar opposite, balancing out his two TA’s. Mallory was talkative enough when she met Y/N. She seemed like the kind of girl that could discuss a topic as bland as oranges for thirty minutes by constantly adding new components to the conversation. Mallory and Y/N might be a yin and yang ordeal, opposites that balance each other out just enough that it works together.

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to teach a class,” she explained. It took a second for her to calm the thoughts that were picking at her brain. Maybe the idea of teaching a class sounded some sort of internal alarm that forced her shoulders to tense up, her knees to lock, and her mouth to produce more saliva than necessary because she physically felt her body constrict at the idea.

“No, you don’t have to,” he shifted against the doorframe, sensing how uncomfortable she was and silently cursing at himself for putting her in such an awkward position on her first day. “I was just trying to explain that I want us to be equals.”

She simply nodded, not quite sure what else to say. She could confirm that she was comfortable calling him Harry, but she thinks he probably already knew she would if that is what he was requesting. She settled on two words that expressed her gratitude, “Thank you.”

He gestured his hand as if to say don’t even worry about it, but a puzzled look formed on his face as he did so. “Do you mind telling me why you don’t want to teach a class? Mallory nearly fell out of her seat with excitement when I told her she could if she really, really wanted to.”

There it was: confirmation that Mallory was her opposite. A sense of relief washed through her veins as she realized it was perfectly okay for her to be the quiet one, as long as Mallory was outgoing.

Her eyes narrowed and Harry could tell she was trying to find the words to explain how she felt about the idea. She was very thoughtful, and in the short three hours he had known her, he appreciated that quality about her. Y/N couldn’t tell him she sucked at abnormal psychology and was almost failing her class. She couldn’t tell him that she would pretty much be setting his students up for failure if she taught the class, but she could tell him that she was uncomfortable in big groups of people. That was true. As soon as the group exceeded five or so people, she realized she never wanted to participate in the conversation as she felt like she never had anything good enough to say. Y/N was more of a listener, and sometimes even then, five people in her friend group was overwhelming.

“I’m not a good public speaker,” as the reason slipped from her lips, she suddenly felt like that was such a silly reason to make a fuss over it. It was true though, public speaking was not really her element.

“We could always work on that if that’s something you’re interested in?” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. If she refused the offer it wouldn’t really bother him, but he wanted to give her the option anyway, just in case it’s a goal she wants to work toward.

Y/N didn’t know what possessed her because even though working on public speaking would be helpful in its own way, she really didn’t want to. She had already taken the most basic required public speaking course and did not plan to take any other communication class, but she nodded her head in agreement with his proposition and mumbled out, “That would be great.”

Harry could tell by the lack of enthusiasm in her response, and by the way her shoulders slumped forward and her nose scrunched up that she didn’t actually mean it. It was more that she was trying to be polite than anything, and he thinks that maybe if he were her, his reaction would be the same. He used to be a people pleaser too, and at first it was a harmless personality trait that slowly morphed into something that was no longer harmless, he was absolutely taken advantage of (covering shifts for coworkers when he didn’t want to, staying out too late with friends because they wanted to even though his warm bed was calling) and became a difficult thing to shake.

He glanced down at his watch, reading the time carefully. It hadn’t felt like 15 minutes of interacting with her until he realized just how long his, now numb, shoulder was pressed against the door frame. “It’s probably time you head out, hm?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, finding her voice. She knew they hadn’t been talking for too long, but she didn’t want to overstay her welcome. Not that she was itching to stay and grade papers. No matter how mindless the activity was, she did want to go home. It was at that moment she realized the question she wanted to ask him hadn’t come up yet, and it was the first thing she wanted to ask when she heard the shuffling of footsteps as he wrapped up his last class of the day. “I have about thirty tests left to grade. How can I let Mallory know?”

He wasn’t looking at her as she spoke, but she knew that she had his undivided attention. With hesitation, she gulped as she watched his long fingers rake down his throat, his index and middle finger touching the skin ever so gently, just avoiding his Adam's apple. It only took a couple steps for him before his long legs were at his desk in the office, and he was sifting through the disorganized pile he must have dumped on there in between classes. “Why don’t you just leave her a little note that she can read when she comes in tomorrow morning? Should be fine.”

It didn’t take too long for her to grab a blank piece of paper from the second drawer. She scribbled out a note as quickly as possible, letting Mallory know how far she got the day before and thanking her for picking up where she left off. As soon as she was done writing the note, she began gathering her things. Y/N was more than ready to get back to her flat, have a small discussion with her flatmate (who also happened to be her best friend), and climb into the comfort of her bed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said softly.

He gave her one of those sweet smiles that he must have kept tucked away in his utility belt of charm, and waved her a simple goodbye.

She thought of him the whole way home even though she tried not to.

___________

“So how was it?” Her roommate and best friend from her undergraduate days, Niall, asked from the other side of the kitchen. She had been home for a total of ten minutes and he was already interrogating her, but she didn’t expect anything less from him. With a short glance over to where she stood at the counter, he gave his attention back to the refrigerator where he was rummaging to find the strawberry kiwi flavored juice he loved so much.

“It was fine,” she shrugged her shoulders. As soon as she started speaking, his eyes fixated back toward her as his hand finally grasped the strawberry kiwi juice he was looking for. Instead of holding eye contact, she let her gaze flicker to the floor.

Eye contact was one of Y/N’s telling traits; Niall knew that when she couldn’t hold eye contact with him, she was either lying or holding out on giving him information. A smirk danced across his lips as he shut the fridge, then leaned his body against it slowly. “You’re either lying or holding out on me. Which is it?”

“Holding out on you,” amusement twirled throughout her eyes, and her lips curved to match the same smirk Niall was giving her.

“Won’t you tell me?” He clutched his chest, feigning heart pain as if she had stabbed him by telling him she was holding out.

“He’s really…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to say what she wanted to say appropriately. It felt wrong to say it out loud. She wasn’t concerned that Niall would judge her, but if she was being honest, she was judging herself for being so attracted to the professor she was supposed to be working for. She decided to put it as bluntly as possible, “Attractive.”

In a matter of seconds, Niall’s smirk turned into a full blown smile, teeth showing and all. It wasn’t common for Y/N to talk about when she found someone attractive. She always kept to herself. In fact, she kept to herself so much that when Niall invited her out with his other friends, he was always a little worried that she was feeling overwhelmed. It’s not that she couldn’t take care of herself or regulate her own emotions, she absolutely could and he knew that, but he always worried that she was forcing herself to be around his friends just because she wanted Niall to know she cared about spending time with him. “Is he now?”

“Yes,” her smile turned into a sheepish one, her ears feeling hot right at the tips.

“Have you told him that you suck at abnormal psychology?” Niall didn’t mean this in a mean way, he knew Y/N was struggling with her abnormal psych class because she had come home on multiple occasions, kicked her shoes off, buried her face into the couch cushion and screamed at the top of her lungs. When Niall asked her why she was being so dramatic, she told him that she was failing her first class, and even he was slightly taken aback by the news. Y/N had better grades than anyone he knew.

“That’s not the plan anymore,” she explained, her fingers rubbing against the countertop just enough to feel the smooth coating. She was waiting for him to scold her. She was actually anticipating it on the car ride when she decided that she absolutely, for certain, was not going to tell Professor Styles—Harry— that she was failing her abnormal psychology class. When the opportunity came for her to TA, she had talked about it with Niall. He knew she was a naturally shy being, but he explained that if she was still struggling in a couple weeks when the TA position started, she could tell the professor and maybe they would offer her some extra help or some extra worksheets that would get her back on track.

“What do you mean?” Niall furrowed his eyebrows, taking a swig of the strawberry kiwi juice he had forgotten he was holding in his hand.

She simply shrugged her shoulders up and down, staring at her pink polkadot socks as she wiggled her toes to distract herself.

“Why? Because you think he’s attractive?” Niall tried to understand, pressing the topic further. If she didn’t want to give him anymore information regarding it then he would stop pestering her, but his job as her best friend was to pester her anyway.

She simply nodded, still not looking up.

“Sheesh, Y/N.” Niall brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and pressed it together in order to relieve some of the tension building in his head. He wasn’t going to tell her it was a bad idea or shame her for finding him attractive. Hell, he was putting himself in her shoes and decided that if he found one of his professor’s attractive, he would probably leave out information like that too.

“I know,” was all she said, a tinge of shame ringing in her tone but he waved her off.

“So,” he said, not wanting her to feel too badly, “Indian for dinner?”

She gazed back up at him, a grin shining in his direction as she said, “You know me so well.”

________

Days had passed of Y/N working in the office located in Harry’s classroom. They didn’t talk very much, but sometimes he would come into the office and sit with her. While he did work on his computer and she graded papers, he would make small talk. He would ask her things about why she chose to major in psychology, what undergraduate school she went to, where she was from. Normal things like that. Sometimes she wanted to ask him questions too, but she could never work up the courage to until today (it only took her a few weeks).

“Do you have a favorite color?” It was the most mundane question she could ask him, but she was actually asking for a reason. Typically, she graded the papers in the red pen Mallory left behind, because it was cohesive with Mallory’s work.

“I like green. Why do you ask?” He glanced up from his laptop, closing the lid just slightly so he could get a better view of her face.

“I grade with a red pen. I was wondering if there was a preference you had,” she suddenly felt childish for asking, and was mentally banging her head against the wall.

“You can keep grading with red. That color is better for grading anyway.” His eyes tore from her and he was back to scrolling through something on his laptop. Her eyes remained fixated on him, and she wanted to keep the conversation going, but there was no way she would have been able to work up the courage to speak to him again. Like he was reading her thoughts, he looked back at her and concluded with, “Thanks for asking, sweet girl.”

Sweet girl.

Her heart nearly exploded in her chest.

After that day, her and Harry spent a lot of time talking. Possibly too much time talking.

___________

Mallory decided that since she and Y/N both TA’d for Harry, it was an unspoken rule that they should start sitting together in Professor Smith’s class. The day after Mallory met Y/N, she packed her bag up from the other side of the classroom, and moved to the back desk in the seat parallel to Y/N.

Their seats already weren’t too far away, even though Mallory originally sat on the opposite side. Actually, Y/N hadn’t ever realized before but the classroom was small, sterile, and unwelcoming. It wasn’t the way Harry’s classroom was set up with paintings hanging on the wall, informative sheets placed on a vintage waist level bookcase that was filled with leatherback classics. Professor Smith’s class was that of a doctor’s office. No color except gray, tile that constantly smelt of lemon floor cleaner. Y/N didn’t always catch the fine details, but when comparing Professor Smith’s class to Harry’s, she realized just how much Harry went out of his way to make the environment feel like home.

So Y/N was a little grateful when Mallory took a seat beside her, the atmosphere feeling a little less cold and dark. They would work together on in-class projects, and Y/N realized that Mallory was really, really good at understanding the fundamentals to abnormal psychology. She was actually really grateful she met Mallory, because the more Mallory helped her, the better her grades were looking. She still wasn’t passing the class at a satisfactory level, but she was definitely getting better.

Mallory liked to talk a lot, which was good, because Y/N liked to listen. She never had much to say, but Mallory always did. Like today, for example, she was telling Y/N that she and her boyfriend were going to some dive bar on the East side with tickets to a comedy show on Friday, and she really wanted Y/N to come. Her other friend and her friend’s boyfriend bailed, but Mallory had already purchased two extra tickets for the comedy show and she would hate for them to be wasted. Y/N was hesitant at first, but she decided there was no harm in going. She liked Mallory a lot, and she was excited to meet Mallory’s boyfriend because she had heard so much about him.

“Are you going to bring your boyfriend? If you don’t then we’re going to have that one extra ticket,” Mallory explained.

Her boyfriend? When had Y/N ever said that she had a boyfriend? Mallory wasn’t the type of person to assume either, so she tried to replay the past conversations in her head dating back to when Mallory and her first started conversing about a month and a half ago. They had talked about all kinds of things, but Y/N had never mentioned a boyfriend. As if the puzzle pieces clicked together, she realized just how often she talked about Niall when she felt she had something interesting enough to add to the conversation.

“Do you mean Niall?” Y/N questioned, her eyebrows raised just a smidge.

“Yes,” Mallory confirmed, confusion laced in her tone and present on her features. “Is he not your boyfriend?”

“No,” Y/N started to laugh, the kind of laugh that made your nose scrunch. Niall was handsome, sure, but they would only ever be best friends. They definitely were not each other’s types. Y/N had seen Niall’s type at nights when he would escort her to small gatherings to play board games. The girls (sometimes even guys, she thinks, though she’s never asked) would be twirling their hair in the corner as he charmed them with that dazzling smile. “Niall is my best friend! He’s also my roommate which might be why you’re confused. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Mallory said, a smile spreading across her face as she clapped her hands together. “Well, why don’t you bring him then if he’s your best friend. I would love to meet him!”

“I think…” Y/N trailed off, trying to think if this is something Niall would say yes to. He was such a social butterfly, he usually never said no to going out, so she didn’t see why agreeing for him would be a problem. “I think that would be a lovely idea.”

When Y/N got home that night, she asked Niall and to no surprise of her own, he excitedly agreed and said he was excited to meet Mallory.

___________

Harry dismissed his class early that day. Mallory didn’t show up to grade papers in the morning because she had a doctor's appointment she already arranged with Harry. He decided that since there was not much left on the chapter his class was going over, he would help Y/N grade the test his class took two days ago since she was grading by herself.

He popped his head through the door to tell Y/N that he dismissed class early and was going to step out for a few minutes. She gave him a nod in confirmation and heard his heels click as he walked out of the classroom.

Just like he said, he was back in a few minutes but with two coffees in hand. She eyed the coffee with the whipped cream on top, and a devilish smile spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling. Was that other coffee for her? If so, how did he know she liked whipped cream on the top?

“I got us a treat,” he set the two coffees down on her desk and pushed the one with whipped cream, then grabbed his swivel chair that was tucked into the desk he normally sat at in the office and placed it directly next to hers. When he sat, he was so close that she could feel his knee brush against hers.

“Thank you,” she expressed her gratitude and picked up the coffee, eyeing the whipped cream once more. “How did you know I liked whipped cream?”

He paused and looked at her. The look on his face was teetering on the edge of wariness, like he didn’t want to say anything to cross the fine line of a boundary they had constructed. As he searched for the right words to say, he drank in her appearance and she couldn’t help but want to melt away as his eyes danced from her own eyes then back down to her lips then back up to her eyes. “When you come in looking especially tired, you always have a coffee with you, and every single time you’ve had a coffee with you, it has whipped cream on the top.”

Her heart thumped in her chest. Did he notice her that often? Surely he didn’t notice her the way that she’s noticed him. She notices how his tongue darts out and swiftly moved across his bottom lip when he’s concentrated, how he clicks his pen to the beat of the song when they’re playing music in the office, and how he rakes his forefinger and middle finger up and down his throat when he’s really listening to what she has to say.

“I was thinking that we could share this answer key,” he tapped the answer key she had toward the top of the desk, “To grade these papers together. It’s Friday night, I’m sure you wanna get out of here a little early.”

She decided that he was maybe the most thoughtful person she had ever met. There was absolutely no reason that he needed to help her, he could have let her do it all on her own. He didn’t need to get her a coffee either. Maybe she just wasn’t so used to random acts of kindness, or maybe it was the fact that every single day, her attraction to him grew and grew like a plant flourishing in the sunlight. “Did you want me to make a copy?”

“What? Am I sitting too close to you?” He teased, brushing his leg up against hers. She sucked in a small gasp as she felt his knee against hers once more, and maybe it was because she was so touch starved, but she wanted him to do it again and again and again.

“No, no. Not at all,” Y/N said a little too frantically. A little too eagerly.

“Hush, pet. I’m just kidding with you.” Harry spoke softly, letting her know that he was only teasing her.

They worked in silence for a little while until Y/N rested her back against the chair. She was beginning to cramp up from the way she was sitting. Her fingers were beginning to hurt with each stroke of the pen. Her eyes were getting a little blurry from looking at the same thing over and over again, so she used her left hand (the one that wasn’t cramping up) and grabbed her coffee, taking a swig and underestimating the strength of her left hand, causing whipped cream to coat her upper lip.

Harry laughed gently, then used his fingers to wipe the whip cream off her mouth. He grabbed her lips in between his fingers, then wiped the whipped cream onto his pants. She shuddered softly, almost unnoticeably when she felt his fingers so gently across her lips. Though this was not professor and TA behavior she would deem normal, he said nothing about it, and she was beginning to think that maybe she was overthinking the whole thing because she found him so attractive. With one swift sentence, he pulled her from her thoughts.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” He asked her, making subtle conversation as his pen marked a few things on the test he was grading. Like Y/N, Harry wondered what Y/N did in her free time although he never found a way to weasel that into their conversations. While their conversations were mostly made up of random tidbits of their lives, he had never figured out how to ask how she would spend her weekends.

Y/N was about to tell him that she was seeing a comedy show with Niall and Mallory (and Mallory’s boyfriend of course), but she wasn’t sure if Mallory had told Harry they became quick friends. What if Mallory didn’t want him to know? Y/N couldn’t understand why Mallory would think that way, but just in case, she decided she wouldn’t tell him anything about it. “I don’t think so,” she lied plainly, “What about you? Are you doing anything special?”

Harry casually looked up, clicking the pen a few times before replying. “I am doing something tonight. My friends planned it. If I’m being honest, though, I’m not quite sure what we’re doing. They have told me a few times, but it’s gone over my head. At this point, they’re going to swing by my flat and pick me up just so they are certain I’ll actually show up. Not that I don’t want to see them and don’t care about the plans, I’ve just been so busy.”

“Oh,” Y/N tightens and a sudden realization sweeps through her mind. What if he has a girlfriend? She pushed the thought from her head and buried it, “I’m like that too, I think.”

The sudden realization she tried to bury put her in a somewhat sour mood. Harry notices right away, but he doesn’t ask her why she’s suddenly so adrift from their conversation in an attempt to not push her. If something was bothering her and she wanted to talk about it, she would.

They spent the rest of the time grading papers, and before she left for the night, he told her to have a great weekend, and she told him to have the same, the sullen feeling still weighing on her chest.

___________

The bar was very crowded, very noisy, and not usually Y/N’s scene at all. When her and Niall arrived, she quickly introduced him to Mallory, and Mallory introduced her boyfriend—Josh— to them quickly. The comedy show didn’t last too long, and Y/N could have sworn that Mallory said it was a dive bar when she was trying to convince her to come. The atmosphere was that of a nightclub, as the show finished people shuffled to the dance floor and began dancing.

Mallory grabbed Y/N by the arm and ushered her over to the bar, and Y/N was guessing that she could feel the tension radiating from her. “I think a drink will loosen you up. Do you want a drink?” Mallory asked.

“I don’t drink very often,” Y/N said, unsure of what to order. There is one thing that Y/N does know about drinking, and it is that she hates the taste of alcohol. The bar was crowded, and Mallory shoved in between two people sitting in barstools, making room for Y/N. Her fingers brushed against the counter, feeling a cold liquid under her hand. It took everything in her to not scrunch up her nose as she wiped the mystery liquid against the bottom of her satin dress.

“That’s okay,” Mallory said, “Just ask the bartender what he thinks you’ll like.”

Y/N didn’t know how the bartender would know what she likes if she didn’t even know what she liked herself. Mallory ordered something red, but Y/N didn’t know the name of it. She knew immediately that she wasn’t going to get that though, because the smell of vodka coming from Mallory’s drink was strong. Mallory took a strong swig of the drink, not making a face and giving her a thumbs up. It was at that moment that Y/N decided she really liked Mallory’s carefree personality. She really enjoyed Mallory, even if the bar was a little too loud than she would normally like, Y/N decided it was worth it to spend time with Mallory and Niall.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender turned and looked at Y/N after watching Mallory take a sip of her drink to make sure it was made to her satisfaction.

Y/N hesitated, “Something that doesn’t taste like alcohol, I think.”

“I’ve got the perfect drink for you,” he yelled over the music and people talking then reached for a glass from under the counter. He added a few juices to the glass and a steep amount of alcohol. Y/N wasn’t sure if he misheard her and thought she asked for something that did taste like alcohol based on the amount he put it. After the glass was full to the brim, he popped in a little umbrella and slid it over to her. “Let me know if you don’t like it. It’s called Sex on the Beach.”

Sex on the Beach was such a crude name for a beverage, but who was she to judge the name. Maybe it really did taste like sex on the beach. She sipped through the straw and was surprised when it tasted like an assortment of juice and none of the alcohol he had heavily poured into the glass. She murmured a soft thank you, and though he didn’t actually hear her, he knew she was expressing gratitude.

It only took a couple seconds to find out where Niall and Josh had moved. Mallory and Y/N walked over to them with drinks in hand, and even with the one sip Y/N took, she already felt much looser. They found their way to a booth, facing the door.

By the time an hour passed, Y/N and Mallory finished their drinks and Y/N was feeling exceptional. They made their way back to the bar and the bartender winked at her, fixing up another Sex on the Beach and Mallory ordered something different this time.

As they walked back toward the booth, Mallory nudged Y/N with her elbow and pointed toward the door. Y/N watched Harry walk in with a couple of his friends, his eyes locking with hers and then flickering over to Mallory. A grin spread across his face and his hand came up in a slow wave. Mallory quickly waved back and Y/N just stood there, shocked that these were the plans his friends had made with him.

He approached them, leaving his friends to saunter to the bar without him. The three of them exchanged hellos, then he shifted his body to face Y/N. “I thought you weren’t doing anything?” Harry yelled over the music, smoke clouding around the three of them.

“I forgot,” she lied, and Mallory quickly turned her head to look at Y/N as if to say how did you forget when we’ve been talking about it all week.

To Y/N’s misfortune, Mallory said just that. “We’ve been talking about it all week, Y/N. How did you forget?”

Harry’s face sparked with amusement as if she had caught her red handed, her tongue twisting in the shape of the lie that she had so easily told him earlier in the day. Y/N rolled her eyes at Mallory and laughed a little, the alcohol pumping through her veins at an alarmingly fast rate.

“I’ll meet you back at the booth,” Mallory was grinning as she turned her body and walked back over to where Josh and Niall sat, waiting for them to return. Y/N realized that she really needed to explain herself to Mallory, the conversation with Harry probably seemed a little more intimate than it actually was.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” Harry eyed her drink, her Sex on the Beach. Oh, she would love to have that with Harry. Y/N’s tipsy brain was much more scandalous than her sober brain. “Maybe we can talk later.”

Y/N really wanted to spend more time with him. She wanted to sit with him, and meet his friends. It wasn’t going to happen, but she so desperately wanted to. It took a second for her to tear her gaze from his body as he walked away from her and toward the bar to meet his friends. She took this as her cue to not stand in the middle of the dance floor like an idiot and found her way back to the booth where her friends waited for her. Niall looked at her suspiciously but she shrugged her shoulders in response, directing her attention to Josh as he talked about a movie trailer he recently saw and how much he wants to go see the movie in the theater. Y/N knew exactly what movie he was talking about, and said that she wants to see it too, so the four of them made plans to go see the movie next Friday.

Throughout the night, Y/N glanced at Harry and more often than not, they made eye contact with one another. Thirty minutes had passed from the time he walked in the door with his friends, and finally, the last time they locked eye contact, he subtly nodded toward the hall that led to the Billiards room and the bathroom. Immediately, Y/N knew that he was telling her to meet him there.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she said, the drink still in her hand.

Mallory and Josh thought nothing of it, nodding at her to confirm they heard her, but Niall eyed the drink she sported in between her fingers and gave her a knowing look, a twinkle shining in his eye. Oh, he was definitely going to be asking her about this later.

She staggered toward the hallway, moving through the crowd of people, trying not to spill her drink on herself, the floor, or the people near her. As she made her way to the hall, she felt Harry come up behind her, knowing it was him by the minty citrus scent of his cologne.

Y/N flipped around and the hallway was so crowded with people that they didn’t have much room between them. Her back was slightly pressed against the wall, his thigh placed in between her legs, rubbing her gently. She was suddenly hyper aware of how he felt, how he smelled, and how he looked.

He wore jeans that flare at the bottom, a black sweater tucked into the tops of the jeans. The sneakers he had on matched his outfit perfectly, and it took her until this very moment to realize that he was fairly fashionable. His outfits always looked put together, but they weren’t trendy. They were always timeless and fitted to his lean stature.

“I’ve been looking at you all night,” his tone was soft and his eyes searched hers thoroughly. “You look so cute, y’know?”

Harry took the fabric of her satin dress in between his fingers and felt it, his index finger slowly rubbing against the soft part of her thigh.

“Thank you,” was all she managed to squeak out. He dropped the fabric from his fingers, and she wanted to protest because she wanted to feel his fingers against her. She hadn’t realized how much you could crave someone until you’re one Sex on the Beach in, and then the realization that he knew just how much she ogled him in his office kicked in.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming here tonight because you didn’t want me to know you were with your boyfriend?” His tone was teasing, but she thought just for a second that’s how he was playing it off. Like he wanted confirmation that wasn’t actually the reason and he was fishing for the information.

She held his gaze momentarily before sputtering out, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She wanted him to know. No, she needed him to know.

“Then who is that blonde bloke you’ve been snuggling up to?” He questioned, knowing she was telling the truth but he wanted to see her squirm just a little bit. She knew it, too. She could tell by the way his voice sounded that he was just messing with her, he wanted a bit of cat and mouse.

“My friend. We’re best friends, actually, and roommates.” Y/N explained, though her brain was a little bit foggy. Not because of the alcohol, no. Actually, she felt like she was sobered up, and needed a little bit more of her drink to get her back to the floaty place she was at when she was sitting in the booth.

He used his right hand to keep himself sturdy, then checked his surroundings and asked her, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes,” she breathed out. It was loud, but she felt just fine here with him.

The atmosphere was so wild with smoke filtering through the air, that now they really had no room except practically chest to chest as they spoke. The drink he was sporting in his hand was dark tequila on the rocks, and it made so much sense that he could drink hard liquor as is. He exuded that kind of dominance, the kind that says I enjoy the burn in my throat because it feels nice.

The tequila dribbled down her chin, and he used his finger to wipe it up, and as she lowered the drink from her lips, he grazed his index finger over her lips, beckoning for her to open and lick the whiskey she spilled. He didn’t need to coax her, didn’t need to tell her what he wanted, she simply just knew. Her tongue darted out, licking the whiskey from the base of his finger to the tip. He was never really into voyeurism, but he thinks he could take her right here and right now. How did he go from helping her grade papers earlier in the day to pressing her against the wall of a bar with his thigh tense between her legs. They were crossing so many lines, he was crossing so many lines.

“Why are you always cleaning up my face?” She gave him a lazy smile, and her eyes were so innocent.

“Why are you always spilling?” He countered.

He breathed her in, smelling the taste of his whiskey against her lips. He was so close, so close that he could taste her if he really wanted to, so close that she could feel his breath against her face. He decided that he spent too much time thinking about her mouth. About the way her lips parted then closed when she had something to say, but decided not to say anything at all. God, that was so frustrating. He spent so much time thinking about her lips, and the noises that would come from them if he truly could have her that he should just kiss her, right here, right now. “I want to. I really want to,” his voice was low and thick, sultry even.

“Me too,” her voice was small, and once again he was all too aware of the way her legs squeezed his thigh.

Before he could make a choice he couldn’t take back, he pushed himself away, leaving a foot of space between the pair. “You should go back to your friends,” he didn’t want to sound too harsh, so he gently brushed his fingers against his cheek and grasped the glass of tequila with the palm of his hands. “I’ll see you Monday, Y/N.”

Without a word, she made her way back to her friends, feigning the frustration that was building in his chest. For the rest of the night, she glanced in his direction but he never glanced back at her. Maybe he was feeling guilty. Maybe he thought he was making a big mistake.

When they finally got home, Niall didn’t ask her anything like she thought he would and she was grateful.

___________

It started with an ache low in her belly, then slowly spread to her lower back. As she sat in her second hour of Professor Smith’s class, she laid her head against the coolness of the desk. Y/N was trying not to think of her encounter with Harry the Friday before. Nothing had actually happened so it was fine, there was nothing to worry about. Mallory gave her a sympathetic smile, and once more held out the pamprin pills but Y/N shook her head as she had already taken some just an hour before class started.

It was almost like she could feel the color draining from her face, nausea turning in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting her period to come this morning after she had stepped foot on campus. There were no signs as she was greeting ready in the morning. No signs when she stepped out of her apartment. The first sign happened when she was walking from the opposite side of campus to Professor Smith’s class. The dull ache weaseled its way into her lower abdomen, causing subtle pain with each step she took. As she continued to walk, her hand found its way to her abdomen, applying warmth and pressure to rid her of the ache but it wasn’t working.

Quickly, she found a bathroom and slipped into a stall, realizing that her period had come sooner than she was expecting it. With a hurried hand, she rummaged through her bag, pulling out an emergency bottle of pamprin and shuffled the pills past her lips, chugging it down with the water bottle tucked into the side pocket of her backpack.

As soon as she saw Mallory, it was like Mallory could tell she was in an immense amount of pain, because she slung her backpack off of her shoulder and pulled out a bottle of the same pills tucked into a specific pocket of her backpack. Y/N just shook her head, struggling to muster up the words to tell her she had already taken some.

“I think you should leave class a little early. Go to Harry’s class and lay on the couch in the office. There’s no point in staying here, it’s not like you’re able to absorb any of the information while you’re in pain,” Mallory began reasoning with her. As far as she was concerned Mallory didn’t know that Harry and Y/N were so close to kissing at the bar that she could still feel her lips tingling three days later. She didn’t want to go to Harry, and she didn’t want Harry to think she was being dramatic. Y/N wasn’t worried that it would be awkward between her and Harry today, because he was so charming it would have been like Friday never happened, but she was still hesitant. Before she had a chance to think twice another cramp ripped through her, and she was already packing up her backpack and lifting herself from her seat, the dull ache turning into something more sharp and painful as she stood.

It was her intention to slip out the back door, to be as inconspicuous as possible, but her plan to do that was ruined when Professor Smith cleared his throat and called out her name. “Where are you going?”

Y/N didn’t know what to say, she wasn’t keen on telling the whole class that her uterus might fall out of her body if she stayed hunched over in an uncomfortable chair, with the coolness of the desk being the only thing that could soothe her, or that the nausea was building with each second and she might be so low on iron that she vomits all over the floor of the classroom.

The words tumbled out of her mouth like a squeal, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too well.”

Professor Smith’s expression remained stoic, not showing any sign of annoyance or even sympathy for the girl standing in pain at the back of the class. Not that she was expecting sympathy, although she was definitely not expecting the next words to fly out of his mouth in front of her silent classmates viewing the exchange between them, “Really, you should stay unless you plan on getting another D on the next test.”

Y/N tried not to look as horrified as she felt, avoiding eye contact with Mallory completely. She failed to mention to her new friend that she was flunking Professor Smith’s class out of sheer embarrassment and the idea that it might get back to Harry, which would be mortifying in itself.

“I’ll be fine,” was all she managed to say as she slipped from the back door of the classroom. Y/N managed to keep her tears at bay until she heard the door latch behind her, then let the silent tears create warm streams down her cheeks. In one swift motion, she lifted her hood up, concealing her face from the other students as she walked toward Harry’s classroom.

It wasn’t a far walk, him being in the same department as Smith and all. She contemplated just sitting in a bathroom stall, the sharp pain in her abdomen and lower back was still going strong and the nausea stirring in her belly was still persistent, but the public humiliation she endured was definitely worse. She decided that the couch in the office was the better option, and if she was going to be sad and in pain, she might as well do it comfortably.

The plan she concocted was this: She would walk into the room with her eyes glued to the floor and her hood up, ask Harry if it was okay if she laid down for a moment, and without making eye contact with him, she would quickly walk to the room then bury her face in the cushions.

So that is exactly what she did, barely peeking up from her hood.

“Is it okay if I lay down on the couch in the office?” she asked, internally grateful that the sob building in her throat hasn’t raked its way through her body. Another silent tear slid down her cheek, but because she was looking straight down, it splattered against his desk, causing him to cock an eyebrow that she couldn’t actually see.

It seemed gravity was against her.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” his voice was softer than normal, and she heard the sound of his fingers tapping against the desk.

Without another word, she turned on her heels and bolted toward the office door. Shutting it quickly behind her, she tore off her backpack and curled up into a ball on the couch.

He didn’t even bother knocking like he normally did. Usually his knuckles would tap against the door, signifying he was about to answer. Not necessarily for permission, but just to give her, or Mallory, a heads up that he would be entering.

The door locked behind him, but she didn’t look up as she heard the click of his dress shoes against the tile floor. “What’s going on?” He took a seat at the end of the couch she wasn’t occupying, near her head.

With gentle and delicate fingers, he began to pull her limbs from the ball she had coerced herself into. “Hmmm.. Look at me, darling.”

And how could she not? When he was asking so sweetly? The sound of his voice was like molten chocolate, or honey dripping straight from the pot. He was wearing her favorite shirt. The satin shirt that exposes his tattoos just a little bit. The same shirt he wore the first time she ever met him, when he caught her staring at his chest a little too much that he buttoned another button and gave her a somewhat disapproving but playful look. She thinks maybe if she could just run her hand over his chest she would forget about the terrible day she was having, but that was inappropriate and she shouldn’t think like that.

“Oh, sweet thing you are,” his hand brushed a tear that fell from her cheek, “Come on, sit up for me now.”

She obliged, like she always does. As a child she never took a reprimand well, which must have bled into her adult life because she always did what she was told. It was something Harry picked up on rather quickly, she aimed to please, and the psychologist in him really wanted to get to the bottom of it, but the empath in him never wanted to make her uncomfortable by pointing it out. Sometimes he had to make a mental note that she was so receptive to the people around her, he had to choose his words carefully.

She made a simple noise, between a yelp and a cry before wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. “In pain,” was all she said.

He reached over, pulling a couple tissues from the end table next to the couch. Harry wrinkled his nose, realizing that it’s not uncommon for students to shed tears in this office, whether it be a student overwhelmed with the course load, or something else. Typically, he’s able to get to the bottom of it, but now he’s got his TA in here with tears streaming like Niagara Falls, and she only says she’s in pain, except he doesn’t believe that’s the full truth.

Her legs were tucked to the side bunched up, and she leaned on her left arm to support herself up. He didn’t want to pry, or tell her he didn’t think she was being completely honest, because that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Instead, he decided he wouldn’t treat her like a patient, because that’s not what she was to him. She is a graduate student, and he was in her same position just a little under two years ago. He once told her that he wanted her to call him Harry because she felt more like a colleague than a student, so instead, he would treat her like a friend.

“Let me help you, hm?” His fingers grazed her arm that was supporting her up, his eyes locking with her red rimmed ones. “How can I help?”

And it was almost like she knew if her request crossed a line, he would still grant it because her voice was small but sure when she said, “I just want someone to hold me.”

So, that’s what he did. He pulled her up onto his lap, and grasped her in his arms. Her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and he could feel the slow breaths she was taking as the tears finally came to a halt. It was almost like he was holding her back together. If they were crossing lines, he might as well cross one more, “Are you gonna be honest with me now, hm?”

She nodded her head, deciding now was the time to come clean. A weight that was pushing down on her shoulders was about to be lifted and even though she would have a hard time stomaching the embarrassment that came with it, or the look he would give her that might indicate she was stupid, it was time that she just told him. Before Mallory beat her to it, even if she was sure in the deep pit of her gut that Mallory would simply never bring it up.

Y/N lets out a slow, shaky breath before she begins explaining. “I wasn’t feeling too great when I got to school, and during my second hour of abnormal psych, Mallory told me I should come lay down because the pain was getting really intense, so I decided to slip out the backdoor…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to tell him the rest without having to relieve the situation. Some might say she was being a little dramatic, but she had every right to be upset. He stroked her sides as if to tell her “go on” without explicitly saying the words.

“As I was walking out Professor Smith asked where I was going and I told him that I wasn’t feeling too well,” the tears pricked once more, “So he said that I should probably stay if I didn’t want to get a D on another test in front of everyone.”

The smooth stroking against her arm came to a halt, and she realized then that he was probably going to chastise her for leaving class too, but his voice was soft when he said, “He said that to you?”

She nodded, even though she could tell the question was rhetorical. Her eyes fluttered closed again, the tips of her eyelashes gently grazing against the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. That is never something you say to a student, especially in front of such a public audience.” His words flowed out, and she sensed the psychologist in him poking out.

“It was really, really embarrassing.” Y/N mumbled into the crook of his neck, and the feel of her lips against his neck made his body slightly tense up.

“Why didn't you tell me you got a D? I probably could have helped you work something out with him.” He reasoned with her, relaxing once more into the back of the couch. The encounter she was having with him right now was so much different than the encounter she had with him on Friday night, but neither of them brought it up.

She shook her head, nuzzling into him further and even though she knew it was inappropriate, she just wanted to breathe him in. They had already crossed those lines.

He wasn’t having it. He hooked his fingers below her chin, and pulled her face from his neck. “Hm? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I’ve been flunking his tests all semester. There isn’t one test I got a decent grade on… And I was embarrassed, and I felt like a huge fraud sitting in this room, grading tests and not even understanding the content of them. And I just felt stupid. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid.”

“I would never think you’re stupid, Y/N. Surely you know that. I just wish you would have told me. There’s still time to turn your grade around, you and I will work together so that you start understanding the concepts. We’ll set up tutoring. Sweetheart, you’re so smart.” She knew he tacked on that last part for a little extra validation.

Now that she’s talked it out, she feels a little silly for letting so many tears spill over it. He was right, she wasn’t stupid. She just needed a little extra help, and he was willing to give it. She suddenly felt all too aware of her presence on his lap, and began to move herself off of it. Her eyes catching his lips as she shifted just a little, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him took over once more. If she could, she would grab his face then and there and plant one on him, but it felt demure and childish to lust in that way, even with Friday night playing in the back of her mind.

As if he could read the thoughts swimming through her brain, he brought his fingers to her lips and gently tugged at the pout. His fingers trailed down her jaw, and caressed an area of her neck. Her breathing began to pick up as her heart thumped against her ribcage. Sure, he would touch her every now and again when she was working alongside him, and as much as she wanted it to be intimate, it was never like this. She was almost halfway off his lap when he brought his lips— so soft, so gentle, and so pink— against her cool ones, leaving a slight tingling sensation behind.

He gently pulled away, a sultry look dancing across his features. She felt the heat on her cheeks as she stared down into his lap, finally shifting herself completely off of his lap. When she looked up at him, she could tell the flush in his cheeks was not the same as the flush in hers. It was more desire than anything.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed with the end of his sentence.

No, no. Y/N didn’t want him to feel that way. He may have been a professor, but he wasn’t actually her professor, and they were so close in age. Surely if they were doing something wrong, it would have felt wrong. Last Friday would have felt wrong too, but it didn’t. If this wasn’t okay then it wouldn’t have felt so right, like his lips were made just for her and only her. “I wanted it.”

“I know you did,” he explained. “It was a vulnerable moment. It can’t happen again.”

She simply nodded in agreement, although she wanted to argue with him, even if it wasn’t in her nature to be so combative. Something washed over her because in that moment, the ache that was stabbing in her lower back didn’t matter, she just wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and tell him that wasn’t fair, but the worst part about it is that he would agree with her. That they had already beat the boundary down with a baseball bat. The moment he slipped his thigh in between her legs and pressed her against the wall of a bar, the boundary had vanished. When he brought his finger to her lips and she licked so slowly, so sensually, the boundary had been gone completely. How can they decide to put it back now? How could she when she finally knew what he tasted like. He knew it wasn’t fair to do that, but it shifted her feelings from sadness over her poor grades and the hostile situation she had just come from to placing her frustration toward him, and that was something he could deal with.

He stood up, a sudden aloofness filling the room. It was almost as if the tension was so thick it was banging on the doors and pushing at the windows to find its way out. Like he could feel its desperation to exit the room, he hooked his finger in the door knob and flung it open, cool air infiltrating the room and brushing over Y/N’s body.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, swiveling the chair near his desk around to face her. She knew he wasn’t talking about the kiss, the ever-so-soft-he-probably-didn't-mean-it-an unfriendly-way-kiss, he was talking about her cramps.

She held her lower belly, his eyes averting from how her hand slipped down her stomach and held, “Better. I think the pamprin is finally kicking in.”

“Good,” he offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and she wanted to pull her eyelashes out if the tension between them was going to cause a drift in their relationship, er? Friendship?

Y/N didn’t know what else to say, she didn’t want to make things more awkward than they already felt for her. Without looking at him directly, she gestured toward her shared desk with Mallory and made a slight shrugging motion with her shoulders. “Since I’m here I should probably just start working on what I’ll be starting in an hour anyway.”

He got up from the chair, and nodded in agreement. The aloofness was beginning to dissipate, as he offered up a grin that finally met his green eyes again. That’s the grin she looked forward to every single afternoon, though she didn't think she would ever be able to work up the courage to tell him. If there is one thing Harry picked up on in the short two months of her assisting him, she worked off of praise. The simplest thing, even just neatly organizing her and Mallory’s pens in a cup was something he would recognize and give her a thumbs up or mumble an appreciative wow, it looks great, Y/N, so that is what he was going to continue to do.

“You’re so efficient,” he praised, “But I don’t want you to start if you’re not feeling completely better yet. Why don’t you just take an hour or so to lay down, hm?”

Even though she wanted to start her work right away, she knew he was right and was only looking out for her, so she mumbled a small “okay” in a very reluctant tone.

He took a few steps in the direction toward the classroom and out of the office before quickly turning around and asking her a question he did not want to forget, “When are you available for tutoring?”

She wanted to tell him to just forget about it, and that she didn’t need his help as the pride twisted and turned in her brain, but she had a strong feeling that he was going to be disappointed in her if she said, forget it, and Y/N didn’t know if she could handle much more disappointment from the people around her in one day.

“Every day after I finish here, I’m free,” her words were small and slow as they fell from her lips.

“That’s perfect, after school we can either sit in here and work or the library, or even my flat if you’re not feeling comfortable in the library,” he listed quite a few options, then finally walked out of the office and shut the door behind him, leaving Y/N to her thoughts.

Her fingers slowly touched her lips, trying to remember the feeling of his lips against hers. She didn’t want to forget any details. His woodsy cologne filled her nostrils, and she could almost see that alluring look swimming in his eyes.

To put it plainly, she just wanted to scream in frustration.

___________

Harry was so screwed and he knew it from the second she stepped foot in the door of his classroom. The way her eyes averted from his and toward the plain wall behind him, the way she marveled at the tattoos that peaked from the tops of shirts (which he realized he would show them off more now, just so he could catch her lingering gaze and watch her quickly look away in embarrassment. Maybe it said something about him, but he loved to watch her become flustered), or the way her hand trembled just barely as she handed him the paper which confirmed she was his assistant that first day.

When he saw her at the bar on Friday night and the way her body responded to him, the way she was just so eager to please, he knew the thoughts he was having weren’t just one-sided. It was hard to get her off of his mind, he hadn’t experienced this kind of attraction in a long while. The psychologist in him tried to reason that it was because it felt somewhat forbidden— even though the school rules didn’t go completely against it, she just couldn’t TA for him anymore or ever take a class with him as her professor— he knew it was much more than that.

She spoke eloquently, her walk was captivating, her smile was innocent, and she just felt good to him. He thinks maybe whoever created the flowers that grew in the crevices of sidewalk, creating beauty in the most absurd places, possibly made her too. She was just like that, a captivating flower amongst the mundane world around her, blooming to the best of her ability and relying on the sunshine that sometimes came and went.

She was just special to him.

2K notes · View notes

k4marina · 6 months

Text

— Prologue || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a trip to Dragonstone goes a little wrong, or does it?

game of thrones x modern!reader

4.5k+ word count

sereis masterlist || next part

"Why are we doing this during the hottest day of the year, again?" Daeron mutters, using the brochure that was given to us at the beginning of the tour as a fan.

If I could, I would've replied, but the heat was also getting to me, draining away my energy. And, on top of the scorching heat, I'd just finished the last of my water. I pursed my lips together, the line wasn’t that long and I’m sure I can buy another overpriced water bottle after we visited the caves.

The group tour guide turned back to us, just as exhausted, and somewhat bashful. He said something, but I couldn't be bothered with it as I was too focused to not tip over from the heat. It was probably something like “only a few more minutes and we’ll be outta the heat, folks,” with an awkward smile or something.

The line to the caves under the castles was stupidly long, but it's no surprise. So much history was in those caves and so many mysteries had come full circle there. And, the deeper they dug, the more they uncovered the history of the Targaryens that lived there from when Aenar Targaryen moved his entire family to Dragonstone after his daughter, Daenys “the Dreamer” dreamed of the Doom of Valyria.

"Who's idea was it to come here for our research trip?" I didn't bother looking over at him, knowing that I'd be blinded by the sun that shone directly behind his big head.

“Shut up. Your voice is giving me a headache.” I quipped. “Besides, almost everything on this island is connected to the Targaryens. It might come useful when we have to write our research paper.”

The line moved up until our group was at the front of the line. A small group of students, along with Daeron and I, were on Dragonstone for our research projects. Some of the other students had decided to stay in Kings Landing or go to other parts of Westeros for their research.

Everyone was to spend a week in their respective areas and gather all the information they needed before heading back to Kings Landing to write and then later present their topics. Some chose to do it themselves whilst others, like us, decided to go with someone else.

Today was the first day of our stay on Dragonstone. Daeron and I had decided to check out the caves and the island's beaches before we would explore the labyrinth-like castle.

I rubbed the side of my head, feeling a headache approaching. My hand reached up to my necklace that rested on my chest. The chain was long enough for it to hang in the dip of my breast.

Not only did I come here for my project, but also for me. The necklace around my neck has been in my family for generations, but no one knows from where. It’s made entirely of Valyrian Steel, which was rare back in the day, and even rarer now.

As a child, I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until I grew older and more curious that I started asking questions. First to my family, but all I got was even more confusing answers that led me nowhere. Then I turned towards the internet, scouring for hours until I had found it.

On the official Dragonstone website, I found pictures of the caves under the castle and possibly under the entire island. On one of the walls was a crude hand drawing of my necklace. Two dragons around a sword with a ruby in the middle –though, the ruby was replaced with a red dot. Regardless, the cave painting matched.

The line moved up and Daeron gently pushed me up while I was lost in my thoughts. “You good?” He asks. I nod, “Yeah. The heat’s just a lot.” He gives an understanding look. Once the tour guide is given the green light, he begins to lead up to the entrance of the cave.

"Ready?" Daeron asks. I nodded and we begin walking. Once we entered the cave, my jaw was on the floor. I had seen pictures of the caves, but seeing it in real life was far more beautiful.

The deeper we got we could see the cave paintings done by the Children of the Forest which Daenerys and Jon had found. As the guide droned on about the cave paintings, I could feel my headache intensify. Why was it so hot in here?

The deeper and deeper we went into the caves, the worse it got. My chest started to feel heavy. I struggled to put one foot in front of the other. The back of my throat burned and I felt like throwing up, but I pushed forward.

My eyes raked the the cave walls, Where was it? Finally, I was able to see it. The markings were next to a few unknown ones. A sign with some information was hung up next to it. Despite my head pounding I was still able to read the bold words.

Unknown markings made by who researchers believe are the Targaryens. The paint used seemed to be as old as when Aenar Targaryen moved his family to Dragonstone.

By the time I finished reading, I could feel my head pounding so loudly in my ear. It felt like an ice pick was being hammered into the side of my head. I could hear muffled voices call out, but to who I didn’t know. The room started to spin and a ringing sound filled my ears.

A hand, most likely Derons, reached out and turned me around. I could see his mouth moving, but no words coming out. My chest felt like it was overheating while my head continued to throb. Everything turned blurry and then it went black.

When I woke up, I was still in the cave. The cold stone floor had helped with bringing my body temperature down. And, my head didn't hurt anymore. After getting up, I looked around the cave. It was darker, and quiet.

Where was everyone?

Carefully, I made my way out of the cave. It was harder to walk out of the cave and the spotlights that were on the walls weren’t on. Once I was outside I was met with the night sky.

All the tents and other buildings around the beach were gone, as if they'd never been there.

Okay, this is weird.

"Hello?" My voice came out horse like I hadn’t spoken in a long time. "Hello? Is anyone there? Daeron?"

My feet moved on their own and I tried to find someone, anyone. But there was no one. How could a populated area with tents and buildings disappear within hours?

Retracing my steps, I found the stairs that would lead me back to the Help Center that were posted around for lost tourists, but like the beach, there was nothing. Matter a fact, even the lamppost that were posted into the ground, the banners, the signs –everything was gone.

"What the actual fuck?" Panic creeped up and I could feel my heart thumping in my ears. "Gods, If this is some kinda sick fucking joke..."

At this point, I was running towards the castle. For what? I didn't know, but surely there had to be something there. The grand doors seemed to be closed so I tried to find another way in. I guess you could say I found something like a side door that took a little force to open.

The inside of the castle was grand. High walls, banners held high, candles and lamps lit all around. Truly, it was amazing. As I was gawking at the architecture I failed to notice unknown voices walking towards me.

“Halt!” Two unknown men dressed in what looked like armor cornered me, pointing their spears at me. “State your name! Who are you?”

I stuttered out my name, raising my hands up so they could see I wasn’t a threat. “I’m not going to do anything, I swear.”

The two men shared a look and a few hushed words before one of them walked over to me, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me along.

“Ow!” I tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong. “What the fuck dude. I said I wasn’t a threat.”

“Khaleesi will decide if you are or are not a threat.” The man who wasn’t holding onto me said.

Khaleesi? What Khaleesi?

“Oh please don’t tell me I just walked into those real-life roleplaying things.” I groaned, earning side eyes from both of the men.

They led me down a series of hall ways, each one intricate as the other until we stood outside of a set of polished stone double doors. Another pair of men dressed just like the cosplayers that brought me here stood in front of the doors. Without having to say any words they opened the grand doors.

Slowly, I could see the inside being revealed.

There, on the elevated platform stood the Throne of Dragonstone, where all the Targaryen heirs of the Iron Throne sat as they took the title “Prince of Dragonstone.” A light push brought me back as I was dragged closer to the throne.

“Khaleesi,” the guard called out. Before I could ask who they were speaking to, an unknown voice answered.

“What is it?”

Light footsteps were heard from behind a wall and a woman emerged from behind it. Except it wasn’t just any woman. Even a child would know who she was. Everyone around the world knows her.

She was Daenerys Targaryen.

Mother of Dragons.

The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.

The Unburnt.

The Breaker of Chains.

I could feel time slow down as I watched her walk over to the throne and sit down. My blood turned cold as she sat in front of me.

No.

She’s dead.

This can’t be happening.

It’s not possible.

It’s not. I have better chances of reviving dragons than traveling back in time-

“What is this?” Daenerys eyed me, confused at my appearance and why I was even here before looking at the two men.

“We found this unknown woman wandering around the castle, Your Grace.”

She eyed me, as if wanting me to plead my case, but the words died in my throat. Why wouldn’t they when Daenerys fucking Targaryen was right in front of me. A million thoughts ran through my head, but I couldn’t rack my brain to find one answer.

Daenerys squinted before speaking again, this time directly towards me. “Who are you?” The High Valyrian rolled easily off of her tongue like a true Targaryen. Those three words held so much power and conviction, like a true Queen.

“Y/n Vellarys!…” I rushed to reply in Valyrian.

“You speak good Valyrian.” She praises, but it's quickly pushed away. “But that doesn’t explain what you are doing here.”

What should I do? I bit my bottom lip as nervousness filled my body.

Knowing that if I lie, I’ll be fileted, I took a deep breath before responding. “I don't know. I.. I,” I paused, not knowing if I should continue. If this was real then I only wanted her to know, “Can we be alone.. please?”

The two men besides me visibly tense up, but don’t speak up. Daenerys looks down at us, seemingly in thought before she nodded. The two men bow before turning around to leave. The double doors closed with a loud thud.

“We’re alone now, you may continue.”

I nervously swallowed. Here we go. “This might sound weird, but.. I don’t know how I got here. I.. I woke up in the caves under the castle… alone.”

Daenerys’ face stayed neutral as I relayed the information. She seemed to take some time to process what I had just said. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

I could feel my heart fall all the way down. Fuck.

“You woke up in the caves alone?” She repeats. “Not even a child would come up with such a stupid story like this.”

“N-n-no, Daener- I mean, Your Grace. I swear to the Gods that I’m telling the truth. I have no reason to lie to you. Especially when you could get rid of me with your dragons in a second.”

She seemed to mull over my words, as if weighing her options. “Alright, let's say you’re telling the truth. Your story still doesn’t make sense. How do you just “wake up” in a cave?”

Now or never, I guess.

“Actually,” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m not from here. I come from-” The future. Fucking hell, how cliché. “-I come from a different… time.”

Daenerys squinted and I could see the clogs in her brain moving. “You mean you’re from the future?”

Jeez. Ripped the bandage right off.

“Well –uh, yes,” I say. “I was touring the caves and then I –I fell unconscious or something, I still don’t know, I just know that when I woke up I ended up here.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. What if this was just a dream and that all of this is just my imagination running wild.

“That necklace.”

Huh? What is she talking about?

I looked up, confused. “What?”

She pointed towards my chest. I looked down and I could see my necklace was out. “What about it?” I asked.

“Where did you get it?”

“It’s mine.” I replied. “It’s been in my family for generations. Why?”

Now it was Daenerys’ turn to look a little nervous.

“I’ve seen it in my dream.”

“Your dream? Like, one of those Dragon Dreams?” I ask. She gives a nod, “While we were sailing to Dragonstone I had a dream of a woman with silver hair and that necklace. Because I couldn’t see her face, I thought it was me. I’ve turned the treasury over looking for them; however, it seems that I dreamt of you.”

Ho-ly Fuck. Daenerys’ dreamt about me. What the hell. I’m about to throw up.

“What?” Now it was my time to be skeptical of what was being said. “You dreamt about me and my necklace?”

She nodded. “It seems odd, but a Dragon Dream has never been wrong.”

“Ture, but that still leaves a lot of blanks.” My hand subconsciously went up to hold my necklace while I tried to think back.

The deeper I walked into the cave the more my head started to hurt, but that was most likely because of dehydration… probably. But then there was a burning feeling on my chest when I looked at the symbol on the wall that matched my necklace and the burning feeling got even more intense and it felt like it was about to burn my skin-

“Fuck.” I groaned, letting go of the necklace. The outburst made Daenerys frown, “Are you alright?”

I looked down at my hands and at my necklace before looking into her eyes. “I think my necklace tried to burn me, like last time.”

“Last time?” She frowned. “How can a necklace burn someone?”

“I don’t know. It happened before I passed out in the cave.” I let out a sigh. “Gods, what is going on.”

“It seems that this was the God's doing,” Daenerys says, as if it was a fact. “They’ve brought you here.”

“The Gods?” I repeat. Sure, in some sense they did bring me here. “But why?”

“That may be something for you to find out.” Daenerys stood from the throne, walking down the steps until she was right in front of me. “I was lost once, but then the Gods gifted me my children to show me my true purpose.”

“The Iron Throne.” I thought back to my history classes where I learned that for the fight for the Iron Throne, Daenerys lost her life as she fell into what historians said was “Targaryen Madness,” but I’ve always felt that there’s more to it.

“It’s late, I’ll have the servants bring you to a spare room for you to rest in for the night.” As if on cue, the guards from before stepped up to us. “We can talk further tomorrow morning.”

Daenerys turned to leave from where she came from. The guards bowed as she left. Once she was gone they brought me to a spare room somewhere in the castle, this time without having to pull me around.

The hallways were nearly empty, meaning there weren’t a lot of people living here or servants working in the castle. The most I’d seen was guards posted around. Once we were in front of two thick double doors the guards stepped back waiting for me to open them.

It took a little force to open the door, but once I was inside, my jaw was on the floor. Despite everything being made of stone, the walls were covered in rich tapestry. There was a giant bed with lavish looking furs laid atop the bed and maroon bed sheets.

Behind me, a servant walked in with a few sets of clothes and laid them on the bed. “We’ve prepared you some clothes,” she said. “Would you like to change now or take a bath?”

As if on cue, I could feel how dirty I was since I was practically on the cave floors for Gods knows how long.

“A bath would be fine, thank you,” I replied. It honestly felt weird watching servants work. Not that it was bad, just the fact that in the modern day you don’t have them. Sure maybe someone who cleans your home or makes you food, but servants?

Once they had pulled out the massive tub and manually poured in the hot water they led me to the tub. One of their hands went up to my shirt's edge and the other to my pants.

“W-wait!” They all looked at me confused.

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” One of the servants asked.

No it’s not. You’re taking my clothes off. And sure, it’s your job to do practically everything for a highborn, but that ain’t me.

“Uh, there’s no need for… all of this. I can do it myself.”

“Are you sure?” Another girl asked. “It’s our duty to serve you.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” I replied awkwardly. “Just not really used to all of… this. Um, anyways I can take it from here. You guys can go…”

I internally cringed at my words. Gods, I sounded like an idiot, but could you blame me?

The girls reluctantly agreed, leaving me alone in the room. Once they were gone I let out a sigh and began to undress myself. The water was hot, but it was fine since I practically liked showering in lava every morning.

Settling into the tub I finally relaxed. This entire thing was just so… bizarre. At first, I thought it was some sort of dream, but that searing pain I felt wasn’t something I could just imagine.

My necklace burned me.

And it burned me when I first saw the markings on the cave walls. I looked down at my chest and hand, but saw nothing.

Okay, weird.

That aside, why was I even brought here? Why me? What do I have that made me so special that I had to be flung into this era of time?

“Think, y/n, think,” I muttered to myself. The dream. Daenerys’ dream about the necklace. But wait, no history books said anything about her having a dragon dream. Could this maybe be connected?

For the next hour, I mulled over my options while I soaked in the tub that had turned lukewarm. Having enough, I got up and grabbed the towels that the servants had thankfully set close for me.

The clothes that they had laid out for me were a bunch of nightgowns. Thankfully, they were my size. I decided to wear a simple white nightgown.

Laying under the mountain of covers and blankets, I finally let myself completely relax, falling asleep. Hopefully tomorrow’s discussions can help this situation get better or at least easier.

I woke up to the sun glaring down into my face. Groaning, I turned to my side, hoping to get some more sleep. But the damage was done.

I could hear light shuffling in the room and things being moved around. When I opened my eyes, I was nearly flash-banged. All the windows (that are floor to ceiling length) were opened and the curtains were drawn back.

A few servants from last night and a few new faces worked around the room. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, catching the attention of one of the girls.

“Good morning, My Lady. Did you sleep well?”

“Morning,” my voice came out a little low and rough. “What’s going on?”

“We’re getting you ready for the day,” the girl replies, matter of factly. “You will be having your morning meal with the Queen. We’ve already drawn you a fresh new bath and arranged a new set of clothes.”

I looked at where the tub was last night, nothing that was gone, along with my clothes.

“Where are my clothes?” I asked.

“We’ve sent them to get washed,” the servant replied. “My Lady, if i may…”

I nodded for her to go on. “We’ve never seen such clothes like yours before. They remind us of what the men wear however, yours are a bit more.. different.”

“Oh, that. They’re just something that I made.” I lied. Thinking back to last night, I’m confused I didn’t get as many weird looks as I should have wearing my jeans and shirt. It's not really the typical Westerosi fashion for this time.

“The bath is ready.” Another girl says.

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, following them to another room adjacent to this one. The room was a massive bathroom that could function as a bathhouse.

There was a massive tub nestled into the floor. The windows were also huge but a little higher up, letting in some natural light. I could tell the water was hot just by how much it was steaming.

Carefully, the servants began to undress me. They led me into the water and began adding what I can only assume are oils and salts. Truthfully, it felt like I was at some fancy spa with how they washed my body and hair.

Once that was done, they helped me into a beautiful white dress with a dark teal and gold design. I felt like a model wearing such a beautiful dress. I let my hair down, not wanting it in any style (or knowing any styles of this period).

A servant walked me to the dining room where Daenerys was waiting for me. She wore a light blue dress with her hair braided and her three headed dragon pin.

“Good Morning,” she greeted.

“Morning uh, Your grace.” I replied. “Sorry, I’ve never called anyone “your grace” before.”

She brushed it off, motioning for me to take a seat next to her at the table where the food was already prepared.

“How did you sleep?” She asks, beginning to eat.

“Fine, surprisingly.” I reached down to grab a fork for my food. “How about you?”

Was I really making small talk with Daenerys Targaryen?

“Mine as well,” she smiled. “I was hoping we could talk a little before I had to go meet my small council.”

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?” I wanted to smack myself. Every time I spoke it was full of nerves and anxiety.

“Let’s start with you. Your name and where you’re from.” Daenerys says confidently. “Judging by your looks, you’re of Valyrian descent.” She says, eyeing my silver hair.

“Yes,” I nodded. “My family moved from Volantis to the Eyrie. My family is known to be of the Old Blood in Volantis.”

“The Old Blood?” Daenerys says, surprised.

The Old Blood are a group of people in Volantis that have proven to be the last remaining families of Valyria. They live in a perched area of the city that only they can walk. All the families in that area still continue their Valyrian traditions and practices, just minus the dragons.

I nodded, “My father is the youngest of four sons, so he thought ‘why not move to westeros and start something there?’ knowing that he wouldn’t have to really carry on the family name.”

“And your family name is Vellarys?” She recalled from last night.

“Yes. We’re known for our jewelry making in Volantis. That’s why my father moved to Westeros, to open a shop there without having to take over the business and stress like his older brother.

“As for myself, I have two older brothers. One is working to be a doctor,” Daenerys frowned at that, confused, “uh, it’s like a Maester. The other is helping my father run the shop.”

“And what about yourself?”

“I’m in school. I go to the University of Kings Landing.”

“The.. University of… Kings Landing?”

“Well, after the monarchy was sorta let go, they turned certain parts of the Red Keep and other castles into Universites -places to go for higher studies, like the.. Citadel for example.”

Daenerys nods, understanding some of it.

“I study the era of The Game of Thrones as well as Targaryen History.”

“The Game of Thrones?” She repeats. “What is that?”

“It’s, uh, what we call this time period. It ranged from the death of King Robert to,” the death of Daenerys Targaryen, “to now, and a little later. We look into how the events after Robert’s death played out and how people fought for the Iron Throne.”

“Like a game.” She says.

I nodded. “Yes, like a game. There’s this quote that Cersie Lannister said to Ned Stark that summed it up, “When you play the game of thrones, You win or you die,”.”

“I see,” Daenerys looks down at her plate in thought. “And what about me?”

Oh fuck.

“What about you?” I say, acting innocent.

“What happened to me?”

I purse my lips together. Should I say it? I mean, it’s a good segway to what I want to really say… if this part goes well.

“You…” I nervously swallowed. “You die… before you could even claim the throne.”

The fork in her hand hits the ceramic plate with a loud clunk.

“What?”

Nervously, I looked into her. “You were killed… after you burned Kings Landing to ashes.”

She frowned. “You're lying. I would never do such a thing. Me? Burning down Kings Landing?

And the Red Keep, but I’ll keep that to myself.

“I’m not lying, Daenerys. After you died, Drogon picked you up and flew you away. We still haven’t found your or his body.”

Daenerys' hands started to shake at the information I had just thrown at her. Carefully, I placed mine over hers.

“Daenerys,” I said softly. “Breath. You’re fine, nothing has happened so far.”

Slowly, I could feel her hands stop shaking and her breathing seemed to steady.

“What do you mean so far?”

I gave her hand an encouraging squeeze although, I can’t tell if it was for me or her.

“Meaning, I can help you.”

She looks at me, puzzled.

“Daenerys, I can help you take the Iron Throne.”

okayyyy so it's finally here after many rewrites. let me know if you guys liked the first person POV. its my first time writing it like this, typically i do second POV. more to come in later chapters. also, i will be changing a few things, nothing major. one personal head cannon that i have is that jon isn't really named aegon, but jaehaerys. makes a lil more sense in my brain. also, i'll maybe be using some info from the books. and if you guys have any suggestions with y/n's character and other stuff please feel free to let me know. don't worry there will be more story and character development in the coming chapters.

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rookthorne · 7 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬

》 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝

Rumours and tales had been spread of a character at the local Halloween Park that painted them in such a haunting light — they were a predator that even the bravest spook and adrenaline seekers feared, always alluding that he was far too ‘hardcore’ to trifle with. Luckily for you, a target had been painted on your back, and you were about to experience one of the hardest escapes of your life.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 》 Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 》 3.6k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 》 Fluff, consensual stalking, primal, knife play

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 》 I had way too much fun writing this, and I can't believe that I just typed that warning.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 》 @smutconnoisseur

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 》 @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

》 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

After weeks of research and scouring through social media for the best spooks of the season, you were led here. At the gates of the new Halloween park and attraction. The park was lively, loud with screams and cheers and the bass of music. It thrummed through your body like a current of electricity.

A building decked out in stereo-typical Halloween decorations was situated to the left of the entrance. The sign above the larger window read ‘Administration’, and with a shuddered gasp of anticipation, you gripped the bag strap over your shoulder and walked towards it to wait in line.

It was a shock at just how small the line was, however. No more than a handful of people, all adults, stood and trembled in place – whether from anxiety or excitement, you couldn’t tell.

The lack of people standing in line wasn’t so much of a surprise when you took into account that during your research you found out you had to sign a multitude of waivers to even set foot in the park bounds.

The waiver, you learned from the park’s website, had every possible scenario covered – by signing the documents, you understood and consented to having the metaphorical life scared out of you, whether that be by props, actors, or environments. There were even medical forms to fill out, they were that thorough.

During your research, you had also seen all of the actors on the park’s Instagram — each as intimidating at the last, but there was one that intrigued you the most. It was a given that each character had a backstory, a plot behind the madness, but this one seemed the most exhilarating.

Known only as the Soldat, his costume consisted entirely of black; leather and kevlar-esque clothes paired with holsters for weaponry everywhere. A mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only piercing grey eyes streaked with khol visible.

If you were honest with yourself, you were most excited for an encounter with him. He stalked the shadows and only revealed himself to very few — a walking and breathing myth that carried the same sense of lethality and mystery that his character afforded.

What interested you within the fine print for one of the waivers you eagerly signed was that the Soldat had his own warnings: stalking, use of Russian, and, unsurprisingly, use of knives. They were props, the document assured you as such, but if the thought didn’t make your heart race a little…

“Next,” a voice called, breaking you out of your reverie. You blinked and shook your head before stepping forward. The sign in process was like any other, and you passed through the entry gates only a few moments later.

Screams echoed through the night while the clashes and bangs of metal on metal sounded – the rides were in full swing. The entryway of the park was full of groups of young adults and couples, travelling in packs of two to even ten. It was only then you slightly regretted coming to the park alone, but there was less of a chance to make a fool of yourself, this way.

There were no children running amok, either, and for that, you were grateful, not only would there be no hysterical children, but that was the first sign that rules were enforced: no one under the age of twenty-one could step foot within the park.

A thick blanket of fog carpeted the ground as you stepped into a makeshift tunnel, the barely lit space had a lone flickering light bulb that gave very little visibility. You could still hear people walking around behind you, deep in the shadows.

Loud, deep music played as you considered what to do next while you walked towards the main area of the park. The bass rattled your chest and echoed in your bones, disorientating you in a way that made the adrenaline burn through your veins.

It was a general consensus that there would be no scaring until you reached the rides, or within the food court, but it didn’t soothe that prickle of apprehension that someone was there, just waiting for the opportunity.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself, looking left to right. To the left was a giant archway that led to a food court, and to the right, a looming tunnel in the shape of a mouth that led to rides. Hunger wasn’t an issue at that point, so you shrugged and turned towards the tunnel. “Here we go.”

The shadows seemed to warp and move as you walked, giving the illusion of figures stalking behind you. Blood curdling screams and shrieks bounced off the walls and through the night’s air, and you couldn’t tell whether they were the ambient recordings or if the actor’s were already working their craft.

It added a sense of urgency to your step; a sharp, keen sense of awareness for every flicker in your peripheral vision.

Lights beamed from the carnival-esque rides as you walked through the crowds – oranges, purples, and greens glowed over your skin and flickered over the pavement, painting an eerie picture in the darkness. People were flocking back and forth in groups while lone stragglers were singled out by the roaming actors.

You watched, amused, as one of the actors in a clown costume ran full pelt at a huddled group of young women. They screamed with fright and scattered before they converged again, huddling next to one another like that would be their saving grace.

You knew better.

The harrowing sense of being watched cascaded over you, the silent rise of the hair on your nape and your mind screamed danger, danger, danger. You looked around, subtly as you could, until you found the source: a straggler, dressed in a suit splattered with fake blood, was watching you with his head tilted to the side.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, staring straight back, when he winked. Inwardly, you grumbled over the fact that a simple wink should not have been that attractive; outwardly, you stuck your tongue out at the actor in retaliation.

He advanced and in the blink of an eye, he had skidded across the pavement on his knees, sending sparks from his knee pads as he stood up right in front of you. His height was an advantage, you guessed, because you couldn’t suppress the shiver of a personified murderer looming over you.

“Careful, darling,” he said, voice gravelly. You could see a set of prop vampire fangs fitted over his canines when he bared his teeth. “Don’t wanna lose that now, do you?”

“Nope,” you said nervously, taking a step back and shaking your head. “I need it to eat pizza.”

The actor, whether in or out of character, snorted derisively and wiggled his fingers, and you took the dismissal.

Fog still covered the ground as you walked through the rides, content to feel the spirit of Halloween in the air and watch everyone else have the life scared out of them. There was a chime of different music to your right, and you glanced over to find a claw machine – full to the brim with stuffies in different states of zombie decay, to skeletons with goofy faces.

You walked over, humming to the music playing over the loudspeakers. “I have to have one.”

The line to get to the front was just as short as the line to the administrative building, and you waited patiently, watching as men dressed in top hats or rags stalk past; looking for their next victim.

Laughter sounded from right behind you and you started, spinning around to find a woman wearing a mask and holding some sort of blade integrated with an aluminium bat. Dark red hair cascaded down her shoulders, contrasting against the black leather of her jacket.

She stared into your face, searching it with her green eyes, when she smirked – a wicked thing that sent a shiver down your spine; some people were just too good at their jobs, you thought privately.

“Aren’t you just a sweet little thing? Cute–innocent, even,” she drawled, tapping the end of her bat with a clawed nail. Her voice sounded smooth and velvety – not unlike that of a siren’s.

“You got me good,” you confessed, hand held over your pounding heart. She giggled and smiled at you. A flash of orange light passed over her and you pointed at her hair. “I love your hair–sets off your menacing vibe perfectly.”

“Why, thank you, lamb.” She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. The proximity made your heart race – even if you were well versed in the etiquette, having a stranger in costume so close made you nervous. “I think you’re one the Soldat would love…”

The hammering beat of your heart froze for a second with her words. Never had you imagined that you would hear a threat so enticing. You blinked and shook your head before you looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me,” she teased, winking slyly. It didn’t ease your nerves. “Don’t worry that sweet head of yours.” The weapon she brandished swayed in her grip as she stepped back and out of your space. “He’ll find you, and there won’t be anything left when he’s done with you.”

The encounter left you rattled; scared beyond wits. “What did she mean–?”

Bright lights filled your peripheral vision and you realised you were at the front of the line for the claw machine. The worker, who leaned heavily onto the glass and flipped a small knife in his hand, looked up at you as you stepped up to the controls.

“Huh,” he huffed, tilting his head. “Widow wasn’t wrong. You better watch your back, lamb.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?” His sandy blond hair was matted and streaked with congealed blood, stemming from a fake arrow through the side of his head and you had to fight the urge to wretch at the hyper-realistic, brutal costume.

The worker shrugged a shoulder and tapped his temple with the point of the knife. “The Soldat is on the hunt tonight, prowling the shadows–wouldn’t wanna cross him. Keep your wits about you.”

“You guys really know how to make a gal feel welcome,” you said slowly, looking around you. “It works–building Soldat up.”

The wink he sent you made your skin break out in goosebumps – there was something in his eyes, a glint of knowing that put you off and unsettled your senses. Loud screams and echoed maniacal laughter did not help the nerves that had begun to fray the longer you stood out in the open.

Shaking your head once, you deposited the money in the machine and grabbed the joystick, determined to win a stuffie for your trouble.

And if you gripped the soft toy tightly when you left, it was no one’s business.

Your venture through the park led you to a dark zone within the rides – people were interspersed in their little groups, but not a single person lingered. The shadows seemed to extend and grow as you walked, and that same feeling of being watched from someone unseen settled heavily in your stomach, a lead weight that made your leisurely pace increase.

The alleyway to your left gaped in size. With no other sounds except for the occasional yell or scream of fear from the other park patrons, you couldn’t hear footsteps nor the breathing of someone lurking there. But the inescapable instinct of fight or flight screamed at you to get out of there – to run, and to not look back.

You shuffled your feet and looked around as you muttered a quiet curse, thinking of where to go next, and the alleyway passed you by with little incident. “Well, that’s a relief,” you mumbled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

As you walked, just a few feet from the unnerving alleyway, people walking towards you stopped and stared – mouths and eyes wide, and when you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, a presence behind you, dark and shadowed from your peripheral vision, made your jaw click shut.

You tried to whirl around to see who it was, but a cold hand covered your mouth and chin. Whoever it was forced you to stumble backwards and you landed with a muffled huff against their chest – a solid mass of a person, and you could scent the leather of their costume.

A tutting sound emanated from where the person's mouth was, and cold plastic pressed against your ear – their hand still covered your mouth and every sound you made came out muffled. The ability to make noise or call for help being torn from you so easily made white static fill your mind in a panicked haze, while the sound of your pounding heart filled your ears.

“There you are,” a deep voice rasped – it was accented with the lilt of Russian. You froze in place and your eyes widened with terror; Soldat had found you. “A little bird told me that I would find the perfect prey tonight. They were not wrong.”

His voice was muffled and quiet behind the mask, but it filled you with an unparalleled need to flee, though you didn’t dare mov – not even when you felt something sharp dig into the side of your neck. “Such a pretty prize, little kotenok. And all for me.”

For a split second, you forgot you were in a park full of people. Not even the pounding bass of the music that never ceased or the screams of fear pulled you out of the reverie – it was just you, back to chest with a stranger who had a hand over your mouth, and what felt like a knife at your neck. You whimpered and shuddered in his hold.

“Do not fear, little one.” There was a deep chuckle, and the same smooth, cold plastic brushed against the shell of your ear, as though he was turning his head to look at your profile. “I could never hurt my trophies. Especially ones that are so pretty.”

The cold bite of metal left your mouth and the sharp tip of the knife vanished from your throat. “Oh-”

The hands that had held you captive then shoved you forward, and you yelped in shock before you spun around to face the Soldat, only, no one was there. “What the hell!”

“I told you, little lamb,” a familiar voice sang. You looked to the right and you were faced with the same red hair of Widow, not to mention the Cheshire's smile on blood red lips. “Soldat is on the hunt, and he’s prowling after you now.” She turned away and waved at you from over her shoulder. “Good luck, little one!”

You gulped and straightened up, watching the mouth of the alleyway with mounting fear. There was no glint of metal nor any sign of a person in waiting.

“I would run, if I were you,” a new voice cautioned. It was one of the stragglers that had spooked that group of women earlier, and he looked smug – a wide smirk pulled his lips up and contorted his makeup. “You’re in his sights now. Good fucking luck.” And he ran off, sparks flying from the pads on his knees as he skidded across the floor again.

“Shit,” you hissed. That waiver was not kidding – and with all the actors warning you to hightail it, you were inclined to believe them. You got your wish, you thought nervously as you looked around. The Soldat was paying attention to you, and you alone, it seemed. “Fuck it.”

Your shoes slapped over the pavement as you briskly walked towards the archway on the other side of the ride section of the park. People kept glancing at you and staring wide-eyed behind you, but every time you looked over your shoulder, you saw no one tailing behind you.

It was starting to mess with your bravado, and you couldn’t help but pant for air as you moved faster and faster, desperate to at least get to somewhere where there was light.

“Oh my god!” a woman cried, pointing behind you with wide eyes. You yelped on instinct and jumped, spinning on your heel.

This time there was someone there.

Clad in all black, his eyes intently stared at your face. Kohl covered the skin above his black mask and long, dark hair swayed as he walked, strutted towards you; flipping a knife with a shining, metal hand as though putting on a show for all to see.

Fear froze you in place for a split second, but adrenaline roared and pulsed like a wildfire through every fibre of your being. With little intervention, you turned back around and bolted from the scene, pushing past people to put distance between you and the Soldat.

Boots thumped behind you and you screamed as you felt a hand brush your shoulder. You turned sharply to the left and the hand disappeared, but you heard a rough voice yell, “Run, little kotenok, I will catch you–one way or another,” at your back.

Heavy metal music matched the pace of your frantic running as you dashed between crowds of people and other actors. You took a chance and glanced over your shoulder, searching for your tail, but he was gone once again. “Oh my god,” you gasped, heaving for air. “That was scary–holy shit.”

A plainly dressed worker walked up to you then, their expression taut and worried. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rushed, waving a hand. “I’m good. Had the shit scared out of me, but I’m good.”

They grinned and nodded. “Good luck then.”

You were left alone once again.

Music and the occasional scream filled the long silence and lack of terror-driven fleeing. There was another alleyway to your side, and there wasn’t much room for a person to appear behind you without you knowing, so you took a chance and leaned against the rough brick of the building as you took deep pulls of air to fill your constricting lungs. A stitch had formed in your side and you winced on every inhale. “Fuck–that was-”

A hand, cold and strong, covered your mouth and pulled you back against a chest. The shriek of fear was cut off by the pressure of his grip.

Soldat clicked his tongue and growled as a flash of metal danced across your vision. The same knife that had been against your throat before dug into your neck and dragged down to your collarbones, then back up to your jugular. “Should have never run from me,” he said lowly. “I am a ghost, kotenok. I see and hear it all. You’re in my world now, little one.”

“Please,” you whimpered, and it came out muffled behind his hand. “I- Oh my god, don’t-”

A deep, demonic laugh shook his chest and you felt him breathe in, the brush of leather on your back just as frightening as before. “You beg so pretty, kotenok.” He clicked his tongue again and pulled away the knife, but he held you fast to his chest. “Those same little birds told me you signed a waiver. The very same one that will allow me to do as I please with you.”

You recognised the consent check immediately; the pressure on your mouth didn’t tighten nor did he pull you back. He was giving you the chance to back out. “Yeah,” you rasped, lips brushing against the cold palm of his hand. “I did.”

“Mm,” he hummed. The knife returned to your throat, and you gasped as you were suddenly moved over to and pinned to the wall by your neck with his hand. His face was mere inches from yours, and you could see the dark kohl that framed his clear, calculating eyes as they darted between yours. “Umnaya devushka. You will be my trophy, then. And by the fall of the final night, you will know your place.”

“Oh,” you gasped, and you squirmed to gain some room, but he did not relent. Soldat narrowed his eyes and he tilted his head, considering you.

“You also will be a guest until the end of Halloween, da?”

Unable to speak, you just nodded.

The corner of his eyes crinkled slightly, as though he was smiling behind the mask. He leaned in close again, his breath hot over your lips as his hand tightened on the sides of your throat. You let out an undignified squeak that didn’t even seem to phase him, nor make him break character – if anything, he delved deeper. “Very good. I will find you, kotenok. You will not escape so easily next time.”

He pulled back and you stumbled forward – it felt like whiplash, losing his proximity so fast and without warning.

“Wait!” Slowly, he narrowed his eyes and took a knife from his holster, absentmindedly flipping it as he walked backwards towards the mouth of the alleyway. “Why me?”

His movements halted. The air from the alleyway was sucked from the space and you struggled to rein in the thought of him staring so thoughtfully at you – the need to know what he was thinking was almost overwhelming.

“You intrigue me,” he said simply.

Then, he turned and stalked out of the alleyway, leaving you in the shadows and considering just how insane this all was. You were alone, in a park full of the Halloween spirit, and here you were, wondering just how it would feel if you were chased by the Soldat again.

The thought alone convinced you to indeed come back the next night, and this time, you would wear trainers. You would outrun him, one way or another.

kotenok = kitten umnaya devushka = clever girl da = yes

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works

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deathbypufferfish · 1 year

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It's finally done cooking, my sims gameplay ideas list! After scouring all types of sites, generators, lists, and my brain for ingredients, I've come up with a list stew that hopefully will spark some inspiration for your sims gameplays!

This non exhaustive list consists of ideas that are applicable to sims gameplay/things to do in-game. AKA things that can be played out in the sims or half pretended. If you're looking for less-gameplay story ideas, I recommend my story/conflict idea list. Most of the conflict and love ideas are on that list. Please feel free to send asks to add to the gumbo! Just note in your ask that it's for the gumbo and keep it applicable/feasible for gameplay. (To keep the post from getting too long I'll make a contributor list into a compressed image later on for those who send off-anon.)

If you are looking for more complex, in-game story ideas check out the Story Soup list here!

🍲 Gumbo below the cut! ⬇

Single Sim Gameplay:

Learn an instrument

Learn a new skill

Start a seashell collection (Island Living)

Have a sim get a bad haircut

Enroll an Adult/Elder sim in university

Use a skill you don’t usually play with

Become a mountain climber

Build a Servo

Take care of local strays

Use more likes/dislikes

Conflict:

Drop out of or fail university

Drop out or fail out of highschool

Talk badly about another sim in your house to other sims

Sim loses their job

Failed retail business

Family:

Foster a child

Parties for children

Have a baby shower

Have a slumber party

A grandparent/other family member moves in with your main household

Have a specific family holiday tradition besides the in-game ones

Family bike rides

Game night

Parent trains child in their sport

Family hikes at Granite Falls

Family volunteering

Bake sale (entrepreneur table)

Have a family photoshoot

Have teens study at the library

Have your teen go through a bad fashion phase

Host an exchange student

Make school picture day photos (Teen poses, children poses)

Have an arts & crafts day

Go fishing as a family

Have a specific weekly meal (spaghetti night, a fancy meal)

Make ice cream together (Cool Kitchen Stuff)

Wear matching pajamas for holidays

Have a bake off

Play with voidcritters (Kids Room Stuff)

Granola family (camping, hiking, low tech, simple living)

Play in a multi-generational household

Adopt

Family reunion

Unexpected baby

Have siblings share a room

Social/Activities:

Sports party night (e.g. watching the superbowl, world cup, etc)

Start a book club (with clubs)

Have a themed kids birthday party (Here’s a helpful website for ideas)

Have a potluck (buffet tables)

Garden party

Neighborhood party

Neighborhood holiday decorating contest

Host a haunted house in your home

Picnic

Barbeque party

Go to the arcade

Go regularly to restaurants (Dine Out Reloaded Mod to make restaurants tolerable)

Have an out of control party (maybe a teen party)

Go camping

Go to an Ice skating rink/roller skating rink

Spa day (at home or at a spa)

Make an army of snowpals

Movie night

Stargazing night/camp out in the backyard

Weekly bowling night

Museum trip

Karaoke night at home

Campfire night

Pool day

Weekly meetups with friends at a cafe

Try on wedding dresses with a bridal party

Have someone stay over (Growing Together)

Love:

Hook up with a service sim

Have a vacation romance

Have a “meet the parents” moment

Have an affair

Divorce

Marital fight

Rejected proposal

Throuple/Open Relationship (Open Love Life Mod)

Left at the altar

Use fear of commitment, jealous, or unflirty trait

Create a rocky marriage

Challenges:

Spend too much money on a vacation

Play with lot challenges

Use simple living (only cook with ingredients and do grocery orders)

Don’t clean up after sims (don’t drag plates, laundry, trash)

Use the Reduce and Recyle lot challenge for realism

Use the Filthy lot challenge to make cleaning harder

Lose a large sum of money

Randomize your sims’ traits as they age up

Household:

Have puppies and kittens

A serious house fire (either with cheating or with fireworks. There is also a mod for more intense fires here

Spring cleaning

Garage sale

Visit houses before you move into them

Create a storage room/attic (Eco Living boxes, Discover University chest, toy chest, treasure chest etc) Use this for old heir’s items if you are playing a legacy

Start a garden (herb, vegetables)

Renovate the house

Watch what your pets are doing

Adopt a stray animal

Teach your pets tricks

Upgrade objects

Have a home bar/rec room

Go on a vacation

Play with roommates (additionally have them be odd, difficult, or a romance option)

Have an always messy home

Hire a live-in butler

Hire a regular maid

Location:

Play in a sustainable community on one of the islands/isolated areas. (community farm, community space, homes)

Play in a tiny home (Tiny Living)

Play in a haunted house residential (Paranormal Stuff)

Become an Archaeologist. Live in Sulani and regularly visit Selvadorado for work

Career/Business:

Bookstore

Art gallery: sell your paintings or buy them off Plopsy/Buy Mode

Bakery

Play a career you don’t usually play

Winter sports store in Mt. Komorebi

Own a farmstand for your produce (Eco Lifestyle entrepreneur table) You can even build a small building for it on your property!

Pet supplies store

Plant store

Tourist gift shop

Mattress/Bed store

Florist shop (Flower Arranging Skill)

Juicery (Juice Fizzing Skill)

Yoga studio (host classes at a retail business or at a home studio)

Start a Bed and Breakfast/AirBnB with the roommate system

Become a celebrity in a path besides Actor/Actress (Author, Chef, Video Creator, Skier, etc.)

Food truck (Restaurant)

Fish stall (Entrepreneur table)

Make a living on Plopsy

Wool store (Cottage Living)

Natural health store (Herbalism)

Resources Used

ADAM DRIVER GIF DISCLAIMER: YES I KNOW IT'S A STEW

#the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 resource #simblr #sims 4 #ts4 inspo #sims 4 ideas #ts4 ideas #ts4 gameplay #puffer's gameplay gumbo #sorry there isnt a good stew gif my bad #i picked gumbo because it starts with a g #it could be a fucking lasgana i dont care #also addition asks to sections with less ideas are most welcome

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soulessjourney · 8 months

Text

Stranger In The Shadows

Paring: Azriel x Reader (Rhysand's sister)

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: It's been almost two years since Y/N disappeared without a trace during one of her missions. Now, she suddenly reappears just outside of Velaris with no memory and a strange darkness enveloping her mind. What secrets does she now hold after her mysterious disappearance? What lies within that abyss of darkness that consumes her?

Warnings: mentions of violence, abuse, blood, injuries

Authors note:

Please bear with me as this is my first time using this website. I'm looking forward to sharing my thoughts that often keep me awake until the wee hours of the night. I thought a great way to kick off my time here is to start a series, so you can all get a glimpse of what's happening in my sleep-deprived mind.

Two years have passed. Today marks the second anniversary of your disappearance. Rhysand had dispatched you on a mission to an outpost camp due to rumors of a disturbance not far from there. However, you hadn't even reached the camp before vanishing into thin air. The Inner Circle had scoured the area for any sign of your presence, but for those two long years, they found nothing.

Arizel paced in his room, his shadows curling around him as a source of comfort. Day after day, he searched for any trace of you, only to return empty-handed each time. The Inner Circle had grown concerned about his obsession with finding you. Who could blame the male? You were his mate, the love of his life, and you had simply vanished. In his eyes, no one seemed to care, leading to countless conflicts, especially between him, Cassian, and Rhysand. Something about tonight felt different. His shadows were more alert than usual, and he had a gut feeling that something was about to happen. It was hard to determine if that feeling was good or bad.

You were the polar opposite of Azriel. You possessed a bright and caring personality, always quick to forgive. You placed others above yourself, doing everything in your power to make everyone feel welcome. Sometimes, he swore you were more related to Feyre than Rhysand, given how openly you wore your heart on your sleeve. Azriel was known for his cold demeanor and blunt comments, and you often teased that he was a perfect match for the shadows, which would lead to him moping or pouting from across the room. You never failed to bring a smile to his face; just your presence alone would make him smile like a fool.

The two of you discovered that you were mates while Rhysand was trapped under the mountain. Azriel had spent the night in your room after hearing your cries for your brother. He felt the bond snap into place the moment he heard you cling to him for dear life, begging him to stay with you. You were terrified of losing Azriel, just as you had lost Rhysand, and you felt as if you would die if Azriel went missing. Azriel subsequently confronted you about the mating bond, which you confirmed, as you had known about it before that night. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable, doing everything in your power to bring your brother back.

The day you disappeared had been complete and utter hell for Azriel. He had felt nothing through the bond, no disturbance, nothing. It was only after a few days that he realized something was wrong because no one had heard a single thing from you. That golden thread connecting the two of you had slackened, and his head felt so empty. Rhysand had tried to excuse it as you putting up walls to focus on the mission, but even Rhys knew that wasn't something you did on missions like these. You always kept your mind open to communication or hearing anything from Rhysand or Azriel. Azriel knew Rhys didn't want to admit how terrified he was of losing you, nor did he want to believe that you could simply disappear without anyone knowing. Constant fights between Azriel and Rhysand ensued, often with Cassian stepping in between them to prevent them from harming each other.

Your disappearance tore the Inner Circle apart. The cries of Mor and Feyre broke his heart when Amren told them that it was time to accept the possibility that you had died. As cold and neutral as Amren was, Azriel knew she was hurting. The bond you shared with Amren was honestly amusing. She saw you as nothing more than a little sister, way too invested in her work, and doting on her activities. Mor, on the other hand, was someone you were inseparable from. Mor knew everything about you, even things that he didn't know, and things he believed should have remained between you and Mor. Azriel saw how broken Mor was upon hearing the news of your disappearance, which only added to the pain for him and his friends.

Azriel stopped pacing the room when he felt a disturbance in the townhouse, something foreign had filled the location. Standing in the darkness of the room, he waited for any sounds of unknown footsteps, but nothing came. Azriel refused to go back to the home you two shared since the last time he was there; he almost burned the place to the ground after his last fight with Rhysand. Feyre had opened their home to him to keep a close eye on Azriel and Rhysand to prevent them from trying to kill each other whenever you were brought up in conversations.

A soft knock landed on the door, catching his attention. Moving towards the door, he opened it and looked down at a wide-eyed Feyre. Stepping aside, she entered his room and glanced around, as if checking to make sure nothing was destroyed again. "Azriel, we need to talk," she said quietly, her words almost too hushed to hear. As she turned back toward him, she motioned for him to sit in the corner chair.

Complying, Azriel sat down, ready for another discussion about his disappearance earlier. "If it's about my disappearance today, you all know the reasoning, and I don't think a lecture is needed," he grumbled, keeping his eyes away from Feyre. The lack of response prompted him to snap his eyes back to her. There was something off about her, something in her eyes that looked as if she was holding back tears or the urge to scream and break something.

Wiping her hands on her gown, she let out a shaky breath and looked at the broken male before her. "Rhysand wanted to talk to you, but after the incident last night, I thought it would be best if I talked to you," she said, her voice nervously quiet. "We received word about an unknown figure seen just east of Velaris. Rhysand and Cassian decided to investigate to give you the time you needed. They found a body there."

Azriel held his breath as she spoke. There had to be a reason they were telling him this. Could it be someone who knew your whereabouts? Someone who had seen you? After noticing the way he clung to her words, Feyre felt tears welling up in her eyes. "We found her, Azriel. We found Y/N," she sobbed, letting tears roll down her cheeks. They had found you. You were back. You had come home.

Standing quickly, the chair slammed back against the wall before Feyre stopped him. "Azriel, I can take you to her, but I have to warn you. She does not look well. She was almost unrecognizable when the boys found her. She is severely injured, and Rhysand mentioned that something felt off about her. Azriel, she may not be the same Y/N we once knew, and you need to prepare yourself for what could happen once she wakes up," she whispered, her gaze fixed on him.

Her words haunted his mind as he followed Feyre to a room tucked away at the far end of the hall, where the Inner Circle stood pacing outside the door. Just as they arrived, the door swung open, revealing Madja with Rhysand standing behind her. Azriel stepped into the room, his eyes widening at the sight before him. There you lay, blankets pulled to your shoulders as you slept. You looked so peaceful, almost lifeless. Azriel watched your chest, holding his breath, waiting for any sign of your breathing. When he saw the rise and fall of your chest, he let out a relieved sigh before Madja began talking.

"It's a miracle that she's alive. The injuries she sustained would have killed an Illyrian warrior. There are clear traces that someone healed her wounds after she had received them. Her wings are broken in a few locations, and she will be lucky if they heal correctly for her to fly again. The girl was kept on the brink of death, and she survived," Madja whispered, amazed that you had survived the obvious torture you had endured.

As Azriel stepped forward, his shadows shot around him, protecting him from getting too close to you. It was strange; his shadows had always loved surrounding you, but this time they seemed almost terrified of being near you. He felt something, something dark that clouded your mind and was nothing but a mass of darkness threatening to break free at any moment. You were a Shadow singer like him, and it was almost funny to him that fate had brought you two together. What worried him most was that there was no sign of your shadows, but he could feel the same power he held coursing through you. What had happened to you during these past few years? Why did you feel so foreign? Why were his shadows so terrified of you?

Azriel felt something inside of him break at the sight of you and your mangled wings. He knew how much you loved flying, and it would be devastating if you were unable to do so. Flying had always been therapeutic for you, a way to escape and feel the wind in your hair, to be free from responsibilities. He cherished the nights when the two of you would just soar, sharing laughter as you gazed upon the breathtaking view of the city. It was a special bond they shared, one that never failed to bring a smile to your face. Rhysand placed a comforting hand on Azriel's shoulder as he stood closer to his brother. "It'll be okay, brother. She's home now. You're by her side, and she's going to be well cared for," he said, letting his gaze rest on you.

Rhysand could only hope his words would provide some comfort to Azriel. He, too, worried that his sister might not be the same person she once was. He feared that the radiant smile she wore might no longer light up the rooms as it used to. He was terrified that you would be a mere shell of your former self, or that you would no longer know how to function. Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention as he saw you stir slightly before your eyes snapped open, and a loud scream tore through the room.

Azriel and Rhysand stepped back, shielding Madja with their bodies. Something about you appeared almost animalistic and foreign. Your eyes held no light in them, only a burning rage as darkness enveloped your body. "Y/N?" Azriel called out. Something in the room came to a halt, as if time itself had frozen. The room fell silent, and the two boys were too scared to breathe, their eyes wide with fear. Your head snapped towards them.

Something flickered in your eyes, perhaps recognition? They softened, as if you were begging for help. But in an instant, the look vanished. Instead, anger and fear filled your eyes as you pushed yourself to the edge of the bed, distancing yourself from them. Your breathing quickened as Azriel attempted another step towards you. With a snarl, you made him stop, and shadows clung to your body, as if protecting you from them. "Who are you?" you spat, keeping your eyes fixed on both of them.

Did you truly not remember who they were? They exchanged glances and then looked back at you, their faces creased with concern. In your eyes, they were strangers, and strangers you were prepared to defend yourself against.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the first part of this series, I can't wait to begin this journey with all of you!

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian #elain archeron #morrigan #mating bond #acotar fandom #acotar series #fluff #angst #reader insert #sarah j maas

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sgiandubh · 2 months

Text

Whisky, gin and beer

It was always going to be about beer, too - not only whisky and gin. And it was probably designed to be a simultaneous project, that might have been postponed for various reasons: funny how all those intelligent people across the street forget everything about COVID, when it does not fit their agendas. And by COVID, I do not mean only the prolonged lockdowns, but first and foremost the worldwide logistics crisis, with compromised supply chains and overall a huge blow on the transports' sector.

In fact, looking at those trademark websites, it becomes evident that first (now abandoned) trademark application for beer was filed in at the same time as the one for whisky, on December 28, 2018:

Separate categories, as per US regulations, need separate filings, of course. And beer is a brilliant, simple idea, with high quality local ingredients (it's really barley, water, hops and yeast) relatively easy to source. Well, spare perhaps for the hops, but that is not really a problem, anymore:

(Source: the James Hutton Institute's booklet Hops in Scotland, 2018 - well, then. The institute is based in Dundee, by the way, so I think they know exactly what they are talking about, especially after a four year long feasibility study with encouraging results: https://www.hutton.ac.uk/news/scottish-hops-viable-commercial-crop-hutton-research-finds)

As I always make a point of reminding anyone, this page does not deal in fantasy and empty, meaningless scouring of social media accounts. And cackle to your heart's content, Mordor, but S seems to have a genuine, informed interest in the industry, as shown above.

This is a different business plan and a different marketing model, based on affordable production costs and yield/volume (as compared to successive, 'limited batches' of tequila or whisky, where the accent is placed on the excellence of the product and know-how, as reflected in the final price tag). You can bottle that beer or you can sell it on tap, partnering with local bars and pubs first, then progressively extending that network. And I bet the farm it is going to be a premium, artisanal beer first, with options open for a more democratic product, once brand awareness is properly built: beer is versatile, like that.

Whisky and gin were expensive, carefully curated pet projects. Beer is a fun, easy and lucrative one, with a wider clientele and fast growing potential. And this is how that unknown, struggling Scottish actor who once was the face of Tennent's has a fair opportunity to strike it big. To be followed, which I might do. And this is also how his products could cover the entire price range, from luxury to affordable.

It is also always disheartening to see how all those bitter women congregating on certain Tumblr pages feel the need to dismiss anything he does. As I always said and I always will, many of them have no idea about the very basics of business and trade, no exposure to that world and, to be honest, no particular intellectual acuity. Plus I bet the farm many of them lie about their own circumstances: it's easy to pretend, on the Internet and always sexier (and lame, of course) to introduce yourself as a corporate whatever than a secretary. But I wonder how would they feel, in the unlikely situation they would be running their own lemonade stand, if passers by started cackling and bitching about their trade, out of the blue.

So, all in all, we seem to be dealing with some careful preparation, portfolio diversification and yes, taking much needed strides away from McGrandma. To be continued, of course...

PS: FMN Gin, still crickets? Ahhh...

#fandom #shitshow #booze wars

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pancakes4two · 2 years

Note

Can we get something where she's not famous and not big on social media and has an ig that is super super private like less than 100 followers and harry being one of them and fans noticing the private account that harry mysteriously started following

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS CONCEPT it’s so creative ty anon my brain has been overflowing with ideas ever since i saw ur message 🫶 face claim is devon lee carlson again!

NEXT PART | MASTERLIST | SEND ME A REQUEST

hsdaily

234,627 likes

hsdaily Harry recently followed this account on Instagram!

View all 35,111 comments

harryfan HUHHHHHH

harrystan1 the profile pic is an unseen right?? that’s harry???

harryfan2 who is this person… harries get sleuthing

harrygirl1 so confused why he’s following this acc with 29 followers and why he’s in the profile pic

harryfan3 maybe gemma or anne’s priv acc? who’s the girl in the picture tho?

harryfan4 has he ever mentioned being friends with a Y/N before

harryfan5 no

yourinstagram

Liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and 10 others

yourinstagram there’s a piece of you in how i dress… 🍒

View all 5 comments

gemmastyles What is this!!! What’s happening?

yourinstagram my bff from high school is the creative director for réalisation & she’s letting me do a capsule collection with her 🥹🥹🥹🥹

gemmastyles OMG! SO excited for you!

harrystyles I see what you did there.

realisationpar

Liked by gemmastyles and 9,823 others

realisationpar You’re gonna want this in your closet. 🍒❤️ Dreamgirl Y/N wears the cutest, cherry print milkmaid dress. Designed as part of her limited edition capsule collection, available now on our website.

View all 2,831 comments

instagramuser so cute!

instagramuser1 hiii check dms please i have a question about sizing!

harrystan wait they tagged @.yourinstagram that priv account that harry follows

harrystan1 woah you’re right

harryfan not to scare everyone but… when u go to buy this dress it’s listed on the website as “THE STYLES”

harryfan1 so she named a CHERRY print dress after harry?? the plot thickens

harryfan2 ALSO on my phone it’s showing that gemma liked this post too

harryfan3 wtf does he have a secret girlfriend???

enews

1,828,999 likes

enews WHO THE FUCK IS YOURINSTAGRAM?

The internet’s newest big mystery is the identity of Y/N, the unknown girl who appeared in a Réalisation Par campaign and is followed by only 29 people on Instagram—one of which is Harry Styles. Harry’s fans have scoured the internet looking for information on her identity, but nothing has been uncovered so far. Who is Y/N? is the question of the month. No one knows her, but we all want to be her.

View all 45,100 comments

harryfan someone needs to take one for the team and bring a who tf is yourinstagram sign to a show

harryfan1 you know it’s serious when harrie drama makes it to enews

harryfan2 this will be on deuxmoi by morning

yourinstagram

Liked by harrystyles and 18 others

yourinstagram i love our little secret 🔒🤎

View all 6 comments

harrystyles Take you with me every time I go away, in a hotel using someone else’s name ❤️

kidharpoon You commenting your own lyrics on your girlfriend’s post is just embarrassing.

mitchrowland Gross.

jefezoff Pathetic!

harrystyles Leave me alone.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles social media #harry styles headcanon #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fake social media

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unidentifiedmammal · 1 year

Text

Alrighty so this is the post on lichen dyes!

this particular bath of lichen dyes was originally started over a year ago scraping a tentatively-ID'd lecanora and/or ochrolechia genus lichen off of a fallen branch (remember, don't gather lichen when it's still growing! it's very slow growing and easy to overharvest)

to start off, this particular type of dye is made through the ammonia-fermentation method, also known as ammonia maceration. No actual bacterial fermentation occurs though. Rather, the compound orcinol (and precursor compound to orcinols) react with ammonia (N2) and oxygen to form the compound orcein (also called orchil/archil) which is what makes the final dye!

this process takes anywhere from 3 weeks to 16+ weeks depending on the lichen species, its constituent acids, the temperature, and the frequency of aeration.

This batch was set aside for several months and neglected a good bit, but it still works. I strained out the crumbled lichens (which i set aside for later) and diluted it 1:4 as instructed by a very good book called Lichen Dyes: The New Source Book by Karen Diadick Casselman. This book is basically omnipresent everywhere you see lichen dyes mentioned, especially the orcein-based dyes. I also used several websites/videos/papers and such that i've hunted down over various internet crawls.

I use an old coffee pot for this as it's both a non-reactive material (glass) and is built to withstand heat. Ironically i also scraped the lichens off the branch using a tool i made out of a metal band from the broken handle of this same coffee pot!

I decided to dye some eri silk cakes that i fluffed up and scoured. these have been very good at absorbing dye in the past so i would hopefully get a good result from them. As lichens are a substantive dye i don't have to put a mordant on them, but i did soak them in an alum solution just before adding them to the dye bath to hopefully maximize dye uptake as well as improve fastness as lichen dyes are also fugitive and can fade in sunlight.

Substantive dyes contain mordants already embedded in them; fugitive dyes are a bit fuzzy to me but my understanding is they end up trapped in the fiber instead of actually bonding to the fiber in a stronger way. Mordants are used to help the dye "bite" onto the fiber better, improving both fastness (the ability of a due to resist fading from sunlight/washing/time) and the brightness of a color. Alum is useful in that it typically doesn't affect the end color of a dye more than simply making it slightly more strong!

it was pretty successful i'd say! i warmed up the dyebath, added the silk, let it simmer for a few hours, let it cool down overnight, and then warmed it back up the next day for a few hours; then, when it cooled, i took it out, let it dry, then rinsed it, and let it dry a second time. At that point, it was ready for spinning!

It was a lovely pink color that's not fully captured by the camera like most dyes, and eri silk is lovely because you can spin the clouds directly and easily without carding and make lovely relatively threadlike yarn

this was the first skein i got! i love how shiny the silk is. Some dyes can get really purple or even magenta-like!

next, i had the leftover lichens that i had set aside. They were a crumbly texture and dark black and i dried them out, crushed them up more, set them back in a jar, added more ammonia and water, and did the ammonia fermentation method a second time! this was after reading about the method for making french purple, and while this is definitely a very pale imitation of the method, the double-soak is the key feature here

here it is (on the left); it was already way darker purple than an in-progress lichen dye i had yet to crack open and use

speaking of which, heres a shot of various test lichens i had while working on this, you can see the blue-capped jar that has the second-soaked lichens. the foam will often give a preview of whether or not the dye will be red/purple or not!

Here it is, i forget how long i let it soak but i think it was a bit over a week. i strained the material out, diluted it, and then repeated the same warm/cool/warm/cool/dry/rinse/dry method with more eri silk

And below you can see the difference, it's definitely slight but still cool!

the left is from the original dyebath, the right is the second-soaked one. the first one is more salmon-colored while the second is a tad more blue-purpled!

I'm extremely excited about this, these dyes have such a fascinating history and have multiple historical uses everywhere from florentine orchil to norwegian korkje to scottish cudbear and more, and it was often used in tandem with the roman murex/tyrian purple dyes that come from a mussel. Some folks used the lichens to pre-dye the fabric before dyeing with tyrian purple, both to stretch the expensive tyrian purple and to make the end color more vibrant. It's all such a great topic that's mightily confusing and could take up a post of its own, same with the underlying chemistry of what makes these dyes work in the first place!

Anyways that's all for this post, i have more i'm working on involving actually turning these dyes into paint that i'll hopefully turn into a post on its own soon! I've also got other lichen dyes I'm waiting to get through the ammonia fermentation process that will hopefully give other colors, whenever that may be!

#lichen dyes #ammonia fermentaion #handspinning #natural dyes #eri silk #yarnmaking #fiber arts #vegetable dyes #orcinol #art #orcein #archil #crafts #yarn #silk #drop spindle

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daisies-and-domming · 2 years

Note

Hey!! Would you do a sub!billy hargrove/dom!reader smut? Thank u <3

Boy Next Door (NSFW)

S3 spoilers in my author’s note, and vague reference to how S2 ends!!

Summary: You’ve lived in the trailer park nearly your entire life, long enough to know that nothing in Hawkins was ever normal. So when the new king of the school starts dropping by your trailer at ungodly hours, you don’t even blink - why would you? Weirder shit’s happened here, and you’re certainly not complaining either, not when the king decides to get on his knees for you.

Warnings: swearing, smut, dom!reader, reader has an undefined hole, p in said undefined hole, sub!billy, oral (reader receiving), frottage(?), edging, praise, little bits of degradation (reader calls billy “slut” and talks condescendingly at some points), unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it kids!!), a lil bit of a breeding kink, billy likes when reader pulls on his hair <3

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

Oh my god anon I didn’t know I needed sub!billy until you sent this in and now I’m scouring the website for more… I’m a whore for subby men, what can I say 🤷 He’s a little ooc but I firmly believe that billy is secretly a soft with people he trusts - sure, he’s mean to max, but I think that’s because he doesn’t want her involved in his life of alcohol and flirting - and I’ll die on that hill. This is set between S2 and S3, but in my universe billy doesn’t die during S3 anyways because I’m the author and I said so >:O Anyways, I had so much fun writing this, thank you for the request!! It takes like 1000 words to get to the smut, I’m so sorry ;-; But the smut is like 2000 some words, so hopefully that makes up for it ahaha I went batshit

– – –

You’ve lived in this dinghy trailer park in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, your entire conscious life. When your parents were really drunk (which, in all honesty, was far more often than you were willing to admit) they would talk about their “golden days”: when your parents were something other than full-time alcoholics, living in the suburbs of Cleveland in a nice neighbourhood. You were told you were born there, in that nice suburb house near the coast of one of the great lakes, but you’ve never had the nerve to ask what happened that landed them here, in Hawkins.

But Ohio was none of your concern now. There were supernatural beings practically on your doorstep and the only people that seemed to care were the children that your friend Steve seemingly adopted, which would make for a good movie. But the fact that a ragtag bunch of kids were the ones saving your very real world left a nauseating pit in your stomach. Sure, the angry buzz cut kid who they called “Eleven” put an end to the last thing that came after Hawkins, but something tells you this was just the beginning. No matter. At the moment, you had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that there’s a soft knocking on your door, despite the little analog clock reading a blinking “2:34am”.

Peering through the peephole, a clearly drunk Billy Hargrove stood, wobbling slightly. You’d seen him around school - it’s hard not to when he drives a flashy car and insists on poking at Steve - but certainly hadn’t spoken to him before. Opening the door slightly, you make eye contact with the man in question.

“Hi,” you say, tentatively. “Can I help you?”

“l/n!!” he slurs, eyes lighting up. “What’re y’doin in my trailer?”

You frown at him. “This is where I live, dipshit. Your trailer is more than a few down.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” he said, nudging at you. “Lemme in, will ya?”

You stood firm, skeptical. “Why should I?”

“Because,” he drawls. “You’re pretty, I’m pretty, we should do pretty people stuff together.”

You snort, but move to the side. You didn’t know what his home life was like, but, nevertheless, sending him away in the middle of the night, piss drunk, was dumb. If he had gotten hurt on the way back to his trailer because you had sent him away you would never forgive yourself. Sure, he seemed like a pretentious douchebag, but even pretentious douchebags deserve a chance. Besides, the ‘rents were out, which meant there wouldn’t be any “did you use protection?” or “you aren’t pregnant, are you?” questions the following morning.

“l/n,” Billy whined out, making you turn in time to see him flop onto your couch. “Why aren’t we doin’ pretty people stuff yet?”

You shut and lock the door, plopping yourself down on the floor in front of the couch in an attempt to set an unspoken boundary. “Because you’re drunk. You’re welcome to come over here sober some time and try this whole song and dance then, but I believe in full consent when doin’ that tango. You’re inebriated, so no ‘pretty people stuff’ for you tonight.”

He whined dramatically. “But that’s half the fun of getting drunk!!”

“God, you’re really drunk,” you say, wrinkling your nose at the smell. “We can talk if you want, but you’re not getting any tonight, lover boy.”

“Ooooh, you wanna hear about the crazy shit that Tina did at the party today??” – – –

This became a recurring event. Billy would go out and party, then come over, drunk out of his mind and strangely soft. You had learned a lot about him - about Max (who he seemed to truly care about, despite how he acted when sober), about his dickhead father, about his mother, about why he drowned himself in people and alcohol all the time. You weren’t sure why he chose to keep dropping by, but you weren’t too perturbed. In any other situation, you might even consider him your friend. But, you remind yourself, he’s always drunk or high or some combination of the two. You don’t make friends when you’re drunk. And you certainly don’t fall for them, either.

A knock resonated at your door and you froze, staring at the clock. It was 3:24pm on a Saturday afternoon, unless Steve had decided to give you a surprise visit there should be no one at the door.

“l/n! Open the goddamn door,” a voice rang out, one that you recognized immediately. “I don’t have all goddamn day!”

You stumble to the door, opening it embarrassingly quickly. “Hi???”

“Hey,” he said, shoving his way past you.

“Wait wait wait,” you said, spinning around to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What I normally do, dickbag,” Billy said, refusing to make eye contact. “We gonna talk or what?”

You close the door gently, clicking the lock almost tentatively. “You’re sober.”

A flash of hurt crossed his face, but he quickly covered it up. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“That - that’s not what I’m saying!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I just - I kinda figured you didn’t want to talk to me, normally. I’m not exactly your usual crowd.”

He groaned, running a hand over his face. “Look - how do I say this? I… don’t think you’re that shitty, or whatever. Sure, Tina’s a hot piece of ass, but if I tried to actually, I don’t fucking know, talk to her, she’d just laugh and tell me to ‘shut up’ or somethin’.”

“I don’t think you’re that shitty, either,” you say, slowly. “Is that all you wanted to talk about…? We could’ve done this on the porch.”

“It’s a trailer, there’s no goddamn porch,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes but still not making eye contact with you.

“You’re dodging,” you say, walking over to him and crowding him a bit. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I don’t want to go back home,” he said bluntly, still dodging your prying eyes. “Deadbeat dad is on a rampage again. Dropped Max off at the arcade and found myself here.”

You blink up at him and back up a bit, feeling awful for prying. “Shit man - sorry I pushed you. You’re welcome here whenever you want to escape your place, sober or not. Or if you just want to come over. You can bring Max, too, she seems nice!! My ‘rents are never around, like ever, and even when they are they’re drunk and hiding in their room, and there’s a key under the doormat in the back if you need an escape and I’m not here - though I’d be careful about my parents, they get pretty drunk sometimes too, it’s not pretty. That’s not the point though! Point is, you’re always welcome, I’m sorry for prying-”

He pushed you to the couch, a small smile on his face, and were his eyes a little teary?? “Shut up, loser. I got it, I’m welcome to be here. Not shocked, though, people love me, of course you’d want me around.”

You roll your eyes at his smirk, trying to tug him down to the couch. However, you hadn’t anticipated him resisting, and your knee jerk reaction was to just yank. He stumbled and landed on top of you, knees straddling your legs. He blinks at you, owlishly, face flushed and pupils beginning to dilate.

You grin up at him, jokingly winking. “Just where I wanted you, baby.”

“Can I- can I take you up on your previous offer?” he said, voice lacking its usual bravado and confidence.

“Previous offer as in…?”

“Sex,” he said, straightforward. “You said if I was sober we could fuck.”

“What eloquence, Mr. Hargrove,” you said. “And I believe we referred to it as ‘pretty people stuff.’”

“That’s a yes, yeah?” he said, hands resting on the couch on either side of your head.

“Aw, look at you, asking for consent,” you said, grinning up at him deviously. “Mmm…maybe if you beg me.”

He looked at you, incredulous. “If you think I’ll ever beg for something, you’ve got something coming-”

You cut him off, pulling him down into a harsh kiss. He groaned into the kiss, grinding down into your clothed sex. When he pulls away, he smirks down at you, cocky.

“You’re going to be the one begging for me, babe,” he said, head tilting. “So how ‘bout we hear it, hm?”

Well that wouldn’t do. Using all your strength, you flip your positions, grinding down on him once you’ve settled above him.

“If we’re doing this, baby boy,” you said, sultry. “We’re doing this my way, got it?”

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and began to grind down on him lightly.

“Come on, sweet thing,” you murmured against his lips, rolling your hips in a way that had his eyes rolling back. “You can be good for me, can’t you?”

“Mm- yeah, yes, I can be good for you,” he groaned. “Now get on with it, will you?”

You frown at him, faux pouting. “Thought you were gonna be good. But that’s fine, we can play that game, I don’t mind.”

He opened his mouth to object but was cut off when your grinding turned harsh and fast, his words turning into a breathy moan. He slapped a hand over his mouth but you weren’t having it.

“Listen here, Hargrove,” you growled. “You’re going to let me hear those pretty little sounds or you’re not going to come. Understand?”

“No way in hell-”

You reach a hand down to his straining cock and squeeze, hard, revelling in the way his head rolls back and his hips jerk up into your hand. His mouth opens and closes uselessly, and you lean your weight onto your knees so you can shove your fingers that aren’t cradling his cock right down his throat. He gags, eyes glazed and unfocused.

“God, look at you,” you groan, voice strained. “Made for this, made for me to use, huh?”

He tries to respond but all that comes out are choked moans, drool dribbling down his chin as he gags on your fingers. You other hand kickstarts, rubbing him not-so-nicely through his pants. He looked gorgeous like this: choking on your fingers, eyes unfocused, hips bucking uncontrollably into your harsh touches. God, you just want to drown yourself in the feeling of the power you had over this man, this man who insisted on so much control in his everyday life. But here he was, on your couch, gagging on your fingers like he never wanted anything else.

His bucking gets more erratic and his breaths get shorter, signalling an incoming orgasm. You paw at his cock a little harder, removing your fingers from down his throat so you could hear him when you tear his orgasm away from him.

“You wanna cum, baby?” you coo, letting your hips take over for your hand and grinding down on his clothed erection. “Wanna cum for me?”

“Yeah - gonna cum, gonna cum, let me cum-”

“No.”

His hips jolt upwards as you lift yourself from his lap, chasing after your heat. You smirk sadistically at him, chuckling at the glare he gives you in exchange for your denial.

“What the fuck?!” he yells, hands clenching at his sides (but not moving to change his predicament, you noted). “I was so fucking close, why would you-”

You put a finger on his lips, shushing him. “You were a brat earlier, so I’m treating you like one. Maybe if you get me off I will consider letting you come.”

“Yeah?” he said, still panting from his lost orgasm. “Yeah, I can fuckin’ do that.”

“Good,” you say, getting up. “Get on your knees in front of the couch.”

He snorted at first, but his face contorted when he realised you were serious. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? You’re not going to get me on my knees, sweetheart.”

“Then you’re not going to cum,” you said matter-of-factly. “Eat me out on your knees like the little slut you are or you don’t get to cum.”

His nose scrunched up angrily but he moved to get down in front of the couch. “There. That make your sick little heart happy?”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy brat we wouldn’t be here in the first place,” you said, discarding your pants and undergarments god knows where. “Don’t touch without permission, m’kay?”

He growled but kept his hands obediently at his side. In spite of all his back talk, Billy didn’t ever make a move to take control. He wants this, you realise, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

“How cute,” you coo, pinching his cheek as you settle yourself in front of him. “Now eat me out - no hands though, baby. Just put your pretty little mouth to better use for me, mhm?”

He begrudgingly folds his hands behind his back and buries himself in your hole. Your head rolls back, a low groan escaping your mouth. If he wasn’t drowning himself in you he might see your composure slipping, but he seemed just as out of it as you. Hips jerking up into nothing, hands clasped behind his back, face red and teary, Billy looked like so fucking good that you felt yourself clenching around his tongue, rolling your hips into his lapping.

“God… so good with that tongue, baby, shit - keep doing that, y-yeah, just like that,” you blabber out, a hand flying to grip at his hair. You give an experimental tug and grin when he moans, breathy and high.

“Y-yeah? You want me to tug on your - ngh - hair? Shove you deeper into me?” you say, chuckling lowly when he nods into you. “Your wish is my command, sweet thing.”

You could feel your orgasm drawing nearer as Billy’s talented tongue ruined your insides. His movements were precise, even without the use of his hands, and when he nicked your sweet spot you came, clamping your thighs around his head as you tugged harshly on his hair.

Panting, you try to regain enough composure to address Billy. “God, sweetheart, your so fucking good with your tongue.”

“Yeah?” he said, tone cocky despite the straining bulge in his jeans. “You gonna let me use you now? I know you want it darlin’, you can’t keep pretending to have contr - mph!”

You yanked him up in a kiss, effectively shutting him up. Your legs were a little shaky from your previous orgasm but you were stubborn: there’s no way in hell after all this you would give Billy the satisfaction of fucking into you.

“Get on the goddamn couch,” you said, panting as you pulled away. “I’m going to ride you until all you can think of is me.”

“Fuck, pretty thing,” he groans, dropping onto the couch. “You better hold true to that or I might have to take over.”

“If you think you have a say in how this goes you’re dead wrong,” you said, straddling his hips. “You don’t cum until I say, got it baby?”

“Easy peasy,” he said, ever the fucking brat. “Think you can hold it sweets? Because I can guarantee that you’ll be creaming around my cock in no time.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, unimpressed as you help him wiggle out of his jeans and underwear. “Whatever you need to help you sleep at night.”

“You scared you can’t take it - shit!” he moans, cock twitching as you sink down on him in one slide. “Fuck, you gotta give a man a warning-”

You don’t. Bouncing up and down on his cock at a harsh pace, your trailer is filled with the lewd sound of skin slapping skin. You’re sure the neighbours can tell what you two are doing - hell, the whole trailer park probably knew - but you didn’t have the heart to care. His cock stretched you wide, so goddamn girthy that every bounce had white bouncing at the edge of your vision.

Billy wasn’t much better. He had a death grip on your hips, finger-shaped bruises already forming. Tongue sticking out, eye half-lidded and staring up at you reverently, Billy was a fucked out mess already and you’d just started.

“Mmngh, feelin’ good, pretty boy? God… just look at you, takin’ - ungh - t-takin’ it so goddamn well, shit,” you said, still slamming yourself down on his cock like your life depended on it.

“Mmm, fuck, please, please please please-”

You couldn’t even tell what he was begging for anymore. “What do you - ngh - what do you need, babe - fuck, just like that pretty thing - huh? Got to be specific, darlin’ - god…”

“Cum,” he moans out, eyes shut tightly as he bucks into you. “Need t’ fuckin’ cum!”

You clench around him as he bucks, eyes rolling back a bit. “Ngh, yeah? You wanna cum? Wanna fill my pretty little hole - ahn, do that again, jesus - fill my pretty little hole with your cum?”

“Yeah, shit. Gonna let me?”

“Mhmm, I don’t know…” you said, pretending to ponder like you weren’t desperate to feel him fill you up. “Have you been - jesus fucking christ - have you been good?”

“‘ve been good!!” he wails, eyes teary as he stares up at you. “Been so good, such a good boy, please let me cum, please, jus’ wanna be you good boy, please please please!”

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, you hadn’t expected him to beg in return. Slowing down a bit, your bounces send him slow and deep, causing you to clench. His eyes cross and his grip on the couch turns his knuckles white, trying so goddamn hard to hold himself back.

“You can cum,” you groan, his cock rutting against your sweet spot just right. “You can cum, baby, cum with me, want you to cum with me-”

Your vision goes white and you clench, gripping his cock harshly. He near screams, fucking himself up into you as he came. You both melt into each other, a panting, post-orgasm mess tangled on the couch. When your brain was finally back online, you winch, gently sliding his softened cock out of you.

“Fuck, really did a number on me,” Billy murmured, ragdolled on the couch looking like he never wanted to move. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Fuck off, Hargrove,” you say, trying your best to walk (or waddle, rather) your way to the kitchen to start cleaning off.

“You love me and you know it!”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it. God, he was such a doofus. You couldn’t believe that the rest of the school considered him the king, but maybe your friendship was something special. You sure hoped so - you were certain he wasn’t just submitting himself to anyone, after all.

“Where the fuck did you go, dickhead? The great Billy Hargrove demands cuddles!”

God, he was such a dork sometimes. You snort, but make your way back to the living room, water bottle and damp washcloth in hand.

“Have patience, great Billy,” you said, handing him the water bottle before gently cleaning him up. “Great things come for those who wait.”

“Oh shut up,” he said, melting into your touch. “I didn’t come here for you to philosophise.”

“Course, course,” you say, jokingly. “Okay, all done. Let’s pick up all our shit and go to my room, yeah? Really don’t want my parents to come home and find us naked in the living room.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re boring,” he jokes, wobbly as he stands to help you grab your discarded clothes. “Half the fun is getting caught.”

“Perv,” you shot back.

“Says the one who rode me on their parents' couch.”

“Ew!! Don’t fucking say that, I don’t want to think about my parents in the afterglow!”

“You’re the one who brought them up!” “Yeah, because I don’t want them involved in my post-orgasmic haze!!” you say, exasperated. “Cmon, this way.”

Dumping your clothes unceremoniously on the floor, you lock the door and drag Billy towards your bed. Wordlessly, the two of you melt into each other. You’d worry about sneaking him out under your parents’ radar later - right now, you had much more pressing concerns.

Word Count: 3374

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