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hogwartsfirebolt · 8 months ago

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the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

#quidditch rivals but ohh they’re secret lovers bet NOBODY saw that coming #kinda unsure about the tone shift at the end but ITS LATE I’m sorry ok #I just wanted earnest Harry which is MY FAVORITW THING #drarry #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #my writing #mywriting

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avatar-anna · 1 year ago

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It's Hard When We Argue

You quietly walked downstairs into the kitchen, a fuzzy blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You felt hungover, like your entire body had been put through the ringer even though you hadn't had a sip of alcohol last night. For a moment, your chest tightened with anticipation, not sure if you were dreading or hoping Harry would be in the kitchen. He wasn't, but from the kitchen window, you could see the back of his head as he sat on the back porch.

Your mind returned to last night briefly, all the harsh words you shouted at each other and the tears that were shed. You'd never felt so angry and frustrated and hurt in your life, at least not with Harry. He was the one person you could always feel safe and comfortable with. You knew couples fought, you knew that disagreements happened, but that wasn't you and Harry. Maybe you were naive enough to think that you and Harry were so in sync that you would never argue, or at least have a huge blowout argument like the one you had last night, but it had been so smooth sailing since you got together.

Before you went outside, you fixed up two cups of coffee, making sure one of them was the way Harry liked it. You took both of them outside, keeping the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Harry didn't even look up when the glass door opened and closed. He's still mad, you thought. He's so angry he won't even look at me.

"Coffee?" you asked, voice scratchy and raw.

"Mm. Sure, thanks."

Tears welled in your eyes. Here you were, trying to extend an olive branch and talk about your fight last night, and he wouldn't even look at you. Harry stayed sitting on the porch swing, one hand covering his mouth as he looked out at the yard in front of him. Just days ago, you were daydreaming about playing with future kids in that same backyard, and now...Now you didn't know what the future held.

"I think we should talk—"

"Y/n, I really don't think that I can right now," Harry said, running a tired hand over his face. He had bags under his eyes, and his facial hair was more grown out and unkempt than usual. He looked exhausted. And upset. And you didn't know what to do to bridge the yawning gap between you.

"O—Okay," you said, trying to hide the fact that you were on the verge of tears. "Are you—"

"I'm gonna go for a run," he said quickly, pushing off on his knees and standing up.

Harry turned and saw you standing with the two cups of coffee in your hands, one of which he had still yet to take. His face softened a fraction then, his hand reaching out like he wanted to rest it on your shoulder, but he stopped halfway before walking around you and heading out. You flinched when the door slammed shut, tears finally leaking out of your eyes.

Everything was so messed up. You hated this icy tension that was growing between you and Harry, and you worried you wouldn't be able to fix things. Harry was the stubborn type, he always had been, but you'd never seen him be so cold toward you. It killed you.

With Harry out of the house, all you were able to do was think about the argument.

It started out so small, so inconsequential that you almost couldn't understand how you ended up here in the first place.

Harry had been coming home late recently, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but now that he was back from tour, you thought you would get to spend your nights together. But he kept coming home late, and you were never much of a night owl, so it just felt like he was doing it on purpose. You missed him, that was all. All you wanted was to spend time with your boyfriend. To talk about your day and ask him about his and cuddle up together in bed.

"Are you avoiding me?" you asked when he came home late again. Perhaps it wasn't the best way to broach the subject, but you made a mistake by scrolling on Twitter where rumors always ran rampant, so you were a little more upset than normal.

Harry obviously didn't respond well to the harsh accusations you were throwing at him, despising how you jumped to the absolute worst conclusions. He accused you of not trusting him even though you did, but he wouldn't listen, and you couldn't find a way to say you just wanted him around more, not when anger had sunk so deep in the heat of the argument. The argument devolved from there until you went to your separate corners—you to the bedroom and Harry downstairs, presumably on the couch. There were so many cruel accusations thrown around, and so many more things left unsaid, but maybe last night had gone too far. Maybe this was it, and Harry was avoiding the most difficult conversation of all—the breakup conversation.

So you did what you should've done last night. You were going to avoid it altogether.

You anxiously cleaned up around the house for a while, scrubbing down countertops and vacuuming floors and folded laundry, tears occasionally leaking out of your eyes the longer Harry stayed out. You knew he could run for ages, especially when he was in a mood, but you couldn't sit around and wait for him to come back and tell you he wanted to take a break or break up or pick up right where you left off the night before.

Quickly and with shaking hands, you went upstairs and began to pack, tossing things in your overnight bag haphazardly. Some of it could've been yours, and some of it might've been Harry's, you weren't really paying attention, you just needed to get out for a while. If Harry could run, so could you.

Your last step was slipping into your shoes, which you kept by the front door. You were balancing on one foot trying to get your shoe on when the front door opened. Harry breezed in, running shorts high up on his thighs and baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, which were covered by sunglasses. He was so focused on whatever was playing in his airpods that he nearly bumped into you.

"Sorry, I wasn't—Where are you going?" Harry asked, eyeing the bag at your feet.

"I think I'm gonna stay at my mom's for a few days," you said, picking the bag up and hiking it over your shoulder.

"What—Why?"

He looked frantic as he took a step toward you, but you took one back. "It's clear to me that you need space, so I'm just going to step back and let you—"

"See, you're doing it again. You're assuming," Harry said, taking his hat off to run his hand through his hair. "Y/n, if we are going to be in a relationship together, I need you to talk to me, not just assume what I'm thinking."

"I—I'm sorry," you said, realizing he was right. Your assumptions were what got you into this mess. It was so easy for you to get lost in your own head sometimes. "I said things that I shouldn't have last night, and this morning you couldn't even look at me, and I—"

"Y/n," Harry said, effectively cutting you off. He took his sunglasses off, and you got a good look at his eyes for the first time since last night. They were red and watery, like he'd spent his entire run crying. Seeing him so upset made your heart squeeze with guilt. You didn't mean for all of this to happen, but you didn't know how to find your way out of it, either. "I hate that we fought last night. You're not the only one who said shitty things. I—I feel awful. I couldn't stand to see you so upset but I was still a little frustrated from last night and I didn't want the first thing I said to you this morning be something that would lead to another argument. I'm sorry that you thought I wanted you to leave. I don't."

"You promise?"

Harry stepped toward you again and this time you didn't step back, letting him take your face in his hands. "I know I got defensive and things got out of hand, but I heard you, and you were right. Not about the avoiding you part, but I...have been absent, and I'm sorry for that too. I just...you know I hate the cheating accusations. I would never cheat on you, Y/n. Ever."

You nodded, knowing he was right. Accusing Harry of cheating was a low blow, one you resorted to so he would hurt the way you did. He'd called you insecure and needy and that you weren't his mother and didn't need to report to you about his whereabouts all the time. It made your blood boil, seeing as all you wanted was to spend quality time with your boyfriend after so much time apart. So you went for the jugular. You hated yourself for using an insecurity he confided in you about against him, hated that it had its desired effect.

Nodding, you said, "B—But why have you been gone so much?" you asked. "I thought after the tour was over you would...be around more."

Harry took you by the hand and led you away from the door, taking your bag from you and tossing it away unceremoniously and muttering about you leaving being ridiculous. It made you giggle, which felt good after a night of feeling absolutely awful. You thought he was going to lead you to the couch, but he brought you over to the kitchen instead, taking you by surprise when he hoisted you up on the counter.

"I haven't cheated on you, I swear," Harry repeated. "I've been—I can't tell you what I've been doing, but I need you to trust that it's all been for a good reason. Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me, my love?"

You shook your head. Now you were dying to know what he was up to all the nights he stayed out late, but despite the argument last night, you trusted Harry.

"I don't like it when we fight," you said softly, playing with the pearl ring on his finger. "Can we agree to never do that again?"

Harry grinned before leaning forward to kiss you. Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck to hold him close. When he pulled back, he kissed the top of your head, then your cheek.

"I can't promise we'll never fight again, but I promise to fight and make up with you for the rest of my life. How's that sound?"

Your ears perked up, your thumb rubbing over his cheek. Both of you looked like wrecks, but you didn't want to run from him, and he wasn't running away from you, either. It was a bad night. Maybe there would be more, but Harry was right. If you had to argue every once in a while with someone, it might as well be him.

"You don't really think I'm needy, do you?" you asked. It was the last wrinkle you needed to smoothe over before everything was set to rights.

Harry shook his head, picking you up off the counter and heading for the stairs. "If anyone's needy in this relationship, it's me."

"I think it's safe to say we're both pretty dependent," you mused, enjoying being so close to him after a night apart. He was a little sweaty from his run, but you didn't mind. You just wanted to feel his body against yours.

He set you down in the master bathroom connected to your shared bedroom, turning the water on in the shower while you quickly got undressed and helped him out of his clothes. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as your fingers traced the hard planes of his stomach, admiring all the curves and ridges and smiling when goosebumps appeared under his skin.

Harry leaned down to kiss you, but you stopped him just before he could, placing your fingers over his lips. "I know you said it was for a good reason, and I believe you, but you—are you able to come home earlier? At least just a few days out of the week? I—I miss falling asleep next to you."

"Of course," he said. A look flashed across his face that you couldn't read, but it was gone before you could make sense of it, replaced by a cheeky grin as he pulled you into the shower with him.Trust me, by the time the day is over, you're gonna be sick of me."

Giddiness spread through your whole body, replacing every horrible and awful feeling that had lingered from the night before. With one hand on his chest, you pushed Harry up against the cool tile wall of the shower, reaching up on your toes to kiss him hard. The water made your bodies slippery, and the steam made you both a little breathless, but you didn't care, you just wanted to feel him, breathe him in deep, never let him go.

This secret Harry was keeping from you would most likely gnaw at the back of your mind until he eventually told you, but you would do your best to respect his wishes, to trust him like you said you did. Right now, you were content with the fact that despite the fight, he heard you, and you understood his side. That seemed like a good enough conclusion for you.

And maybe a little arguing wasn't so bad if each one ended just like this.

#harry styles #boyfriendrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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rainydayathogwarts · 1 year ago

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How they react when you tell them you're in the mood - Oliver Wood

this is a small series I’ll be uploading. I’ll post each character on its own, but the character i’ll be writing this for are: Harry, Ron, Percy, Oliver, Remus, Sirius, James.

oliver! is always ready to praise and worship your body no matter what time of the day it is, so when you come up to him after a successful Quidditch match, engulfing him in a big hug and standing on the tip of your toes so you can whisper in his ear how much you want him, he is ready to pounce.

You can barely close the door to the changing rooms before Oliver's lips are on your body, kissing every inch of skin he can reach. He's lucky the team prefers to shower in their dorms. His veiny hands are gripping your waist while he's nipping at your skin, hips grinding mercilessly into you. It's only your hands, relentlessly trying to tug his pants down his thighs that have him pulling away from you to take over the job. He strips down to nothing, but scolds you when you mimic his actions because he takes joy in taking your clothes off.

You turn away from him and teasingly bend forward when taking your panties off, and not nearly a second later, Oliver is on his knees, pulling you back onto his face as he devours your cunt. You cry out loudly, tightly gripping the lockers in the room, the thought of anyone walking in on you making you impossibly wetter. Oliver can tell when you're about to orgasm from the way your pussy clenches around his tongue so he pulls away, one hand coming up to smack your ass, eyes trained on the way it jiggles.

When you whine, starting to beg for more, Oliver wraps an arm around your wrist, pulling you along into one of the showers, where he lets the water run hot before pounding into you, his body pressing yours up against the wall. He's basically carrying you with the way one of your leg is propped up on his hip, the other trembling from the pressure. Your arms wrapped around his body keep him impossibly close to you and he grunts into the crook of your neck.

He gets sloppy with his strokes, but one hand comes down to urgently rub your clit, making sure you come before him. Your second leg gives out from under you when you finally orgasm, but his tight hold on your body keeps you up, and his hand picks your second leg up to wrap around his waist so he can use the momentum to make him go quicker, pulling a second orgasm from you while he cums inside you, hips erratically pumping into you while he whimpers quietly.

He holds you in his arms, using the wall as support while he catches him breath, pressing soft, and much less urgent kisses on your skin. He knows he can put you down when you leave a kiss on his jaw, one hand coming up to push his face closer to yours so you can kiss him properly.

After the celebratory party in the Gryffindor Tower, he pulls you up to his dorm for an inevitable round two.

#harry potter #hogwarts #gryffindor #oliver x reader #oliver wood #rainydayathogwarts #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood fanfiction #oliver wood x you #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfic #oliver wood smut

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cdragons · 9 months ago

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 3

Previous Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But goddamn, Oliver Quick was a fucking close runner-up.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, slight mention of blood, sexual harassment, Felix is delulu and kind of a pig, Reader just wants some fucking peace, Michael is Michael and the best, Oliver is Oliver (the worst)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and reblogged! I didn't expect this story to gain so many readers, and this was a challenging chapter to write - but only because there were some scenes I couldn't add because it would have gotten too long otherwise.

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

You really wanted to kick yourself in the pants for making such a fucking cheesy wish at night watching the stars with Michael.

Right now, you were leaning to rest your head against a bookshelf in a slant position. You had a splitting migraine that began from the moment you woke up and worsened with nausea from your tutorial. And you couldn’t even go back to your dorm for the rest of the day because your lab course for your gen-ed didn’t allow for absences.

“What’d she do now?” came a voice on your right.

You looked to the right and were blinded by a white and blue-striped button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into a pair of tan khaki pants.

Your knight-in-silver-framed glasses, Michael Gavey, everyone.

All the guy was missing was a pocket protector with pens and tape wrapped around the bridge, and he would have matched every bullied kid in every high school movie set in the 80s.

You turned around to lean your back against the bookshelves and slowly lowered yourself until your butt was parallel to your feet. Blowing the stray hairs out of your face, you remembered to take deep breaths to prevent you from blowing up at your only friend.

“No,” you sighed, “well – yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Do you love your classes? Yes. Was Daria Martin still your art teacher, and did she still like you? Yes. Are the rest of your teachers mostly assholes that think all Americans are Appalachian hill-billies? Also, yes. But were you still not excelling and scoring in the top ten after every exam? Naturally, no doubt about it.

But were you as invisible and unnoticed as you were before the break came? No. Did anyone with a pulse give you side-eyed glances after your stunt with the 24/7 shit-faced He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Pretty much, yes. Did most of your problems come from one mythic bitch in a 5’3” flesh suit that had the ‘Juicy’ logo plastered on her ass? Namely, one in particular, Annabel – who was your assigned student partner in your tutorial.

Was your new name among the student body now “Psycho Bitch”? …Unfortunately, yes.

…Okay, so this term has not been going as well as you had hoped during the break.

Annabel hated you – like hated-HATED you. And you had no idea why.

You were pretty sure you were less than blank air to her last term, but now she was determined to make your life a living hell. Last term, she skipped every other session to do whatever Annabel did. But now, it felt like she came to every tutorial for the opportunity to tear apart your work.

You’re pretty confident she was the one who started your new “name” about a few weeks ago when the weather began to warm up.

It’s not as if you were a stranger to being picked and prodded by the people born with silver spoons on their tongues and blessed with golden-tipped wings. You were a public-school kid from grades K-12 who went to Townsend Harris for those last four years. Townsend Harris High School was a public school, but make no mistake – it was just as full of the same bullshit hierarchy that made up every private school in Manhattan.

"Open the doors to all. Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct, and intellect."

What crock. You only survived those years because every kid knew that your dad was an NYU professor who knew the Dean of Admissions of Columbia. You couldn’t recall how often you wished you had joined your friends at Flushing High or even Bayside.

However, regardless of the snide snarks and bullshit snickers pointed at you, you were left alone for the most part.

Sure – it sucked; that goes without saying. It was naïve of you to assume that people would grow out of the need for drama once they walked through the ivory doors and marble floors of higher education. It was stupid of you to think that everyone would forget about your outburst at Bodleian while they were getting drunk on the New Year.

And while Annabel was one migraine-inducing problem, she wasn’t the worst part of returning. No, that title belonged to her boyfriend, a whole other can of monkeys.

The worst part – the worst part of EVERYTHING – was how Felix fucking Catton was incapable of just leaving you the hell alone. It was like he had a little antenna sticking out of his head specifically for you whenever the two of you were within a ten-foot radius of him. Everywhere you went, it was as if you had a giant blinking arrow above you screaming, “Felix Catton’s New Toy”!

No, you were less than a toy – you were a joke, a gimmick.

God, you should have just stuck to your original plan and applied to any SUNY school that would have accepted you without even looking at your application.

But no, your good-Samaritan-obsessed college counselor called your parents and complained that you weren’t “putting yourself out there” enough. And now you were over thirty-four hundred miles away from home, stuck with the worst people ever. It was like a thousand tiny prickles were running on your skin as your mind filled with static.

Whenever Felix called out to you, it was to invite you to a party or get wasted. One time, he walked up to you insanely plastered and invited you for a quickie in the men’s bathroom. You were in an empty lecture hall since your usual spot in the library was taken, and Michael was still in class, so you didn’t see the point in trying to find an open spot.

Somehow – without you noticing – the guy plopped himself next to you and asked if there were any rooms in the building where he could smoke a joint in.

“Pretty sure you could open the window in the bathroom to smoke in there,” you replied absentmindedly.

And then he put his hand ON YOUR THIGH, leaned to your ear to whisper, “Wanna get out of here to join me? We don’t have only to get high.”

You grabbed all your shit and booked it – out of the building and all the way to your dorm to take a shower that lasted for around twenty minutes. You wanted to get rid of the smell of nicotine and overpriced aftershave. The scent of him on your skin made you wish you could tear it off.

And in your panic, you left your bike at the building’s entrance.

When you returned to retrieve it, it was after dark, and you recruited Michael as your tall and bony human shield.

“Do not ever walk home alone at night,” your mom told you every morning you left for school.

You tried not to think about the haunted look in her eyes each time she told you.

“Wanna skip the dining hall tonight? We can walk to Crowley Street and order take-out at that Pakistani place you like so much.”

Oh, that perked you right up. Jannahs Express was a broke college student’s paradise. The food was cheap, and the owners took pity on the international students. It was slightly more expensive in the UK, but it was the closest you could find with food on par to Kababish on Broadway in Queens. You stifled a laugh remembering the sight of Michael drinking the entire pitcher of water after you dared him to try a dish at ‘regular.’

“Seriously? Do you think you could take more than ‘English-mild’?” you asked as you stood up. “How did you survive your mom’s cooking for so long? She made us Indian food on our last night.”

“Mum grew up in London, and she had neighbors teach her how to make it the traditional way. You’re the only person who could take that level. Lilypad and I got Dad’s taste buds.”

Choking on your spit from laughing at the image of Gregory Gavey’s face turning firetruck red, you felt the migraine slowly disappear.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. God, I can’t imagine the look on his face when –”

A familiar voice that left a bitter taste in your mouth after hearing interrupted your conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?”

You and Michael turned your heads to find Oliver Quick – Michael’s former friend, your former acquaintance – and the sight of him soured the mood instantaneously. You narrowed your eyes to dangerous slits to show your displeasure seeing him as one corner of your lip curled to show a sneer. You never liked the guy. There was just something about how he acted and presented himself. He had a profound desperation to impress everyone around him.

So much so that he immediately dropped Michael after becoming Felix Catton’s new pet. As evidenced by the oversized gray zip-up hoodie blanketing him. Felix’s, no doubt.

Fuck, you hated him.

“Ugh, what do you want?” you snapped, taking a bit of pleasure in seeing how your voice made him flinch.

“Look, can we –” his eyes hastily darted to Michael, then you, then behind him to make sure no one was watching him “– can we talk in private?”

Seriously? That’s how he wants to play this?

In the corner of your eye, you saw how tightly Michael clenched his fists. He was obviously still hurt from the time his ex-friend treated him like shit.

Oh, this will not do.

“Oliver,” you snarled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “whatever the hell you have to say to me, you can say in front of Michael.”

“Can you please not do this now?” he begged with pathetic eyes. How very in-character of him.

“Tick tock, Quick. Are you going to talk, or do I have to throw a drink in your face again? But this time, I’ll smash the glass on your face, too.”

Seeing the look on his face gave you almost a perverse sense of joy. Maybe this is why bullies exist.

“Do you think you’ll be at the pub sometime this week?”

What the fuck? Was he serious? His question caught you completely off-guard. You expected him to ask for notes or even help with homework, as his grades have slipped since becoming an official Felix Catton fanboy.

“At the pub – Oliver, when have I drunk alcohol in the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll turn nineteen this year, right? It’s only illegal if you’re under 18,” he tried to put out convincingly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you’re forgetting the part where I’m still an American citizen. Just because it’s legal for me to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to drink yet.”

“No one cares about that here!” he almost shouted. “Just come with me to the pub at King’s Arms for the next few nights.”

“No fucking way,” you scoffed. “My parents would kill me if they found out I drank on a school night. Also, in case you forgot, we still have our test tomorrow in History. And I, for one, don’t need to get sloshed every night to feel important.”

Michael tugged on your sleeve and nodded at the small crowd forming around you three. You sighed in silence, agreeing that it wasn’t worth it. You both tried to walk away, but you were grabbed and stumbled back, which caused you to drop your books.

“Ow! Are you kidding–” but a wince broke your complaint as Oliver’s hold on your arm tightened to a painful grip. Your eyes traveled to his face, and you were shocked to see the anger shining in his eyes.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he grit out. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

The way his nails dug into your skin made you curse under your breath. Seeing you in pain broke Michael out of his shock at how someone as meek as Oliver Quick could show so much aggression. He rushed to get him off you.

“Are you fucking mental?” he hissed at Oliver once he managed to separate to two of you.

But Oliver’s nail left red scratch marks down to your wrist, even breaking the skin enough to cause little beads of blood to escape. This enraged Michael like you have never seen. Staring at the evidence of his former friend’s clawing, he walked forward and pushed him to the bookshelf before grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael yelled. “She already said no!”

You wiped the blood off your arm with an old travel tissue pack you stole from the plane you took from JFK to London last summer. God, everyone was staring at you guys now. You needed to find a way to contain the situation. If any staff catches you, all three of you may risk trouble. Trouble that would jeopardize your scholarships. You grabbed Michael’s hands to get him to loosen his grip.

“Look, I’ll hear you out–” you looked around and cringed at everyone’s stares, “–just not here.”

This calmed Oliver’s rage enough to get Michael to let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay – yeah. Let’s go outside.”

The three of you grabbed your shit and quickly exited the library. You went to the same area behind the building with no windows – ergo, no bystanders to gawk at you.

“Okay, we’re outside. Look, I’m sorry about your arm. But can you please just –”

You lifted your hand to stop him.

“Okay, look. I only said I would hear you out to make you and Michael stop fighting,” you stated matter-of-factly. “None of us could afford to get in trouble with the faculty and staff, and it was getting too out-of-hand. Oliver, I am not going to King Arm’s tonight or any night you ask me. I have my own life, so don’t drag me into yours.”

Oliver gaped like a fish for a few seconds before speaking.

“But you have to! Please! If you do, then maybe he’ll –”

“WHO?” you interrupted, shouting. “Who will be there? Who is so important that you act so fucking psycho for five minutes ago?”

This was too much for you to deal with everything on your plate already.

“Cut the vague bullshit already! Why are you desperate for me to be there? It’s so –” You froze as an epiphany struck down you.

Oh, hell fucking no…

“Are you hoping that Felix will be there?” you asked through clenched teeth.

You felt like a volcano ready to blow with his slight nod. And like a volcano – you blew.

“You mean to tell me that you risked all our asses, attacked, and humiliated me for fucking FELIX CATTON?!”

You couldn’t believe it – you couldn’t fucking believe it. Felix Catton took up so much of your life already; once again, he felt it necessary to take more of it for himself.

How much more could one man take? How much more did he want until it was enough?

He had taken so much – more than any person other than yourself had any right to own. Your education, your peace, and what was next? Your body? Your life? Did he intend to bleed you dry of everything like a parasitic vampire he and his kind pretended not to be?

You were going crazy, insane, and running yourself tired all at once. The absurdity of it all made you laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed until you were gasping for air. You laughed so hard that tears spilled from your eyes as you doubled over.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god! That’s it. Of course, it is. What else could it be?”

Standing straight, you kept laughing, but you were staring at Oliver with an answer clear in your eyes.

“He got bored of you,” you accused him, “didn’t he? So quickly?”

God, how you relished how red his face turned. If you were smart, you would have stopped taunting there – but you were too tired of everything to care.

“It’s been what? A month? Maybe two?” you further pressed. “He really just loves to go through all his toys, huh?”

“(Y/N),” Michael whispered in your ear, “let’s just go.”

He looked at Oliver with disdainful eyes before softening them to look back at you.

“He isn’t worth it. Come on, let’s get your cut cleaned up before we leave.”

You let Michael gently drag you away from the hurricane mess that was Oliver Quick, leaving him to stew in anger and wallow in self-pity on the chilly spring night.

A few days later, you and Michael were walking back to his dorm after watching one of the most notable movie franchises starring one of Hollywood’s best actors.

“How could you not love Pirates of the Caribbean?” you cried. “Johnny Depp is beyond brilliant!”

“Oh, so acting drunk in front of an expensive camera is now considered brilliant?” he quipped back. “Shit, I should have just gone into acting instead.”

“I’m sorry, do you not remember his jar of dirt? That scene was completely improvised, by the way – including his fall.”

“Oh – not the stupid jar of dirt! Lil’ kept buggering me all summer doing that scene after I took her to see it!”

“Oh, I meant to ask. What did Lily think of the books I got for her birthday? Were they weird?”

“Are you kidding? She loved them. She keeps going on about how she wants to be Annabeth for Halloween. Oh, by the way, she’s making me dress up as Luke and wants you to go as Thalia.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “Seriously?! Yes, let’s do it. I am so in.”

“She is aware that Luke’s the villain, right?”

“Don’t worry about it so much. She wants to share these memories with you. And you are such a good brother, Mikey.”

“I am never going to escape that name with you,” he groaned, “am I?”

“Nope!” you happily confirmed. “Never! When I write my speech at your wedding, I will mention it at least fifteen times.”

“I’ll allow six.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten, take it or leave it.”

“Ten it is. Pinky-swear.”

You held out your pinky to show sincerity. And like someone raised correctly, Michael respected the sanctity of the swear by reciprocating.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled, is it okay if I crash at your place for the night? It’s so late, and we don’t have classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you – Annabel.”

Wait, what? You stopped walking and turned to look at your friend in confusion.

“Annabel?”

He pointed it out in front of him with a slight nod.

“Annabel,” he confirmed.

Indeed, it was Annabel. But she was sitting slumped against the hallway’s walls with vomit all over her blue dress.

Felix had been going mad for the past few months since his and Farleigh’s return to Oxford. It was already almost May, and he hadn’t come any closer to getting (Y/N)’s attention.

What could he possibly be doing that was so wrong?

He invites you to parties or a drink with you every time he sees you. He had hoped that being friends with Ollie would have given him an “in” with you, but there was no such luck. Did you really have no idea how he felt about you? How much more obvious could he be?

He remembered how happy he was when he realized that Oliver knew you. It was that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms. He recalled it so vividly.

Felix was silent throughout the entire transaction. The sight of you coming over entirely transfixed him. Your hair had two small braids on the side that were attached with small yellow butterfly clips. You were wearing black denim overalls with vintage-looking patches sewn onto the fabric. Your shirt was a light blue-dyed shirt-sleeved t-shirt with splotches of navy blue. It must have been something you made when you were little. The fabric looked soft and worn down. But the size was small enough to hug the curves of your upper torso perfectly. The way the fabric stretched across your tits made him salivate.

After he introduced himself to you, you only responded with a grimace and a slight nod of acknowledgment. He invited you to join him and his friends for a drink, but you only ignored him. His words were meaningless breezes to you – white noise in the background that added to the clang and chatter in the room. He wasn’t even paying attention to Oliver until you threw that drink at him.

“Fucking cunt-rag!” you called Ollie after throwing Farleigh’s drink in his face. You shoved a middle finger for added effect. “Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.”

Grabbing your coat, you stomped away from the table.

Absentmindedly handing his friend some tissues, Felix had to know what your deal was with Oliver. Were you two dating or just friends? He didn’t know how he felt about his new friend being romantically involved with his angel.

“Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked.

��What?” asked Oliver – not understanding his idol’s question before his mind finally registered it. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s a friend of a friend.”

“Were you two ever, like ‘together’?” Felix had to know.

Oliver’s eyes widened a bit before shaking his head and panickedly answering.

“No, no, no. We have a few classes together – that’s it.”

Felix couldn’t believe his luck. Ollie must really be his hero.

“Do you think you could introduce us?” he asked excitedly – his molten chocolate eyes were shining ablaze with hope.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Oliver quickly agreed – anything to keep his attention on him.

Felix felt like leaping to the sky. He could run a marathon with how much energy was flooding throughout him. He clapped his hands before grabbing Ollie’s face with both hands and smacking a wet kiss on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Felix went up to get him another pint. “You’re my hero, Ollie. You really are.”

As he lay on his bed, he tried to remember every interaction with you. His last one with you was something he could admit went horribly wrong.

He wandered on the grounds when he stumbled on a building with your bike on the rack. Figuring that you were just in a lecture, Felix figured he could try to catch up with you when it was done. It wasn’t like he had anything important later. He would stay near the entrance and try to catch your attention when you walked out.

Simple.

And because he was God’s favorite, he found you sitting in the middle of an empty classroom. You were taking notes while reading a massive textbook while lightly bobbing your head to whatever was blasting through your earbuds.

Sliding to the seat next to you, he smoothly asked you if there was any room where he could smoke. You didn’t even bother to look at him while answering him – too fixated with your studies to pay attention to him.

Knowing that he had to get you to look at him through more direct actions, Felix impulsively put his hand on your thigh before asking you if you wanted to join him. He even joked, saying that you didn’t only have to get high.

But seeing the terror in your eyes threw him off. He quickly wanted to tell you that he was only joking. If you knew that he wasn’t being serious, maybe you would ease up around him. But before he could apologize, you frantically stood from your seat to gather your books in your bag before running out of the room.

Felix groaned into his hands as he recalled how fast you ran out of the room and away from him.

“Felix, you’re a fucking idiot,” he softly insulted himself.

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he think that someone as studious as you would ever consider getting high with some bloke in the bathroom of an academic building?

Every step he tried to take forward with you felt like he was going ten steps back. He needed to find a way to get on your good side.

Maybe Ollie could – no, that was a dead end. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Lying on his bed, Oliver stared at the ceiling of his room. Annabel had just left with the bottle of vodka they had been drinking out of for the past half hour. He wanted to cry.

Why was everything going wrong?

But he knew the reason. It was you.

He was so naïve to think you wouldn’t be an obstacle. You had practically ruined everything from the beginning. It wasn’t just when you refused to help him the other day but also that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms.

While Felix was ordering him a drink, Oliver sat bewildered at the sequence of events that had transpired in the past five minutes. First, Felix invited him over to sit with him and his friends. And when things had been so well, you interrupted his excellent time by asking where Michael was. When you realize he has left your friend alone, you ask for Farleigh Start’s drink before throwing it in his face. You then called him a “cunt-rag” before storming off like a goddamn child.

Luckily, Felix hadn’t listened to you speak. But that was only because he stared at you – stared at you like he was born to worship you. Even worse, Felix asked him if he could introduce the two of you at some point. The way Felix’s eyes widened in glee when Oliver agreed enraged him – even more than when you insulted and almost humiliated him in front of Felix.

Staring at his back, Oliver figured Felix’s attention on you wasn’t something to worry about. He was only interested in you because you were pretty. As much as you infuriated him, Oliver admitted that you had a rare and genuine beauty to you. He didn’t know whether it was your indifference for Oxford’s gods and kings or your dedication to keeping in touch with your American roots – but it was enough to enrapture Felix Catton temporarily.

No, Oliver Quick had no reason to worry. He would be enough for Felix. And then you would be an afterthought, and he’d be Felix Catton’s everything.

Oliver had to find a way to ensure you wouldn't be a problem anymore. You'd comply - there would come a time when you won't have a choice.

Let me know if you want me to write the full scene of Reader throwing the drink at Oliver!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes

Please comment and/or reblog your thoughts and if you want to be added to the taglist!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

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w2soneshots · 6 months ago

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Ibiza -W2S

words: 1.2k+

warnings: alcohol consumption.

summary: you spend the day on a yacht while your boyfriend and his mates film hide & seek. You deal with his mean drunkenness. Then when you get back to the villa you take care of him.

notes: this is based off of this request!! I think drunk Harry’s hilarious😭. Don’t forget to reblog! Enjoy this extra lone one💓✨

Liked by gkbarry_, ksi and 561,308 others

y/username: Ibiza 2024!🌴🍹🌺☀️💘

Tagged: @wroetoshaw @behzingagram @faithloisak @taliamar @freyanightingale

-comments-

wroetoshaw: 🔥��

faithloisak: you cutie

taliamar: stunning girl🫶🏼

y/nfanpage21: pahaha the second pic😭

user31096420: another iconic sidemen holiday

user91837410: she's so fit

A few days ago we arrived in Ibiza. It was initially just going to be the boys because they were planning a few sidemen videos. But they decided that there hasn't been a proper holiday with everyone for years since, Ethan and Faith had Olive, Me and Harry got married, as well as Simon and Talia so we cleared our schedules and booked tickets.

We're here for a week and plan on doing as much relaxing as we can but the boys still need to film their videos. Today they're filming a hide and seek on a huge yacht. We're all staying in a massive villa that's really close to the sea line. "Morning." Harry yawned. My sleepy face curved into a content smile. "Good morning." I whispered before kissing his soft lips. Harry wrapped his arms around my torso. "Do we have to get up?" He dug his head into my neck. "Yes Haz. The boats booked for eleven." I replied. He groaned.

Eventually I got him up and we began getting ready. I pulled on a bikini that wouldn't give me offensive tan lines, since I'm planning on laying in the sun all day. Then popped on a cute cover up. Once I'd sorted my hair and covered myself in suncream I headed downstairs where everyone was sat eating breakfast. I said "good morning." then grabbed a plate of fresh fruit along with a smoothie.

After breakfast we all collected the last of our things then just as the taxis pulled up we left. Harry helped Ethan get Olives stuff into the boot while I carried the baby for Faith while she clipped in the car seat. It's only a ten minute drive so we were soon being dropped off at the dock. The day before yesterday we spent a few hours on a smaller boat but today (since they're filming a video) the yacht is massive. The crew also flew in yesterday to film this video so they met us here.

We were told not to grab our things from the taxis because the staff on board would get it for us. When we got onto the yacht we were immediately given drinks and a quick toor. The woman brought us up some stairs. "And these are the tanning loungers." Me and the girls looked at each other with a smile. "This is where I'm going to be spending the rest of the day." Talia joked, but she was being fully serious and I felt exactly the same.

The boys wondered off to film the intro for the video and all four of us girls lay down on a lounger, while Olive slept next to Faith in a little travel cot under one of the large umbrellas. I chatted quietly with Talia, Freya started reading her book and Faith soaked up the sun. We could hear the boys screaming, shouting and laughing as they filmed. Vik was the seeker and wasn't doing the best job which was obvious from what we could see from the top deck, but I'm sure that will make the video even funnier.

Once Harry, Ethan and Josh had been found we caught them peering up at us quite a few times. "You all look like creeps you know!" I shouted. The girls laughed from beside me and the boys faces turned a bright shade of red. "You just look too good in that bikini babe!" Harry shouted back sarcastically. I smirked with a shake of my head. Then returned to tanning.

After almost three hours the boys finally finished filming so we had some lunch. As the day went on we jumped into the sea, played mafia and just sat around enjoying each other's company. Everyone began actually drinking as it started to get later. Accept me, Faith, JJ and Tobi because I had had like one or two but really couldn't be arsed with a hangover, Faith needed to look after Olive and JJ and Tobi don't drink.

y/username just posted a new story!

I sat next to Harry as he swayed back and forth slightly. "You alright?" I asked. He was clearly very drunk. "What? Oh. Shut up I'm fine." He replied. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. I looked around the group, all eyes on us. I burst into a fit of laughter. "Alright big man I think it's time you get to bed." I tried to help him stand. "No!" He shouted. I sighed tiredly. "Here. I'll help." Tobi got up from his seat. We decided to all call it a night so left the ship and got taxi's back to the villa.

"Here you go mate." JJ murmured as him and Tobi lay an almost asleep Harry on our bed. "Thanks boys." I smiled as they walked out with a quick "good night." I pulled Harry's clothes off, leaving him in just his boxers. Then I placed a glass of water on his nightstand, along with some paracetamol for his hangover. Thankfully Harry usually isn't physically sick when he has a hangover so there was no need for a bucket. After I took a quick shower I slipped into bed, next to him.

The next morning I got up decently early to make everyone breakfast. Faith was already downstairs since Olive had been awake for quite awhile and she didn't want to wake Ethan up since he was hungover and he woke up early yesterday for Olive. "Good morning you cutie." I greeted Olive in my high pitched baby voice, that seems to just appear whenever I'm around animals or babies. She giggled with the sweetest little smile.

"Morning." Faith also smiled as I sat down next to her on the couch. "So last night Harry seemed to be a little..." "mean." I finished her sentence. "Well yea." She breathed out a laugh. "He's a mean drunk. It really doesn't bother me to be honest. I find it hilarious." I chuckled. "I'm glad, I was a little concerned." "The first time we went out together it was a bit of a shock to the system but over the years I realised that it's just how he reacts to alcohol."

After a good chat with Faith I headed back upstairs to check on Harry. I slowly opened to door to see Harry front down on the bed with his face turned towards the door. I walked towards him and squatted in front of him. "Harry." I whispered as my hand gently stroked his face. He groaned. "Have some paracetamol love." I grabbed the pack from the nightstand. "My head hurts." He slowly opened one of his eyes. I smiled at him "I know. Sit up for me."

He pushed himself up and turned over so he was sitting against the headboard. He took the tablet along with almost the entire glass of water. "Was I mean?" He asked quietly. I laughed "Uhm... I've had much worse." He groaned as he covered his face with his hands. "Sorry." He mumbled. "Don't be. You were completely gone with the fairies." I said sarcastically. He chuckled but then winced, probably from the pounding headache. "Go back to sleep. I'll have breakfast downstairs when you're ready." I quickly pecked his forehead. "You're too good to me." He replied as he returned to his previous position.

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thecuriousbeauty · 2 months ago

Text

Traitor-The Present (Harry Styles au- Mafia!Harry x reader)

Chapter Seven

Synopsis:- y/n gets back glimpses of the past and tries to piece them together with the help of her once best friend, Oliver, who's somehow sure that she's going to find a way out of the mess she's in. Meanwhile, Harry fights with his own emotions to make a decision. He has to choose one. The love of his life or the gang.

Word count: 7.2K

Warnings: Blood, violence, smoking, alcohol, gang related talk, guns, fighting, killing. Smut. Spitting, oral(f receiving), fingering, praise, dirty talk.

A/N:- Here it is finally, the last part to Traitor-The Present! If you're new and wish to check out this story, you can read the whole series right here. Please like and re-blog to support me. Happy reading:)

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y/n wakes up with her heart racing out of her chest. Her dream had finally shown her a little more. It was just another glimpse, but now she knew Harry wasn’t lying. She really was there with him that night and she was trying to kill him. She had the same question Harry had, why?

The only person who knew the answer to that was herself. She felt so angry, she wanted to pull out her hair and scream at her brain for letting her fall into this mess.

"We're here."

Oliver had driven her to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. There no other buildings, people or even trees, around it. All that she could see was stretches of barren land surrounding the warehouse. Oliver opens the door, motioning for her to get out.

"W-Where are we?", she asks him.

"Your place to stay for the night. Harry wants to keep you here until he figures out what to do with you.", Oliver says, keeping his hand on her arm as he ushers her to walk. She realized how exhausted she was. It was like she could crumble to the floor any minute.

"How nice of him.", she mutters, and Oliver gives her a look, opening the door of the warehouse and rushing her in, before closing the door behind him.

"A few men will stand guard outside, to make sure you don't escape, but no one's going to come inside except me.", Oliver takes a small key out of his pocket. "I'm going to remove your cuffs. Harry's order was to keep you in cuffs, and not give you an ounce of water or food, but I'm not so evil."

She sighs in relief as the handcuffs click and they're removed. She rubbed her bruised wrists and looked around at the little space. It was so dark. Not even a single light bulb. She figured it was a place where they held people hostage. There were a few sheets in a corner and a pillow.

"There's a toilet there.", Oliver points out, and she crinkles her nose. Everything was so small.

"Why couldn't he just kill me already?", she mumbles, and opens the tap, washing her face with the cold water.

Oliver prefers to ignore her and looks outside the window, before pulling down the shades. "So? Do you have a plan?"

"Unless it involves you getting me out of here, no.", she says, tying her hair up into a bun, and then laying the sheets on the floor. She sits over the sheets although they didn't do much to stop the cold from spreading through her body.

"Why do you care, anyway?", she snaps at Oliver.

"I told you why, already.", Oliver sighs, crouching down to meet her eyes. "I will take a bullet for you, Reagen. Even if you don't know who you are."

The name didn't sound so foreign anymore.

"I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you.", Oliver says, as she wraps her arms around her knees and looks at him. "I can't get you out of here. Harry will know in an instant, he has eyes everywhere. He'll just have both of us killed. But you're a fucking warrior, Reagen."

A warrior? She didn't feel like one. "Make a plan, you have time. Be smart, don't get killed."

She opens and closes her mouth, then someone knocks on the door. Oliver looks through the keyhole before opening it. "No one saw me getting the food, perimeter's going to be covered soon. They're on the way from Marco's now."

"Good job, Sam. Keep guard.", Oliver takes the parcel from the other girl's hands. "Yes boss."

He shuts the door and hands y/n the parcel and a bottle of water. "Food and water."

"Won't you get in trouble if Harry gets to know?", she asks, but opens it. She was starving.

"Nah, he won't know."

He cracks a small smile as she gulps down the bottle of water. The food was some sort of flavored rice with meat. It was delicious.

She wanted to tell him about what she remembered from the dream, but she still had some trust issues. So she thought to keep it to herself, for now.

Oliver took the empty container and bottle with him. "I won't be coming inside now. If it's urgent, knock on the door three times, alright?"

"Okay.", she nods. "Oliver?"

He turns back, and she gives him a small smile. "I can see why we were best friends. Thank you."

"Treat you with respect is the least I can do for everything you've done for me, Reagen.", Oliver says, and goes out, locking the door.

y/n wipes her tears, sitting there alone in the dark. She had to think like Reagen, even though she didn't have the memories back. Oliver was right, she had to be smart and get out of this mess. She had no will to live but she wasn't going to die in the hands of these horrible people.

_____________________________________

Harry was angry.

All he could see was red, wherever he looked. He had been through enough crap and he couldn't take anymore. His whole childhood was a nightmare. After he had killed his father and put his childhood behind him, he should have just lead a normal lifestyle of a doctor. But no, he met the gang, and he loved doing their side jobs. They were the only people who recognized his various talents and coached him with more.

Then came Reagen. Harry still remembers the memory of meeting her.

Harry was going through some files of Dante's, able to access them because he had hacked into their system. He had no idea who Dante was, or what he did to their gang, all he was told, was to hack into some important files. Harry couldn't even figure out if those were the right ones, he was new to all of this.

"Is it done, Harry?", Luke Alexander asks him as he walks over to where Harry was sitting beside two other guys, who were also typing away on their computers.

"Yes, um, is this the one?", Harry asks, as Luke leans to see. Harry tells him about the details in the files, and Luke grins, patting his shoulder. "Nice job. Reagen will be delighted, that's some good information there."

"Thanks..uh what exactly did Dante do?", Harry asks Luke, and the older man sighs, running his hand over his salt and pepper beard. "A lot of horrible things. You don't want to know. Can you transfer all these files to this drive?"

Luke gives him a pen drive and Harry nods. "Sure."

"Luke! There's a problem.", he hears someone shout from the door way. Luke patted Harry on the back before he left. Harry was a newbie to the gang, so he hadn't met Reagen yet. Luke was whom he communicated with. He joined the gang as a doctor, so that's what he did. He took care of members who came back from missions injured. When he got bored, he made hacking chips, sorted through files, and did the technical work for the gang since he was good at that sort of thing.

But Harry had a lot of pent up anger, and he wanted to get his anger out by fighting, or punching something other than the gym bag. He thought he could go on missions if he joined the gang, but they don't take just everyone. Only people who have experience.

Soon, he hears people shouting and gearing up to go on a mission. Luke was shouting orders. Harry finished copying the files, kept the pendrive safe, grabbed his medical kit and joined the others.

"What's going on?", he asks one of the guys.

"Reagen called for backup. They think she might be in trouble."

Harry nods, and hopes no one sees him going along, but Oliver saw him, who was throwing guns into their truck. "Where are you going? We have Abbot with us.", he says. Abbot was another doctor in the gang, he was the one going with them on missions because of his experience. He can fight as well.

"I can help.", Harry tells him. Oliver narrows his eyes at him, thinking. "I really want to. I'll stay safe and help anyone who gets hurt. Please."

"Fine, your own death wish. Get in."

Harry let a small smile escape before he got in the truck with the others. He hears loud explosions and gun shots as they reach the location. Everyone runs out holding their weapons, to different directions into the old building. Harry followed Abbot's lead. They helped their people who got wounded, and got them out of trouble.

Abbot and Harry were helping a guy who got shot in his abdomen, and was losing blood quickly. Harry suspected it might have pierced an internal organ.

"More lap pads.", Abbot mumbles, gloved hands covered in blood, as he holds pressure. Just as Harry turned to grab some more lap pads, he saw a guy holding a baseball bat, right behind Abbot.

"Abbot watch out!", Harry yelled, and one of Abbot's hand moved to his gun and fired a shot at the guy before he swung the bat. "Fucking prick.", Abbot curses, turning back to his friend, bleeding out. They both hear a scream coming from down the hall.

"I'll go check that out. You should take him to the truck, quick.", Harry tells Abbot.

"Stay safe.", Abbot tells him, and Harry nods, getting his bloody gloves off before walking towards the scream. Harry threaded carefully, trying to figure out from which direction he heard the scream from.

"On your knees, hands in the air!"

Harry freezes as he hears it from behind him. He does as told, as the man has a gun pointed at him. "I might make your death less painful if you tell me why that bitch was here.", the man seethes, pressing the gun to Harry's forehead.

"I don't know anything.", Harry said, staying still, his heart beating fast.

"Well then I just have to-"

Harry closes his eyes and flinches as hears the gun shot, but the bullet didn't go through him. Harry opens his eyes slowly, and sees a girl looking down at the now dead guy in disgust.

"Looks ugly with or without a bullet through his fucking forehead." She looks up at Harry. "You okay?"

Harry had never seen someone so strikingly beautiful. Long hair falling down her shoulders, beautiful eyelashes hiding her striking eyes. She was wearing a wine red dress that hugged her curves, exposing her collarbones and smooth legs. Red heels covered her feet.

"You're wondering why I'm dressed like this.", the girl says, eyes going around the room to check for other threats, her arms held out, still pointing the gun. That wasn't Harry's first thought, but now that she mentioned it, he nods.

"Well my idea was to seduce that ugly lame excuse of a man while I try to get some files we need." She lowered the gun, eyeing Harry now. He was curious to know about what went wrong, he could see how any man would fall for the woman's charm. Now she stood in front of him with messy hair, a busted lip and bruised knees, but he still thought she was the most attractive woman he's seen in his life.

"You're injured.", is the first thing he says. She chooses to ignore his remark. "You would be dead, just like him with a fucking bullet through your head if I didn't get here when I did. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I um, I'm the doctor with the gang.."

"I know, you're the newbie right? Doctor by profession, hacker by hobby.", she says, sighing as they hear a gunshot from a meter away. She would usually run towards it, but something drew her to the doctor. She wanted to know more about him. He had an air of mystery lingering around him.

"I can do a lot more than hacking and saving people.", Harry mumbles.

"Is that why you're here on a mission? We don't send newbies out unless it's an emergency, which this wasn't. I almost had it under control. I told Luke just to send a few men.", she mutters to herself, wincing as she looks down at her ankles in the heels. "Bloody hell."

"Reagen Jones.", Harry understands who she is finally, putting everything together.

"One and only.", she gave him a crooked little smile as he finally walks away from the dead body. "Now come on, Doctor, let's get you to safety. I can't risk getting my people hurt."

"It's okay when you're hurt?", Harry asks, following her as she walks out of the room, looking left and right bringing her gun up again. "I've had worse, doc.", she whispered and her head snapped to the left as she heard footsteps but it was only Oliver.

"He fled. We checked the whole place, no traces of him, or-" He gives Harry an annoyed look. "You know what.", he tells Reagen. She sighed, shaking her head. "I should have been more careful."

"Don't blame yourself, it was dangerous. You did good.", Oliver said, squeezing her shoulder. "Go to the car, I'm gonna look over once again. This guy getting in your way?"

He looked at Harry like he was an annoying child. Reagen let out a small laugh, and Harry wished he could hear more of it. "He's fine. Be careful, Olie."

Oliver nodded, walking past them up the stairs to the next floor, shouting orders to their men. "Why did you join the gang, doc?", Reagen asks Harry as they walk out of the ruined building. Harry thought he would be fazed after seeing men groaning in pain on the floor, bleeding and some of them already dead, but it didn't affect him as much.

"My father tortured my mom when I was little and he'd beat me up. He was an alcoholic, good for nothing, never a father to me. He abused my mom, and one day when I wasn't there he-"

Harry stops talking as his fingers curl into his palm, eyes blazing in anger. Reagen turns back to look at him, and he releases a slow breath. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it.", she says, nodding towards the car. A man was already opening the door for her. "Ride with me."

Harry got in the backseat with her, watching as she wrapped herself in a jacket, closing her eyes for a moment as she let her head rest. Harry thought to remain quiet, even though he had questions. What if he wouldn't see or get to talk to Reagen up close like this again?

"You tried your best to protect your mother, doc. You made sure your dad got what he deserved. I'm sure your mom's still looking down at you from above.", Reagen turned to look at him. Harry wanted to believe her. He should have killed that asshole before he got a chance to do that to his mother.

"I'll talk to Luke about putting you on missions, it'll help with releasing some of that anger.", she says, and his eyes light up. "You will?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Killing your father was out of pure torment, but in some situations like today, we might be forced to take lives. Are you up for that?"

"Yes.", he answers immediately. "I thought killing him would feel better, but I still stay up at night without being able to sleep. I need to get it all out. I want to learn to defend myself, I couldn't when my father hit me. Will you teach me?"

Reagen didn't mingle with newbies, neither did she interact with anyone other than close people in the gang. They made sure her orders were carried out. But there was something about this boy she couldn't shake away. "Sure. What's your name?"

"Harry.", Harry answers. "Harry Styles."

"Harry?"

Romania enters the room to talk to him. Harry was sitting on the chair behind his desk, cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other hand. Romania had just been back from Marco's place, and she looked alright, except for a bruise on her arm. She was pressing a cloth to hold pressure to it.

"We think we got a lead on Tony. Hans went through Marco's files. He's planning to meet Omar next week.", Romania tells him. Harry was not interested. Yes, Tony was their number one enemy and he was the one person he wanted to tear apart with his own hands, but right now, he could only think about Reagen, or y/n, or whatever she calls herself.

Harry played their stupid memory game hoping that she would get her memories back eventually, or at least make her drop the act if that's what she was doing. But Harry was clear about that now. It wasn't an act. Even the intimate moments they shared didn't bring her memories back. He felt so hurt.

"Um, Harry?"

He looks up at Romania. "What happened?", he asks, nodding towards the blood seeping into the cloth she was pressing to it.

"Oh, fucker got a cut on me before I shot him down, could you take a look at it?"

"Sit."

Harry gets up to grab his medical kit. Romania sits on the edge of his desk, studying her friend. "Are you thinking about Reagen?"

Harry nods, washing his hands before snapping on some gloves. "I get it, you were close to her. But, you agreed to let her go if this also failed.", Romania reminds him, as Harry grabs a pair of scissors, cutting through her sleeve so he could see the injury. Harry only wanted to cut open the cloth that covered her arm, but she used her good arm to shrug off the rest of the material, leaving her upper half in just a bra. Harry focuses on the injury, much to Romania’s dismay.

"She's too dangerous! What if Tony gets to her?"

"I'm aware, Ro.", Harry mutters, pressing on the broken skin making Romania flinch. "Don't tell me you had a change of heart and you're not going to kill her.", she says.

Harry grabs a bottle of antiseptic. "I'm still deciding."

Romania rolls her eyes, hissing as he cleans her wound with the antiseptic. "She's a vicious monster, that's what she is. First, she brought you under her charm, then she planned to kill you, take our money and destroy our empire. I don't know why you trusted her in the first place."

Harry didn’t say anything, he reached for a needle and some surgical thread to close the cut with some stitches. "It was all part of some big plan. As much as I'd love to know as well, she's not going to remember, Harry. At least let me have my way with her. I'll have her in the basement for one day and she'll start singing like a bird-ah!"

Harry sows her skin together, looking up to give her a glare. "You will not touch her. I can do that too, but it's not fair to torture something out of a person who doesn't remember anything about it in the first place."

"She's playing you, Harry.", Romania sighs. "If you don't kill her, you're going to let her win. If her ties are with Tony, then we're pretty much done for. She is banking on you. She knows you can't kill her. She'll get away, Harry. You've assigned Oliver to her! Don't you remember how close they were? He'll let her escape!"

"I trust Oliver.", Harry finishes the stitches. He grabs a bandage to lay over it. "You're done.", he says, taking his gloves off.

"Thank you.", Romania mumbles and reaches for him. She moved her hands up Harry’s neck, weaving one hand into his Harry. "Harry, I'm telling you this because I care about you. I know your emotions are messed up because of your last month together again, kissing her, fucking her-"

"-Romania.", Harry warns.

"-You wish you could go back to that.", Romania continues, stroking his bottom lip with her thumb. "The truth is, you don't need her. There are so many better women who will be loyal to you. Who'll die for you, who will do anything for you.”

She got so close, her breasts were brushing against Harry’s chest and almost popping out of her bra. But, he didn’t feel anything. The only thing he could think of was how good Reagen could make him feel.

“Oh fuck, Harry..”, she moans as she lets her head hit back against the pillow, her hands in his hair as he laps his tongue over her clit.

She tasted so sweet, so juicy. So gratifying was her flavor that he wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled her closer to his face, burying his mouth in her delicious folds. The sting of his scalp as she tugged on his hair, letting out beautiful sounds as he pleasured her, only made him more excited.

“You like that, baby?”, he looks up at her with a grin, her juices dripping down from his lips.

“F-Feels so good, Harry, please, please..”, she begs, her hands pushing his head back down as her breathing gets heavier with her release being close. He flicked his tongue across her and inserted two eager fingers into her slick center. Her moan rose to a pleasure filled shriek, and he felt her walls close tight around his fingers.

“Let go, darling, come on, coat my fingers and my mouth, I want every bit of it, give it to me..”, he hums against her skin and watches her unfold with awe. She looked divine. Murmurs of his name leaving her lips, eyes rolled back in pleasure.

She lay sprawled with a content smile on her lips and he pressed little kisses to her skin, starting from her stomach and finally reaching her lips. “Where’d you learn that? It was like, out of this world, good, you know?”

“Wait till I’m inside you, love.”, he whispered, stroking some of her hair back from her forehead, still hovering over her. She grins, moving her hand to stroke his rock hard dick, making him groan. “Oh yeah? Show me then.”

She gasped as he slid into her easily moistened sex, letting out a loud moan. “You feel that, darling? Feel how you fit around my cock?”

She wasn’t able to answer as he grunted, pulling his hips back only to plunge them forward, fucking her with hard, deliberate thrusts. She opened her legs wider and relished the feeling of his shaft ramming so deeply.

“Tell me how good it feels, baby.”, he pants, moving a hand to squeeze around her right breast.

“S-So good, s-so fucking good.” His thrusts get faster and she grabs his shoulders, her mind going blank with pleasure. “Who do you belong to?”, he asks.

She might be the one that makes grown men quaking in their boots in the outside world, but when she’s with Harry? She just wants him to take control. To mark her up and to make her cry out of pleasure. He loved the way her body would react to his touch. He takes pride in knowing that he’s one of the very few people she trusts.

Harry moved his hand on her breast to her jaw, his fingers pressing her mouth open. “Answer me.”

“Y-You. I’m all yours, Harry.”, she managed to say and opened her mouth further, sticking out her tongue. “Want me to spit in your mouth, baby? Such a dirty girl.”

He leaned forward before collecting his spit and aiming it inside her mouth, landing it on her tongue. She moans, swallowing it. “Good girl.”, he praises, bringing his lips over hers for a kiss. She kissed him hungrily. His tongue entered her mouth as his cock penetrated her.

“I-I’m close..”, she whimpers, biting down on his lip.

“Me too, sweetheart, c-can’t hold on much longer. Y-You feel so fucking perfect.”

They hold each other through their highs, and continue to do so as they come down from it. “Harry?”, she whispers, kissing his cheek.

“Mm sunshine?” He looks up at her, giving her a tired, lazy grin.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Romania’s face coming inches closer to his face and his lips made him jerk back to the reality that he wished was just a really bad nightmare. Five years and the memories he had with her were still so painful to remember, etched into his brain like he wouldn’t ever forget any detail.

“She’s done so much to you, Harry. Let the whore rot in hell.”, Romania seethed.

Harry tangles his hand in her hair, leaning down making her think he was going to kiss her, but he yanks her head back by the grip on her hair, making her hiss in pain. “Shut the fuck up, you jealous bitch.”

She grins despite the pain, one snap of his wrist and she would be dead.

“Get out before I kill you.", Harry mutters, letting her go. The only reason why he hadn’t done so already was because her father was important, and she did her job decently.

“Yes sir.”, she hums and hops off the chair. “You have to do something about her soon though.”

Harry picks up his whiskey glass again, emptying it down his throat before taking a swing from his cigarette. Even though Romania annoyed the crap out of him, she was right. Harry had to put Reagen behind him, or he would never move on. He had given her enough of his time. It was time to end it all.

"I'll do what I need to do.”

________________________________________

y/n couldn't sleep. She racked her brain trying to remember things about her past life, that might be the only thing that could save her. She didn't know how long she's going to be here, or how long Harry wants to keep her here. The only plan she could come up with was making a run for it, but she knew it wouldn't get her far. Someone would chase her down, or they could just fire a bullet at her.

Her thoughts shifted to Harry. She was supposed to be mad at him, supposed to forget him, but she couldn't. Everything around her was lies, but she couldn't believe that the time she spent with Harry in these four weeks was a lie. It wasn't, right? He did deceive her, and he was playing her when she thought she was playing him, but whatever happened between them was real. Their feelings were real. That beautiful ring he had picked out, that was for her. Why couldn't she remember their memories together?

y/n wipes away her silent tears as she stares up at the ceiling in the dark. Pitch dark. Eventually, her tired eyes took a break.

y/n wakes up to Oliver shaking her awake. "So? You have a plan?"

The usually composed Oliver appeared a bit distraught. She was going to bring her hands up to rub her eyes, when he handcuffs them behind her back. "Hey!", she protests.

"Shh, there are a lot of people outside.", Oliver mutters. "And I'm supposed to have you in handcuffs, sorry. Bad news, Harry decided to kill you, he's on his way now."

"Oh great.", she says, not surprised. "Tell him to just hurry it up."

Oliver glares at her. "You still don't remember anything?"

She shakes her head.

Oliver's eyes scan her face.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Oliver. You've been good to me, thank you.", she gave him a small smile. Oliver shakes his head. "I still believe in you."

Just then, they hear knocks on the door. Oliver gets it, and Romania comes in, her heels clicking, head held high. "There she is."

She crouches down, and y/n grunts in disgust, trying to pull away when Romania strokes her hair. "Hey darling, how are you"

"Get away, bitch.", she muttered, and Romania giggles. "How sweet. The once almighty Reagen is now at our mercy. Are you sure you want that to be your last words?"

"Romania, what do you want?", Oliver folds his arms across his chest.

"Oh nothing, just came to say goodbye to her. If Harry has any difficulty pulling the trigger, I'll do it for him.", she says, running her manicured nails across y/n's cheek. "I don't understand what Harry sees in you."

"You're never going to get him.", y/n answers back, and Romania's eyes darken in anger, her hand moving to wrap around y/n's neck, choking her. "You can watch from your grave, Reagen. Harry will see clearly once the filth is removed. You will die today, your chances are all over."

"That's enough, Pelt.", Oliver snaps. Romania lets her go and she coughs, trying to breathe. Romania stands up. "Looks like Harry's here!"

The white cedan was pulling up outside. Romania walked out to greet him. y/n watches as Harry steps out, he was wearing a black shirt, with black pants and boots. The top few buttons were undone, so she could see half of his butterfly tattoo, and other ones. The silver cross chain hung from his neck, rings decorating his hands.

His eyes fall on her as he reaches the door. "Give me a minute with her.", his deep voice rumbles to Romania and Oliver. They both stepped out, and Harry comes in, closing the door.

"Harry.", y/n says softly, flinching as she tried to sit up against the wall. "Sleep well?"

Harry crouches down just like Romania had, so he can meet her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, do I even know you anymore?", y/n whispers. Harry's eyes soften as he reaches a hand out to fix her hair after Romania's assault. "You know me better than anyone else, y/n." He chuckles to himself. "Guess I've got used to calling you y/n."

"Nice acting by the way, couldn't tell yesterday. Made me a total fool."

Harry sighs. "Everything I did was for you-"

"-No, it was for you.", she cuts him off.

"Wouldn't you do the same thing if you were in my place?", Harry asks. "I lived holding on to the thought of having you back with me for five years, Reagen. I loved you that much."

He looked so handsome. His gorgeous eyes, his pink lips and his brown curls. She wanted to run a hand through it. "J-Just get it done with Harry, whatever."

Harry takes her face, his thumbs wiping her tears away, his own eyes watering. "Please, sunshine. Don't make me do this. Please tell me you remember something."

y/n hated to break his heart, but there was nothing she could do. "I-I'm sorry, Harry.", she croaked, and he pressed her face to his chest. She took in his comforting, masculine scent. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her. Then everything would feel alright. Everything they've been through flashes through her mind as he presses his lips to her forehead.

He pulls her away, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. " I promised you a long time ago that we would find your mom. I know you don't remember, but just know that I will find her."

Her mom? She thought she didn't have a family. Reagen didn't have a family, right? Then her painting comes into her mind. The painting Harry was absorbed in. The woman she painted, whom she thought would be her mother. She's real?

Harry didn't allow her time to ask more questions. He presses his lips on to hers, kissing her one last time. This was a different kind of a kiss, not one that leads to something, but a hard, painful one. It felt like he was putting all his emotions into that kiss, letting it all flow into her.

She was wondering about what to make for dinner when she heard the door. She looked through the peephole first, seeing Harry and smiled, opening the door.

"Hey there.", she smiles, her heart skipping a beat as his stressed, grumpy face split into a smile. "Hi. I hope it's not too late, wanted to show you something."

"Of course not, come in."

She let Harry inside and locked the door. "I was just gonna start dinner. You're not going before tasting my signature pasta."

Harry follows her into the kitchen, not being able to trap his smile. "I'd love to try some."

She enjoyed his company just as much as he enjoyed hers. She's been spending a lot of time with Harry every day, ever since he joined her during her training. She's used to talking to people only about gang work, but Harry? She talked to him about everything.

They shared a lot of likes and dislikes, he was funny, sweet and charming. He was also a big asset for the gang.

"So? What'd you make?", she asks him, moving around the kitchen to get the ingredients while he leans on the slab, looking at her.

He pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to show her a chip.

"Your new creation, doc?"

He nods. "Press this button here before throwing it and everything within a 2 mile radius of where it lands will be destroyed."

She doesn't question the working, knowing by now that it's no joke. She raises her eyebrows. "Impressive. I'm sure it'll be useful, keep it safely."

Harry nods, putting it back into his pocket like it was harmless. "You okay, Harry?", she asks. Harry usually got into destruction mode when he was anxious, frustrated and angry. He only told these things to her.

He sighs, nodding slowly. "Just one of those days, I guess."

She squeezed his arm. "It's okay, by the end of the night, you're gonna be feeling better."

"I'm already feeling better. Being around you..I don't know what it is.", he admits.

She smiles, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Yeah? Tell me more, I'm liking the sound of this."

Harry chuckles, amused by her. "Put me to work boss, wanna help you cook."

"You wanna cut the peppers?"

"Sure."

They spent the entire time chatting as they cook together. Then Harry wanted to show off his pro chef skills, wanting to flip the mushrooms in the pan. Of course some of it went flying out and she scolded him while he laughed, apologizing with a soft kiss to her temple, making her smile.

She then brought a spoon to his lips, wanting him to taste the sauce. She watched his face as lips wrapped around the spoon, letting her feed it to him.

"Mm, that's really good." Harry smacks his lips together and she grins. "It is?"

He nods, giving her a side hug as he offers to continue stirring the sauce. "How are you so good at everything you do?"

She blushes, leaning to his side. "I try." She looks up at him. "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads." He pulls her closer. "Thanks, sunshine."

"Sunshine?", she giggles at the nickname.

He nods, smiling back at her. "Trust me, you can be terrifying if you want to be, but I love this side of you. The happy, care free side of you. You're healing me, you're helping me cope with everything I've been through and the first thought I have when I wake up in the morning is about you. So yes, you're my sunshine."

Her heart melted as she turned him around so he was facing her and she wraps her arms around his neck. Harry dropped his head to her forehead, keeping the spatula away to move his hands to her hips.

“Can I kiss you?”, she asks, swiping a thumb across his bottom lip.

Harry smirks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Only if you want to.”

“And you don’t?”

He grins, closing the space between their lips as he moves a hand to the back of her neck. She felt like her soul had returned to water, like every part of her that came from a dead star became alive. He tasted so sweet, his hand pressing against her skin, his breath fanning over her face.

“Oh I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”, he whispers against her lips before kissing her again.

That was their first kiss.

Harry's lips pull away from hers, just as the memory fades away. "I love you, and I'll always love you.", he whispered.

"I love you too, Harry.", she spoke without a tremor now. Almost like the kiss had given her some strength, her fear was melting away. Harry got up without another word, and started walking away.

"Harry!", she calls.

"I'm sorry..I-I can't.", he heard her mumble, before he kicked the door open instead of just unlocking it. Harry walks to Sania and says something to her that splits her face into a grin. "Yes boss, I got it."

"Harry, come on! I asked you first!", Romania whines.

He chose to ignore her, and got in his car again. The car drives away. Great, now she's back with the lunatics, and Oliver.

"Get up and come out, it's easier for us to clean the mess outside.", Sania was coming to her, and grabs her up by her shirt, making her grunt. "Shouldn't get the warehouse dirty!"

Her mom. Her head was aching, as something was trying to come through. Somehow, it was connected to her mom. That night, betraying Harry, killing him, she didn't want to do it.

"Perfect! Is everyone ready to watch the death of the great Reagen? Remember that this is what happens to Traitors!", Romania's voice irritates her while she scans the place. There were around eight men along with Sania and Romania.

Sania points the gun to her forehead. Before she could pull the trigger, y/n jumped up into the air, and kicked her straight in the chest with how much ever strength she could muster. She grinned, that felt good.

"Grab her!", Romania says, taking out her own gun, and all the men rush to her. y/n didn't think, she only fought. It was like muscle memory. She was stronger than she thought. Even with her hands cuffed, she was moving through the men, kicking, and swiftly moving around them, dodging their knives and blades.

Then someone grabbed her around the middle, and she growled, struggling against their grip. He was strong.

"I have her! Romania, shoot!"

It was Oliver. But she felt one of his hands fiddling with the handcuffs, and so she stopped struggling in his grip and with a click they were off. Romania came to her with the gun, Oliver let her go, and she pounced on her like a tiger, sending her down to the ground. Her gun fell out of her hands, and she grabbed it quickly, aiming it at her heart, and she pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The shot was fired. Romania gasps, shuddering as she looks at her chest, soaking blood into her clothes. "You deserved a slow painful death, this will be quick, so be thankful.", she spoke, and she didn't even know where that came from. y/n didn't talk like that. Must be Reagen, she thought. Was she such a badass?

“And remember, Harry was always mine.”, she adds as the life fades away from Romania’s face.

One of the men came at her with a blade, and she ducks down, punching his stomach and grabbing the knife out of his hand as he falls forward. She slashed him with it, and he fell with a thud. Men after men, she took down with the gun in one hand and the knife in the other but she was unscathed. She was fighting like a monster. She took out all her rage and anger out on them.

Next, she was up with Sania. The one whose betrayal hurt more than others. The one she thought was her friend. All the color was draining from Sania’s face and she joined her hands together in apology. "P-Please Reagen, I made a mistake. Please don't-"

She stuck the blade into her stomach in rage. "I thought you were my friend!”

She thought she might feel something as she fell dead in front of her, but she didn’t. She was numb. After all, Sania was going to kill her. She deserved to die.

y/n was rushing on adrenaline, and she looked around at all the fallen bodies, like who's next?

There was a last man standing. Oliver. He put his hands up as she pointed the gun at him, but he was smiling. "So you did have a plan." "Shut up."

He shrugs. Oliver was good. He had helped her. She could trust him. So she lowered the gun. "Are you going to come with me? I have to get out of here."

"I'll be your driver, like old times.", Oliver nods, pointing to a truck. "We'll have to switch cars later, but for now, let's go."

They both get into the car, and Oliver drives away. "So, do you remember everything now?"

"No. Bits.", she sighs, bringing a hand to her forehead. "What do you know about my mother?"

_______________________________________________

Harry was looking outside the window, stuck in a memory lane. It contained so many little fragments of his life with Reagen. The moments he spent with her. Every single moment that he wished he could go back to.

And now, he had just given the order for her to be killed.

Harry's phone rings, it was Luke. Luke was an important player in their little game to get Reagen to remember. They all knew Reagen only had one weakness.

Family.

She would do anything for her family. She has gone to bounds and put her life in danger a million times to find her mother. That's why Luke had to play as her sick uncle.

"Hello.", Harry says into the phone.

"Harry. There's a problem.", Luke sounded breathless on the other side.

"What?"

"Romania and Sania are dead, so are some of our men. I don't know where Oliver is and I can't reach him. Angelo called me, said that Reagen attacked them. She's escaped, Harry. Looks like our old Reagen's back."

Harry's face breaks into a smile as he takes the new information in. Now that, was starting to sound like his old partner. The fearless, powerful, brave, Reagen, who looks beautiful while burning her enemies to the ground. The love of his life.

Harry didn't know if she was now his enemy, or his partner in crime, but he could figure it out. The thought of all of it brought a rush of cold air into his body, of excitement and anticipation. She was like his drug, his ecstasy.

His sunshine.

"What do you want to do?", Luke asks him.

Harry brings the lighter to the cigarette between his lips. He took a long puff from it, and released the smoke, before smiling wide.

"We wait. Reagen likes making the first move."

___________________________________________

Taglist- @livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar

(Drop a message if you want me to add your name to my taglist!)

A/N:- Let me know how you guys liked the last part! Left you at a cliffhanger;) I want to thank each one of you for choosing to read my story, it really means a lot to me. Thank you to everyone who liked my story and re-blogged it, I appreciate it so much.

Traitor-The Present has come to an end, now you understand why I named it like that. This is the story of the present. You still haven't read the story of their past.

So, do we want a sequel?

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cleolinda · 2 months ago

Text

Tuesday’s debate between Trump and his opponent Kamala Harris in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, had several eyebrow-raising moments but none moreso than when Trump, echoing his latest online-born conspiracy, baselessly accused thousands of legal migrants in Springfield, Ohio, of stealing, killing, and eating pet dogs off the street.

The conspiracy was fact-checked in real time by ABC’s David Muir, who noted that city officials had looked into the claim and found it to be baseless. But the damage was already done.

Nearly a week later, Vance found himself once again answering for his running mate’s actions after days of shocking fallout in Springfield, where residents have reported fliers dropped by the Ku Klux Klan as well as several threats of bombings or mass shootings — the latest of which, at Wittenberg University, occurred Saturday night just hours before Vance would go on the air.

[…] On CNN, he seemingly admitted that his claims were lies, then continued by saying that he would keep spreading such tales, even knowing them to be untrue, if they resulted in the media talking about issues he claimed were still just as real despite the deception.

“If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that's what I'm going to do,” said the senator.

This is DANGEROUS shit aimed at the Haitian immigrant community for political gain

that is going to get people hurt if not outright killed, and this motherfucker just admitted it’s not true. Which is maybe the most important thing you will read about the whole ordeal.

“But I saw pictures!!!”

Spoiler: the geese were roadkill.

The woman behind an early Facebook post spreading a harmful and baseless claim about Haitian immigrants eating local pets that helped thrust a small Ohio city into the national spotlight says she had no firsthand knowledge of any such incident and is now filled with regret and fear as a result of the ensuing fallout.

Backlash was swift, with replies ranging from, “I find it strange that a self-professed ‘hillbilly’ doesn’t know what whole chickens look like,” to, “HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT CHICKENS LOOK LIKE WITH THEIR LEGS ATTACHED YOU F****ING DIPSHIT.” Oliver Alexander, an open-source intelligence analyst, weighed in, sharing images of plucked chickens looking remarkably similar to whatever was being grilled in the video. “Clearly chicken you weirdo. Dude’s never seen chicken that wasn’t dino-nugget shaped,” he wrote.

#receipts below the cut #jd vance #You Fucking Dipshit™#this motherfucker #us politics #long post #tw racism #tw animal death #(not graphic)

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 2 months ago

Note

Your baby’s first summer 🥺 exploring the beach, sand in her feet for the first time, Harry helping her walk down to the water

Sun, Sea, And Sandy Footprints.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

authors note - to celebrate the end of summer, here’s this cute little blurb ☺️

word count - 2.4k

in which, it’s your daughters first time at the beach, the sun is shining, the sea is cooling and this is where you realise there’s no place you’d rather be.

The sun is warm on your skin, the kind of warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you could stay here forever. The narrow cobblestone streets of the small Italian town lead you toward the beach, the sound of the waves growing louder with each step.

It’s late afternoon, the perfect time when the crowds have thinned and the golden light makes everything look like it’s part of a painting.

Harry walks beside you, holding the baby bag in one hand and a beach bag in the other, his fingers wrapped securely around the straps as if to say,

I’ve got us covered.

You glance over at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, which is messy from the breeze that has been blowing gently all day. There’s a relaxed smile playing on his lips, the kind of smile that comes from being exactly where you want to be, with exactly who you want to be with.

He catches you looking at him and grins, a little wider now, as if he’s reading your thoughts and thinking the same thing.

In the stroller, your ten month old daughter Quinn babbles happily, her tiny feet kicking excitedly.

She’s the spitting image of her father—same curls, same green eyes, same dimpled smile that lights up her whole face.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you watch her, her chubby hands gripping onto the sides of the stroller as if she’s trying to push herself even faster toward the beach.

“Someone’s excited,” Harry speaks, his voice soft and full of affection as he leans over to look at his daughter. He reaches out to smooth a curl away from her forehead, and she looks up at him with a wide grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners just like his do.

Such a daddy’s girl.

“She gets that from you,” you say, your voice tinged with the warmth of nostalgia.

You can’t help but think of all the times you’ve walked this very path together, before Quinn, before marriage, just the two of you, hands intertwined, the world at your feet.

“Maybe,” he replies, giving you a playful wink.

You chuckle, the sound blending with the rustle of the sea breeze through the olive trees lining the path. “She’ll be surfing before we know it.”

Harry laughs, the deep, melodic sound that always sends a shiver of happiness through you. “She’ll be better than me at it, too.”

As you finally reach the beach, the familiar sight of the turquoise waves lapping gently at the shore fills you with a sense of peace. It’s the same beach where you and Harry spent countless summer days, where you first taught him how to surf, where you shared late-night kisses under the stars, and where you promised each other a lifetime of adventures.

The beach is quiet now, just a few scattered families and couples, the perfect setting for an afternoon with your own little family.

You find a spot near the water, close enough that the sound of the waves fills the air, but far enough that Quinn can play without getting wet.

Harry stops and carefully places the beach bag down, then turns to unclip Quinn from her stroller.

There’s a tenderness in his movements, a carefulness that shows how much he cherishes these moments with her.

You reach into the baby bag, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of Quinn’s favorite blanket before you find your phone. You pull it out, your heart already swelling with anticipation as you aim the camera at Harry and Quinn.

“Ready, M’love?” Harry asks, glancing at you with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. He cradles Quinn against his chest for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before slowly lowering her down to the sand.

You nod, unable to suppress the excitement in your voice as you hit record. “Ready.”

Harry gently places Quinn’s tiny feet on the sand, his hands steady as he holds her under her arms. For a moment, Quinn just stands there, her little toes curling and uncurling as she experiences the strange, grainy texture beneath her.

She looks up at her father, wide-eyed and uncertain, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“What do you think, Quinnie-girl?” Harry asks softly, his voice full of encouragement. “S’a bit different, isn’t it?”

Quinn’s lips part in a small ‘o,’ and for a second, she seems unsure. Her toes dig into the sand, and she lets out a little squeak, as if trying to decide whether she likes this new sensation or not.

Harry chuckles, his grip on her steady and reassuring. He nudges her forward ever so slightly, guiding her tiny feet to take a step.

“Go on, sweetheart,” you say, your voice barely containing your joy as you watch through the screen.

With a little help from her dad, Quinn takes a wobbly step forward. Then another. Her initial hesitation begins to melt away, replaced by a look of pure delight as she starts to move her feet through the soft, warm sand.

She lets out a joyful squeal, her eyes lighting up as she realizes she likes the feeling after all.

“There you go,” Harry says, his own face beaming as he encourages her. “That’s m’girl.”

You can’t help the huge smile that spreads across your lips, your heart swelling with pride and love as you watch your daughter discover the world around her.

Quinn looks up at you, her green eyes sparkling with happiness, the same dimpled smile that always makes your heart flutter now spread across her tiny face.

“She loves it,” you whisper, more to yourself than to Harry, but he hears you and glances over, his smile matching yours.

“Of course she does,” he replies, his voice warm with affection.

“I think we’ve got a beach lover on our hands,” you say, your voice full of pride.

Harry nods, his eyes never leaving Quinn as she continues to explore. “Just like her mama.”

You smile at that, capturing every moment, every smile, every step, knowing that this is one of those memories you’ll hold onto forever. Quinn’s laughter fills the air, blending with the sound of the waves and the seagulls overhead, and for a moment, the world feels perfectly in sync.

Harry walks over to you, leaving Quinn happily investigating the sand, her little feet kicking up tiny clouds as she explores her new surroundings.

You watch him as he sits down beside you, his movements easy and relaxed, the sun casting a warm glow on his skin.

He leans back on his hands for a moment, taking in the view of the beach, before turning his attention back to you with that familiar, playful glint in his eye.

“Think she’ll stay entertained for a bit?” he asks, nodding toward Quinn, who’s currently fascinated by the sand slipping through her fingers.

You reach into the baby bag and pull out a few toys—a colorful stacking cup, a soft plushie, and a small shovel and bucket.

“She’s got her toys, so we should be safe for now,” you say with a smile, handing the toys to Harry, who places them in front of Quinn.

Quinn’s face lights up when she sees her toys, and she immediately reaches for the stacking cup, babbling happily to herself as she tries to figure out how it works. You can’t help but smile at her curiosity, the way she’s so focused on figuring things out in her own little world.

As you watch her, Harry reaches into the beach bag and pulls out the bottle of sunscreen.

“Don’t want you getting burned,” he says, giving you a knowing look as he shakes the bottle. “Shall I?”

You nod, your lips curving into a playful smile as you turn your back to him. “Sure, but don’t try anything funny. Quinn’s right there, you know.”

Harry places a hand on his heart, feigning innocence with a mock-serious expression. “As if I would! m’nothing if not a gentleman.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his antics, but there’s a warmth in your chest that only grows as he moves closer.

He squeezes some sunscreen into his hands, rubbing them together before gently placing his hands on your shoulders. His touch is warm and soothing as he starts to massage the lotion into your skin, his fingers working in slow, circular motions.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and comforting as his hands move down your back. “M’just taking care of m’girl.”

You close your eyes, letting out a contented sigh as he continues, his touch tender and caring. The sound of the waves, Quinn’s soft babbling, and the warmth of Harry’s hands create a sense of calm that makes you feel completely at peace.

“You’ve got the magic touch, you know that?” you say softly, tilting your head slightly to give him better access as he works the sunscreen into your skin.

“Years of practice,” he replies with a chuckle, his hands moving lower, across your shoulder blades, then down the length of your spine. “Besides, I have to keep y‘looking this good. Can’t have you getting sunburned.”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see it, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re just saying that because you want something.”

Harry leans in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“Maybe I do,” he teases, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But f’now, m’just being the responsible husband.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his words. “Quinn’s going to figure out your tricks one day, you know. And then you’ll be outnumbered.”

“Until then,” he says, his tone light and full of mischief, “I’ll just have to keep charming you both.”

Harry’s hand is warm in yours, his fingers interlaced with yours as you walk together, Quinn nestled comfortably in his other arm. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore creates a serene backdrop to the moment, and for a while, everything feels peaceful and perfect.

Quinn’s tiny hand is curled around one of Harry’s fingers, her chubby cheek pressed against his chest as she watches the water with wide eyes. You give her a soft smile, gently squeezing Harry’s hand as you both step into the cool, refreshing water.

The sea swirls around your ankles, a soothing contrast to the warmth of the day, and you glance up at Harry, who’s watching you with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Ready to give it a go, little one?” Harry murmurs to Quinn, his voice full of love and encouragement. He bends down slightly, holding her securely as he lowers her feet toward the water.

The moment Quinn’s tiny toes touch the cool water, her reaction is immediate.

She lets out a loud, startled cry, her legs kicking frantically as she tries to pull away from the unfamiliar sensation. Her little face crumples into a frown, and within seconds, tears are streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Quinnie,” you say softly, your heart twisting with sympathy as you watch her. Harry instantly lifts her back into his arms, cradling her close to his chest as she continues to cry, her face buried against his neck. He rocks her gently, his expression full of concern as he whispers soothing words into her ear.

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Harry says softly, his voice full of tenderness as he rubs her back. “Daddy’s got you. S’all right.”

Quinn’s small fingers grip onto the peach fuzz at the base of his neck, clinging to him as if he’s her safe haven. Her cries are quieter now, but she’s still clearly upset, her tiny body trembling against him. You step closer, reaching out to gently stroke her back, your hand brushing against Harry’s as you both try to comfort her.

“Oh angel,” you say, your voice filled with sympathy as you watch her bury her face deeper into Harry’s neck.

Harry shakes his head, his brow furrowed with concern as he continues to rock her gently.

You give him a reassuring smile, placing a hand on his arm.

He sighs, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “We’ll take it slow next time, yeah? Maybe when the water’s a bit warmer.”

Quinn’s cries have quieted down to soft whimpers now, her little body still pressed tightly against Harry’s. You watch as he presses a gentle kiss to her temple, murmuring sweet nothings to her as he continues to sway back and forth.

The sight of them together, Quinn’s tiny form held securely in Harry’s arms, fills you with an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness.

“Do you want to head back to the blanket?” you suggest softly, your eyes full of understanding as you look at Harry. “Maybe she needs a little break.”

He nods, his expression tender as he meets your gaze. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

The three of you slowly make your way back up the beach, the sound of the waves receding as you step onto the warm sand. Harry holds Quinn close the entire way, his thumb gently stroking the back of her head as her cries finally start to fade into soft sniffles.

When you reach the blanket, Harry carefully sits down with Quinn still in his arms, cradling her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. You kneel beside them, reaching out to gently brush a stray curl away from Quinn’s damp cheek.

“She’s okay,” you say softly, more for Harry’s reassurance than anything.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and love. “I just want to make sure she’s happy, you know?”

You smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “She is. She’s got you, after all.”

Quinn stirs slightly in his arms, her big, tear-filled eyes peeking up at you both. Harry gives her a gentle smile, his voice soft and soothing as he says, “See? Mama’s right here, and Daddy’s not going anywhere. We’re safe and sound.”

Quinn lets out a tiny, contented sigh, her little fingers still clutching Harry’s shirt as she finally starts to relax. You reach out to gently pat her back, your heart swelling with love for your little family.

Together, the three of you sit there on the beach, the sun beginning to set in the distance, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. In this moment, despite the tears and the unexpected hiccups, everything feels exactly as it should be.

Soaking up the sun, surrounded by the people you love.

There’s no place you’d rather be.

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